Chapter 7- The Price of Secrets.

MIA. 

My body ached so badly.

Every muscle seemed to have developed its own individual grievance against me.

I felt as though someone had tried to break me open like a piñata at one of those adorable festivals I'd attended when I was a student.

Apparently, manual labor was attempting to kill me.

Sawyer knew it too.

He'd watched me walk into the kitchen that morning with the grace of a ninety-year-old woman and, after laughing at me for an entirely unnecessary amount of time, offered me some Motrin for my sore muscles.

The pain wasn't limited to my body, either.

My hands were preparing to stage their own protest against my new line of employment.

I turned them over and studied my palms.

Red.

Tender.

And several small blisters had appeared where the shovel handle had repeatedly rubbed against my skin.

Wonderful.

At this rate, by the end of the month I would have the hands of a lumberjack.

“It’s a damn shame.”

I looked up.

Sawyer was leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking his coffee.

“What is?”

“Those perfectly manicured nails of yours.” His mouth curved into an irritating smile. “All that hard labor's destroyin' 'em.”

I stared him down.

“My employer failed to provide the appropriate protective equipment necessary for my safety.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Equipment?”

“Yes.”

“What kinda equipment do you need to shovel shit?”

I lifted one hand.

“Have you ever heard of the exceptionally sophisticated invention known as gloves?”

His smile disappeared.

“Let me see your hands.”

I blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Your hands, Chloe.”

Something in his voice had changed.

The teasing was gone.

I held them out.

At first, Sawyer simply looked at me.

Really looked at me.

Then he pushed away from the counter.

One step.

Then another.

Until he was standing only inches away.

I had to tilt my head slightly to meet his eyes.

For such an enormous man, Sawyer suddenly looked strangely uncertain.

He reached for my hands, then hesitated.

Was he nervous?

Surely not.

This was Sawyer Montgomery.

The man wrestled cattle, rode enormous horses, repaired fences, and drank black coffee as though bitterness were an essential nutrient.

Yet he was looking at my hands as if touching me required some sort of permission.

Eventually, his fingers closed carefully around mine.

His hands were enormous compared with mine.

Warm.

Rough.

He turned my palms upward.

His jaw tightened.

“Shit.”

I glanced down.

The blisters appeared considerably more dramatic against his weathered hands.

“It's hardly fatal.”

“Should've given you gloves.”

“Yes. You should have.”

His thumb moved carefully beside one of the blisters.

“Does that hurt?”

“A little.”

His eyes lifted to mine.

“Then why didn't you say somethin'?”

“Because I was unaware that complaining to management was an available option.”

He gave me a look.

I smiled sweetly.

Then my attention shifted to his hands.

Good Lord.

His palms were covered in calluses.

His fingers were rough, his knuckles scarred in places, and there were tiny marks everywhere that spoke of years spent actually using his hands for something other than signing documents and shaking hands at political fundraisers.

I turned one of them over.

“Wow, Sawyer.”

“What?”

“I will treat you to a manicure as soon as I receive my first payment.”

His expression immediately hardened.

“I ain't gettin' no damn manicure.”

I laughed.

“Oh, you would greatly appreciate one.”

“No.”

“Your hands are practically begging for professional intervention.”

“My hands are fine.”

“They are barbaric.”

“They work.”

“That does not make them aesthetically acceptable.”

He snorted.

I smiled and ran my thumb over one of the thick calluses in the center of his palm.

Sawyer twitched.

Not dramatically.

Barely at all.

But I felt it.

My thumb stopped.

So did my breathing.

His eyes dropped to where my finger rested against his palm.

Then slowly lifted to mine.

Something changed. I couldn't identify precisely what it was, but suddenly the kitchen seemed considerably smaller—not literally, of course, but in the peculiar way a room seems to shrink when you become acutely aware of someone else's presence.

Sawyer didn't move.

Neither did I.

His hand remained beneath mine.

His brown eyes searched my face like he was trying to decide whether he should say something.

Or do something.

And for one ridiculous second, I wondered which one I wanted.

I pulled my hand away.

Sawyer cleared his throat.

I looked anywhere except at him.

That was...

Interesting.

Very interesting.

And mildly inconvenient.

Because Sawyer Montgomery was my temporary employer.

I was married.

Technically.

Unfortunately.

And the last thing I needed three days after discovering my husband having sex with my brother was to start developing inappropriate curiosity about a cowboy's hands.

Three days.

The thought struck me so suddenly that every trace of amusement disappeared.

Three days.

Oh my God.

Bella.

How had I allowed three entire days to pass?

The last time she'd heard my voice, I'd been fleeing New York. I'd told her I was safe, thrown my phone off a bridge shortly afterward, and effectively vanished from the face of the earth.

She had no idea where I was.

She didn't know about Pleasant Valley.

She didn't know about Sawyer.

She didn't even know whether I'd made it through that first night.

For all Bella knew, I could be dead.

My stomach dropped.

She was going to kill me.

Assuming she hadn't already organized a private search party, hired investigators, contacted every hospital on the East Coast, and personally strangled William for doing what he did.

Knowing Bella, all four were entirely possible.

I needed to contact her.

Carefully.

No phone.

Certainly not mine.

No credit cards.

Nothing connected to my name.

Nothing William, my parents, Anton, or anyone else could use to determine where I'd gone.

I wasn't ready to be found.

In fact, the idea of returning to New York made something inside my chest tighten.

I didn't want to go back.

Not tomorrow.

Not next week.

I didn't know when.

That realization should probably have frightened me. Instead, it brought an unexpected sense of relief.

“Sawyer?”

He'd returned to his coffee, although I caught him looking at his palm before wrapping it around the mug.

Interesting.

He glanced at me.

“What?”

“Do you have a computer I could borrow?”

“Yep.”

Relief washed through me.

“Wonderful.”

“Don't know if it works.”

I stared at him.

“I'm sorry?”

He shrugged. “Haven't used it in a while.”

“How long is a while?”

Another shrug.

“Year. Maybe two.”

My mouth fell open.

“Two years?”

“I got a phone.”

I blinked several times. “You own hundreds of acres of land.”

“Yep.”

“Cattle.”

“Yep.”

“Horses.”

“Obviously.”

“Vehicles.”

“Couple.”

“And you do not possess a functioning computer?”

“I possess a computer.”

“You have just informed me that you don't know whether it functions.”

“Still got one.”

I stared at him.

He drank his coffee.

Unbelievable.

“May I see this alleged computer?”

“Alleged?”

“I refuse to classify an electronic device that has apparently been abandoned for two years as functional technology without personally inspecting it.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes.

“Jesus Christ.”

He led me into a small room off the hallway.

There it was.

Sitting on an old wooden desk.

I stopped in the doorway.

Oh.

Oh, dear.

“Sawyer.”

“What?”

“How old is that?”

“Don't know.”

I approached it cautiously. The thing looked as though it had survived several presidential administrations.

I pressed the power button.

Nothing.

I pressed it again.

A noise came from somewhere inside.

I froze.

Sawyer froze.

The computer made another concerning sound.

I slowly turned my head toward him.

“What?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah.”

“That was not a normal sound.”

“It does that.”

My eyes widened. “It does that?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sawyer, your computer sounds medically unwell.”

He laughed. “I'll plug it in.”

“No.”

“It probably just needs—”

“No.” I stepped away from the desk. “Absolutely not. I refuse to be present when that thing catches fire.”

“Dramatic-ass woman.”

“Technologically negligent cowboy.”

He laughed again.

Then something occurred to me.

The town.

When we'd gone to Sally's yesterday, I'd noticed several buildings around the little downtown area. Including one I desperately needed now.

“Is there a public library in town?”

“Yeah.”

“Do they have computers?”

“Reckon so.”

Perfect.

“Would you take me?”

Sawyer studied me. “For what?”

I hesitated.

I couldn't tell him the truth.

Not all of it.

But perhaps I didn't have to lie either.

“I need to contact someone.”

His expression changed slightly.

“Your sister?”

My imaginary sister.

Right.

“No.”

“Your husband?”

“Absolutely not. And please refer to him as my ex.” That answer came quickly enough to make his eyebrow rise.

“Thought you said you were married.”

“Temporarily.”

His other eyebrow joined the first.

I folded my arms. “My divorce is in progress.”

Technically, that wasn't true.

No attorney had been contacted. No papers had been filed. William probably didn't even know whether I intended to divorce him.

But those were administrative details.

As far as I was concerned, my marriage had ended the moment I opened our bedroom door.

Sawyer leaned one hip against the counter. “So you're gettin' divorced?”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation in my answer.

Something shifted in his expression.

It was subtle. So subtle I might have missed it had I not been looking directly at him.

“Good,” he said.

I blinked. “Good?”

He picked up his coffee.

“Man cheats on his wife, reckon he deserves to lose her.”

He said it casually.

Far too casually.

But for some peculiar reason, Sawyer Montgomery suddenly seemed very interested in his coffee.

I folded my arms.

He watched me for another second.

I hated how perceptive the man could be when he wasn't busy pretending to be an uncivilized cowboy.

Finally, he nodded.

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

“We can go after lunch.”

“Actually...”

I remembered something else from downtown.

The pawn shop.

It had caught my attention yesterday as we were leaving Sally's. It sat directly across the street from Second Chance Treasures, and at the time, I'd barely given it another thought.

Now, however, I had a very good reason to remember it.

Tucked safely inside my canvas tote was something I no longer had any sentimental reason to keep.

My diamond earrings.

I'd removed them at the gas station when I'd changed into my old overalls. Even in my mildly hysterical state, I'd possessed enough self-awareness to realize that several carats of diamonds looked rather ridiculous paired with paint-splattered denim and worn-out Converse.

William had given them to me for our third wedding anniversary.

They were exquisite.

And obscenely expensive.

At the time, I'd thought they were romantic.

Now they were simply liquid assets. And considering my current financial situation, liquid assets were precisely what I needed.

“Sawyer?”

He sighed. “What now, Princess?”

“Before the library, I need you to take me somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Back to Second Chance Treasures.”

His brows pulled together. “You need more clothes already?”

“No. There's a pawn shop across the street.”

“A pawn shop?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“I have something I'd like to sell.”

Something about his expression changed.

It happened quickly—a slight tightening of his jaw, followed by a glance toward the canvas tote I'd left on one of the kitchen chairs.

“What've you got to sell?”

“A pair of earrings.”

His eyes returned to mine.

“Earrings?”

“Diamond earrings.”

He went completely still. I could practically see the questions assembling behind his eyes.

“How expensive?”

I smiled. “I don't know.”

But I knew precisely how much William had paid for them.

Sawyer didn't smile back. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest. “How much you reckon you'll get for 'em?”

“I have no idea. Hopefully enough to give me a little financial independence until my car is repaired.”

His jaw tightened again.

Interesting.

I tilted my head. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope.”

That was unquestionably a lie.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I just announced something you find deeply objectionable.”

“I ain't.”

“You are.”

He looked away.

I studied him.

“Do you have some sort of moral objection to pawn shops?”

“No.”

“To selling diamonds?”

“Nope.”

“Then what exactly is the problem?”

“Ain't a problem, Chloe.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “They remind me of the despicable excuse for a husband I once had. I have absolutely no reason to keep them.”

His gaze shifted back to mine.

“Had?”

“Yes, Sawyer. Had. We have already established this.”

Something in his expression softened.

Not entirely. There was still something there I couldn't quite decipher, but whatever had put that tension in his jaw seemed to loosen.

There most certainly had been a problem. But before I could interrogate him further, he grabbed his keys from the counter.

“Get your earrings.”

I remained where I was.

Sawyer looked back at me.

“You wanted to go, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Then let's go.”

He remained unusually quiet for most of the drive to the pawn shop.

“Sawyer?”

“Yeah?”

“I don't know how much I'll get for the earrings, but I'd like to contribute toward some of my expenses.”

His gaze remained fixed on the winding little road ahead, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel.

“No.”

I waited.

That was apparently his entire response.

“Sawyer?”

“No, Chloe. I ain't takin' your money.”

“But I owe you considerably more than I'll probably get for the earrings.”

“And you're workin' for it.”

He glanced at me before returning his attention to the road.

“Besides, you're gonna need every penny you get. Ricky ain't fixin' that Mustang for free. Depending on what he finds under the hood, you're probably lookin' at five or six grand, maybe more, by the time he's done with it.”

I stared at him for a moment.

Then smiled.

“Wow.”

His eyes flicked toward me. “What?”

“You are an exceptionally kind man.”

He immediately looked suspicious.

I smiled even wider.

“Don't.”

“I haven't done anything.”

“You're about to.”

Interesting.

Apparently Sally wasn't the only person in Pleasant Valley capable of recognizing an impending smart remark.

“I was merely going to express my appreciation for your generosity.”

“Bullshit.”

I laughed.

“Fine. How about I treat you to ice cream instead?”

That got his attention.

He looked at me again, and this time, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Hmm.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Reckon we can arrange that.”

“Excellent.”

His smile remained as he turned his attention back to the road. And just like that, whatever strange mood had settled over him seemed to disappear.

Apparently, Sawyer Montgomery couldn't be bought—but he could be bribed with ice cream, and I fully intended to treat that stubborn cowboy to the biggest serving they had.

The little bell above the door jingled as Sawyer held it open for me.

The pawn shop smelled faintly of old leather, furniture polish, and something metallic I couldn't quite identify.

Glass display cases lined the walls, filled with everything from antique watches and gold necklaces to pocketknives and coins. A collection of guitars hung behind the counter, and somewhere in the back, an old country song played softly on the radio.

"Well, I'll be damned. Sawyer Montgomery!"

An older gentleman emerged from behind a curtain, wiping his hands on a faded blue rag. He had thinning gray hair, a thick mustache, and a pair of reading glasses hanging from a cord around his neck.

"Afternoon, Walt," Sawyer greeted him.

"Been a while since I've seen your ugly mug around here." The man chuckled before his attention shifted toward me. "And who's this pretty little thing?"

"Chloe," Sawyer answered before I could introduce myself. "Chloe, this is Walter Hensley. Everybody calls him Walt."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Hensley."

"Well, aren't you a polite young lady? Walt's just fine, sweetheart." He leaned against the counter. "What can I do for you two?"

I reached into my purse and retrieved my earrings. "I was hoping you could take a look at these."

Walter's expression changed the moment I placed the earrings onto the glass counter.

He reached for his glasses.

"Well, now. What have we got here?"

He picked up one of the earrings, examining it beneath a jeweler's loupe. For several seconds, he said nothing.

I glanced at Sawyer.

He stood beside me with his arms crossed, watching Walter with an intensity that made me wonder whether he expected the poor man to run off with my jewelry.

"These real diamonds?" Walter finally asked.

"Yes."

"You got any paperwork? Certificate of authenticity? Original receipt?"

I shook my head. "Unfortunately, no."

Walter made a thoughtful humming sound and returned his attention to the earrings.

"Mind if I run a few tests?"

"Of course not."

He disappeared behind the counter, returning with a small electronic device and several other tools. I watched him work, trying not to think about the last time I'd worn those earrings.

William had given them to me as an anniversary present. I remembered the elegant black box, the extravagant dinner, and the way he'd fastened them onto my ears himself.

Only the best for my beautiful wife.

Back then, I'd mistaken expensive gifts for affection.

Funny how much a person could learn about love after discovering what it wasn't.

"Well," Walter finally announced, setting the earrings carefully onto a velvet pad. "They're genuine, all right. Nice stones, too."

My heart lifted.

"How much could I get for them?"

Walter scratched his chin.

"Without the paperwork, and considerin' I'd have to find the right buyer..." He paused. "I could offer you five hundred dollars."

"Five hundred?" Sawyer repeated.

Walter looked up.

"That's what I said."

Sawyer uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to the counter.

"Walt, you and I both know those earrings are worth a hell of a lot more than five hundred bucks."

"Now, Sawyer, don't go gettin' your feathers ruffled. I'm runnin' a business here."

"Then run an honest one."

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling.

Walter sighed dramatically.

"Lord have mercy. You Montgomery boys have been a pain in my backside since you were knee-high to a grasshopper."

"And yet you still ain't learned not to lowball us."

Walter gave him a pointed look before turning back to me.

"Seven hundred."

Before I could answer, Sawyer shook his head.

"Walt."

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Walter threw both hands into the air. "Fine! A thousand dollars. Cash. And that's as high as I'm goin'."

A thousand dollars.

It was nowhere near what William had paid for those earrings, but it was more than I'd had available to spend in days.

"I'll take it."

Sawyer turned toward me.

"You sure?"

"Positive."

He studied my face for a moment before nodding.

Walter retrieved a form from beneath the counter.

"All right, sweetheart. I'll need a valid ID before we can finish the paperwork."

My stomach dropped.

An ID.

Oh, crap.

Of course he needed identification. Why hadn't I thought of that?

I glanced at Sawyer, hoping he hadn't noticed the sudden panic creeping into my expression.

"Is there a problem, darlin'?" Walter asked.

"Actually, yes." I swallowed. "My wallet was stolen on my way here. I don't have my driver's license."

Sawyer straightened beside me.

"She told me about that," he confirmed.

Walter scratched his chin.

"Well, that's a problem. Can't buy jewelry without proper identification. State law."

My shoulders sagged.

Great. Just great.

I'd finally found a way to put some money in my pocket, and now a stupid piece of plastic was standing between me and a thousand dollars.

"Can't you make an exception?" I asked hopefully.

Walter shook his head.

"Wish I could, sweetheart, but I ain't riskin' my business license."

I stared at the earrings resting on the velvet pad.

Apparently, even diamonds couldn't solve all my problems.

"Well, isn't that just wonderful," I muttered, reaching for my earrings.

Walter gave me an apologetic smile. "Sorry, sweetheart. My hands are tied."

"It's all right. I understand."

Except I didn't feel all right.

I had walked into this shop convinced that I would leave with enough money to get me through the next few weeks. Instead, I was walking out with the same earrings, an empty purse, and absolutely no idea what to do next.

"Come on, darlin'," Sawyer said, placing a gentle hand against the small of my back. "Let's get outta here."

I thanked Walter and followed Sawyer outside.

The afternoon sunshine greeted us as we stepped onto the sidewalk. I stopped beside his truck and let out a frustrated sigh.

"Well, that was a complete waste of time."

"Wouldn't say that."

I turned toward him. "Really? Because I'm pretty sure I walked in there broke and came out just as broke."

He chuckled.

"At least now you know what Walt's willin' to pay."

"Wonderful. I'll be sure to celebrate that accomplishment."

Sawyer laughed again, and I found myself glaring at him.

"I'm glad you find my financial misery so entertaining, Montgomery."

"Easy there, princess. I'm just tryin' to look on the bright side."

"Well, the bright side isn't paying my bills."

His smile softened.

"Chloe, you ain't gotta worry about that car right this minute. Ricky'll take a look at it, and we'll figure somethin' out."

There it was again.

We.

He kept saying that word as though my problems had somehow become his responsibility.

"That's very kind of you, Sawyer, but I can't keep accepting your help."

"Who said anything about acceptin'?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I'm offerin'. There's a difference."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he raised a hand.

"And before you start, I ain't askin' you to pay me back for every little thing."

"That's exactly the problem."

He studied me for a moment before leaning against his truck.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this question?"

"Those earrings."

My stomach tightened.

"What about them?"

"They're pretty expensive, aren't they?"

I shrugged, trying to appear indifferent.

"I suppose."

"Your husband give 'em to you?"

I looked down at my hands. "Yes."

Sawyer nodded thoughtfully.

"What'd he do for a livin', if you don't mind me askin'?"

Here we go.

"He worked in investment banking."

"Investment banking, huh?" I lied. 

"Yes."

"Must've done pretty well for himself."

"He did."

"How'd y'all meet?"

"At an art exhibition." This was the truth. 

He raised an eyebrow.

"An art exhibition?"

I nodded. "He was interested in a painting." That much, at least, was true. It was one of my paintings. 

"Did he buy it?"

I smiled faintly. "Yes. He did."

Sawyer watched me for another moment. "And you? You into art?"

More than you could possibly imagine, cowboy.

"A little."

He chuckled.

"Well, I reckon that explains a few things."

I tilted my head. "Such as?"

"You're a whole lot fancier than most folks around here."

I gasped dramatically. "Are you calling me high-maintenance?"

"Didn't say that."

"You were thinking it."

His grin widened.

"Maybe a little."

I smacked his arm. "You're impossible, Sawyer."

"And you're hungry," he replied, opening the passenger door. "Come on. I believe somebody promised me ice cream."

I stared at him.

"Sawyer, I just failed spectacularly at acquiring money. How exactly am I supposed to buy you ice cream?"

He tipped his hat back slightly.

"Well, darlin', looks like you're gonna owe me one."

I shook my head, fighting a smile as I climbed into the truck. Apparently, Sawyer Montgomery was determined to make himself impossible to repay.

And heaven help me, I was beginning to enjoy his company far more than I should.

The Pleasant Valley Public Library was housed in a charming two-story brick building with white columns, tall windows, and flower boxes overflowing with colorful chrysanthemums. A wooden sign near the entrance announced the library's hours, while a smaller chalkboard advertised an upcoming fall book sale.

I smiled as Sawyer pulled into a parking space.

"Oh, this is adorable."

He glanced at the building. "It's a library, darlin'."

"I'm aware of that, Montgomery."

"Just makin' sure."

I rolled my eyes and reached for the door handle.

Inside, the library smelled of old books, polished wood, and freshly brewed coffee. Tall wooden shelves stretched across the room, and sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating little particles of dust floating in the air.

It was beautiful.

Not the grandest library I'd ever visited, certainly, but there was something wonderfully inviting about it.

A woman with short silver hair and bright blue eyes sat behind a large wooden circulation desk. She wore a burgundy cardigan, pearl earrings, and reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose.

She looked up when the door opened.

"Well, would you look what the cat dragged in!"

Sawyer groaned.

"Afternoon, Maggie."

The woman's face broke into a delighted smile.

"Sawyer Montgomery! Don't you 'afternoon, Maggie' me, young man. It's been nearly three months since you last stepped foot in this library."

"Been busy."

"You're always busy. That's what you said the last time."

She came around the counter and wrapped him in a hug.

I watched in amusement as the big, rugged cowboy awkwardly returned her embrace.

"You're lookin' good, Maggie."

"Oh, don't you start sweet-talking me now." She patted his cheek. "I practically raised you alongside your mama. I know every trick you've got."

Sawyer chuckled.

Then Maggie noticed me.

Her expression brightened immediately.

"And who might this lovely young lady be?"

Sawyer stepped aside.

"Maggie, this is Chloe. Chloe, meet Margaret Whitmore. Everybody calls her Maggie."

"It's lovely to meet you," I said, extending my hand.

Instead of shaking it, she took both my hands in hers.

"Oh, sweetheart, the pleasure is mine! Aren't you just a pretty little thing?"

Heat crept into my cheeks.

"Thank you."

Maggie looked from me to Sawyer, then back again.

A mischievous smile appeared on her face.

"Well, now. Sawyer Montgomery bringing a beautiful woman into my library. That's something I never thought I'd live to see."

"Maggie," Sawyer warned.

"What? I'm just making an observation."

"We ain't here for that."

"Of course you're not." She winked at me.

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

"I'm actually hoping to use one of your computers," I explained.

"Well, you've come to the right place, sweetheart. We've got four public computers in the back. Do you have a library card?"

"Not yet. I'm new in town."

"Oh! Well, welcome to Pleasant Valley!" She squeezed my hands. "Where are you staying?"

Before I could answer, Sawyer spoke.

"She's stayin' out at the ranch for now."

Maggie's eyebrows shot up.

"Your ranch?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, I'll be."

"Maggie."

She raised both hands innocently.

"I haven't said a word!"

"You've said plenty."

I couldn't help laughing.

Maggie turned toward me.

"Sweetheart, I can already tell we're going to get along just fine."

For some reason, I believed her.

"Now, about those computers," she continued. "You can use one with a guest pass. I'll just need to get you signed in."

Relief washed over me.

"That would be wonderful. Thank you."

"Not a problem, honey."

She returned to the desk and began typing.

"So, Chloe, what brings you to our little corner of West Virginia?"

I hesitated.

"Just needed a change of scenery, I suppose."

Maggie glanced at me over her glasses.

"Well, sometimes a change of scenery is exactly what the soul needs."

Something about the gentle way she said it made my throat tighten.

I lowered my gaze.

"Yes. I think so, too."

For a moment, she simply watched me. Then, as though sensing I'd rather not explain, she smiled.

"Well, I hope our little town treats you kindly."

I returned her smile. "So far, it has."

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Sawyer looking at me.

Maggie followed my gaze, and that mischievous smile returned.

"Oh, I imagine it has."

"Maggie," Sawyer muttered.

"What? I didn't say anything!"

I laughed.

Good heavens. I was beginning to think the entire town enjoyed tormenting this man.

Maggie printed a small guest pass and handed it to me.

"There you go, sweetheart. Computer number three is available. Take your time."

"Thank you so much."

"And Chloe?"

I turned back.

"Yes?"

"If you need anything while you're here, you come find me. Anything at all."

There was something unexpectedly sincere in her voice.

I smiled.

"I will. Thank you, Maggie."

She patted my hand. "You're very welcome, sweetheart."

As I walked toward the computers, I heard Maggie lower her voice behind me.

"Sawyer Montgomery, you better tell me where you found that sweet girl."

I couldn't hear his answer.

But I heard Maggie laugh.

And for the first time in longer than I cared to remember, I found myself smiling without having to pretend.