Present Day…

The next morning, I awoke to an empty bed and rumpled sheets. For a brief second, I blinked at the blue walls and thought I was a kid again. Then I remembered Owen, the way he’d held me tight throughout the night, his feathery kisses to the top of my head, and the heat of his body pressed against mine. Even with my head and heart in turmoil, I couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in his presence.

After a quick shower, I threw some clothes into a suitcase and dragged it downstairs. Owen met me in the hallway with a cup of coffee. My eyes went immediately to his bare chest. He rubbed his free hand across his flat stomach. When I lifted my eyes to his face, the sight of his square jaw covered in the dark shadow of a new beard made my heart palpitate. Why did he have to be so damned sexy?

“I would’ve brought that down for you,” he said while pressing the coffee into my hand.

“It’s okay. I’m used to doing it myself.” Despite spending the night in each other’s arms, the distance between us continued to grow. I went to the kitchen window and stared across the backyard to avoid his gaze. Dew sparkled on the green grass. A few red leaves drifted on the September breeze before floating down to the lawn. The seasons hovered on the brink of change, and so did I.

A green long-sleeved Henley shirt hung on the back of a kitchen chair. Owen pulled it over his head then ran both hands through his hair. He leaned back against the kitchen counter. I fiddled with my phone. We couldn’t seem to look at each other. After a few seconds of painful silence, I downed the rest of my coffee and said, “Well, I probably should get going.”

“Sure.” He swept his truck keys from the counter and headed toward the door.

“Are you leaving?”

“I’m taking you to the airport.”

“No. Owen, that’s really not—”

He cut me off with a fingertip to my lips. “What kind of guy sends a girl into a volcano alone? Not this one.” As he walked toward the door, he shouldered the straps of my equipment, managing to haul everything but my carry-on. I stared after him, wordless. Hazel eyes met mine over his shoulder. “Coming? Or do I have to carry you too?”

I trotted into the driveway on his heels. He placed my bags into the backseat of his truck. The sleeve of my jacket brushed his arm as he opened the passenger side door for me. We were so close that I could feel the heat from his body in the chilly morning air. He emanated heat like a wood stove. I looked into his eyes to see if he felt the attraction, but he’d raised his guard again.

The crunch of tires on gravel startled us both. A green Honda pulled into the driveway behind Owen’s truck, blocking our exit. When the door opened, Velma stepped out. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted.

“Good morning. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Her ponytail swung as she advanced toward us.

“I’m headed for the airport. I’ve got a flight to catch,” I said.

She ignored my answer, heading straight to Owen. “Owen, hi. I’m Velma Nixon with The Mathis County Reporter. It’s great to meet you.”

“Hello.” He shook her hand. Even though he was a few inches behind me, I felt his body stiffen.

“I’m here to do a follow-up article on the Cartwright girl and thought I’d stop by to see you both. Owen, I don’t know if you’re aware, but she’s been linked to your brother Chris, the one you killed.” My blood ran cold at her words.

“That’s enough.” My temper snapped. No one was going to confront him in my presence. I pointed toward the road. “Off my property. Now.”

“Please. I’m just here to get the story. I’ve been looking into your history, Owen, and there are quite a few things about your case that don’t make any sense. I thought maybe you could set the record straight and give me insight into the kind of person your brother was.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.” Owen straightened. Tension sharpened his jawline. Velma took a step back. I didn’t blame her. He could be intimidating when he wanted. “Stella says you’re not welcome here.”

“Leave now, or I’m calling the police.” To emphasize my point, I withdrew my phone from my pocket. “Don’t come back.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I’d hoped, as a fellow journalist, you’d be sympathetic to my cause.”

“Here’s a little advice for you.” I moved toward her, herding her backward in the direction of her car. “The world of journalism is very small. Don’t shit on the people who can help you.”

“If I could get the scoop on Owen’s story, it would be very helpful.” Her audacity stunned me. I kept walking her backward until she bumped into her car. She fumbled for the door handle. “Owen, you’ve got my card. Call me if you decide you want to talk.”

We watched as she backed out of the driveway. In silence, he helped me into the truck. We drove for several miles before either of us spoke. His fingers clenched tightly around the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white.

“We’re never going to outlive this thing,” he said. I’d never heard him so angry before. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Chris is haunting us from the grave.”

It pained me to see him upset. I rested my palm on the top of his thigh. He covered my hand with his and squeezed. “I don’t know what to do about it. I feel bad leaving you like this. Maybe you should come with me.”

He chuckled, a bit of humor returning to his face. “I can’t leave. I have to work.” He lifted my fingers to his lips and brushed a kiss across the tips. “Besides, I’ve never run away from anything in my life. I’m sure as hell not running because of this.”

“An active volcano is looking pretty good to me about now,” I muttered. Owen laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest.

At the airport, he swept my hair over my shoulders and stared deeply into my eyes. Those darned butterflies started up again, fluttering their wings against the walls of my stomach. He smiled. “Be careful, okay? I’ll be waiting on you when you get back.”

I watched him walk away, admiring his broad back, the snug fit of his jeans, and the confidence in his stride. This man had me tied up in knots. Maybe fate had torn us apart then brought us back together for a reason. As he disappeared through the sliding glass doors, a sense of loss swept over me. I missed him already.

While I waited on my flight, I seized the opportunity to call Lanie. She didn’t answer, so I left a voice mail. “Lanie, I’ve never asked you for anything before, but I’m asking you now. No, I’m begging you. If you know something about Chris’s death that will help Owen, please, please consider telling someone. He doesn’t deserve this.”

The cool, crisp air of Iceland cleared my head. I threw myself into capturing perfect shots. Long days provided plenty of light, and the brilliant, surreal landscape offered infinite subject matter. At night, I stared at the ceiling of my hotel room and thought about Owen. What was he doing? Was he asleep? Did he think about me?

Owen had sacrificed a college football scholarship and his future to save me. Where would life have taken him if he hadn’t met me? No matter what he’d done, I knew he would have been successful. Maybe he’d have a wife and kids and a nice house in the suburbs. The more I thought about it, the more miserable I felt. The whole time he’d thought I was the one who’d killed his brother, and still, he’d remained silent to preserve my freedom.

I rolled onto my stomach and punched the pillow harder than necessary. He’d been noble and gallant and more of a man at seventeen than anyone I’d ever known. There had to be something I could do to redeem his reputation. I considered talking to the police, despite his warnings. In my experience, life had never been fair, and this was just one more curve ball thrown into my way.

No matter how many times I went over the evidence in Chris’s death, the pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit. If Owen hadn’t killed his brother, then who? I always came up with the same answer, one I didn’t want to accept. I rearranged my flight plans and texted Owen that I wouldn’t need a ride home from the airport. Then I texted Michael.