“She had her grandparents—”
“She needed you.”
“Listen here—”
“No, you listen. Claire is amazing. She’s beautiful and kind and everyone here loves her. She does more than make pizza. She reads to the kids at the Footstep of Heaven bookstore, and she volunteers to serve meals at the senior center once a month, knows all the residents’ names. And she goes up to Gibs’s house every single day to make sure he hasn’t burned his dinner.”
Richard Gibson glanced at his father.
“She has spent the past week renovating the house so he can move home—”
“No one asked her to do that.”
“No one has asked her anything. That’s the problem. You just assumed, and because she so desperately wants to impress you, because she doesn’t want to be a disappointment, she doesn’t argue. But she does not want to leave Deep Haven.”
Richard blew out a breath. “How long have you been in love with my daughter, Jensen?”
The question pushed him back, sucked out his wind just a little. I’m not . . . But . . . well . . .
Yes. He was in love with Claire. Had been for years, probably since that night on the beach when she’d told him her story. When he’d wanted to be as brave as she’d been.
“A while,” he said quietly.
“You think she wants to stay here with you?” Richard said.
Jensen tightened his lips. Then nodded. “I hope so.”
“Son, I hate to tell you this,” Wanda said, “but if I remember correctly, she mentioned you when she left here yesterday.”
She did?
“She said something along the lines of ‘I can’t believe Jensen did this. I never should have trusted him.’”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at Gibs.
The old man gave him a sad nod. “She’s pretty angry. But she’ll come around—”
“I’m not buying your land, Gibs. I told you that once, and here’s something you should know about me: I don’t lie.”
Jensen walked out of the room, tossing the bag with the remaining donut in the trash can as he left. He’d lost his appetite anyway, with Claire’s words churning in his stomach. I never should have trusted him.
Jensen broke into a jog as he headed toward his truck. If he hadn’t already searched her apartment, he would have gone back, but instead he drove to the rose garden, then the cemetery. No lime-green Yaris, no red bike.
She wouldn’t have gone to Gibs’s place, would she? He hadn’t seen a light on, not last night, not this morning. Still, he headed back up the hill.
He couldn’t bear to let her reactions sluice into his head, to think about how angry—how betrayed—she would’ve felt at hearing her grandfather’s news. I’m selling the place to Jensen.
No wonder she didn’t believe she could trust him.
I’m sorry, Claire. The thought came so easily, so perfectly. I’m sorry. Not the kind of sorrow that admitted guilt, but the kind that admitted pain.
I’m so sorry.
Easy enough words, and they should have been spoken to Darek, to the town of Deep Haven. I’m so sorry for the pain I caused.
He keyed in his number at the gate and parked behind the Garden van. Hitting the garage opener, Jensen headed to the four-wheeler and hopped on, glad he always left the keys in the ignition. He zoomed out of the garage intending to check on the sprinkler system.
The sound of a motor, something big and rumbling in the air, turned him toward Gibs’s place.
The path was bumpy, just like when he’d taken it the night Gibs fell. He ducked under tree limbs, over ruts, vowing to clear it better. Because he hoped to be making plenty of trips next door when he and Claire ironed this out.
Oh, God, please let us iron this out.
Jensen came out into a clearing west of the house and nearly skidded the four-wheeler as he careened into a bulldozed swath of earth. He stopped, sat with the machine idling, tracing the path all the way to—
Darek sat on his dozer, clearing a path into the forest, on the fire road to Thompson Lake. A tree cracked, fell hard, and he ground it up, pushing a debris pile into the forest.
Jensen debated, then turned the four-wheeler toward Darek.
He pulled up just as Darek backed out of the forest. When he waved his arms, Darek cut the motor, took out his earplugs. His face was nearly blackened with dirt, his eyes red. He tugged the handkerchief from over his nose.
“Wow, am I glad to see you,” Darek said over the puttering sigh of the dozer.
Jensen stared at him. “What?”
“We gotta clear a fire line and set a back burn or we won’t be able to stop this fire.”
Jensen looked at the dozer, at Darek, who was looking back at him as if they’d had a conversation yesterday, something akin to Hey, wanna go fishing after dinner?