Emma stared at the tiny rows of seeds, eagerly waiting to sprout. They had no idea the danger they’d been in from the weeds, no idea the death they’d be sure to experience had the gardener not come and tended them.
Just like Cody had yet to fully grasp the ramifications of his actions. Like Max had no idea the bomb she would eventually drop on his carefully reformed world.
Oblivious. Like she’d been before trading her innocence for a short-lived ride with rebellion. And all for the sake of what? Proving a point? Testing her limits? Escaping the supersticky label of “Good Girl”? All she’d done is trade it for another label she couldn’t tear off.
Tears pricked her eyes, and her chest tightened. The floral print on her mom’s gloves blurred into a pastel jumble. Suddenly, she wasn’t a grown woman anymore with a successful practice in a big city. She was eighteen again, and scared, and alone—and overcome with feelings she couldn’t identify or ignore.
Before she could stop herself, she reached out and grabbed her mother’s arm.
Mom immediately stopped and turned, covering Emma’s bare hand with her dirty gloved one, and raised her eyebrows without speaking. The acceptance in her gaze was nearly Emma’s undoing, and she blurted out the truth for the first time in thirteen years.
“Max is Cody’s father.”
* * *
Max wasn’t sure if the art expression project Emma created had been pure genius or pure torture.
He squinted at the rows of easels before him, set up in the early-morning sunshine near the barn. They didn’t have an indoor spot in the camp big enough to house all the campers and easels at one time that wouldn’t suffer from paint splatters, so Luke and Tim spread some tarp on the grass, lined up folding chairs and let them go.
Max paced absently behind the rows of folding chairs, hanging back to give the teens room to create while keeping an eye out for Emma. He hadn’t seen her return to Camp Hope yesterday, though he’d kept a subtle watch for her. She’d shown up at dinner as expected last night, though, relieving Faith to go home to her family. But after dinner, she’d taken the girls on to their next activity without giving him more than a passing nod. Breakfast had gone pretty much the same way.
He didn’t know exactly how to smooth things over between them, but ignoring it didn’t seem the best way to go. He wasn’t sure which was worse—her avoiding him, or the awkward tension that hovered when they had to be in the same room. How was he going to meet his new goal if she refused to speak to him? Somehow, he had to show her he was legit. That she could trust him. Maybe she was right not to when they were younger. He hadn’t been ready for a heart like hers.
But now...
He wanted the chance to earn it back. To show her that nothing was lost forever. That she and Cody would find their way out of this, with God at their side—and hopefully with him right there, too.
“That’s beautiful, Katie.”
Emma’s sudden voice to his left both warmed him and created shivers on the back of his neck, all at once. Max drew a deep breath to resist rushing to her side and slowly adjusted his cowboy hat so he wouldn’t do something stupid—like sweep her in his arms.
Emma stood behind Katie’s easel, where the perky redhead sat with paintbrush poised, sweatshirt sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She’d painted the barn beside them, complete with rolling golden hills of pasture. A dark blob on the farthest hilltop hinted at a horse. Or maybe a cow.