Tonight the two teenagers were at the library. Kaylie was working on college applications, and Ollie was studying . . . something. Truman couldn’t keep track of the teen’s classes. The boy was driven. He’d grown up isolated in the forest until he came to live with Truman last spring and had attacked his education like a starving child. In a way, Ollie had been starving, and information was the only thing that satiated him. He would have his GED by Christmas, and then he planned to study to become a teacher.
Truman leaned against the counter and waited, watching the front door as Kaylie’s cat, Dulce, figure-eighted around his ankles. Truman vibrated with energy. A common occurrence when he knew Mercy was about to arrive. From the first day she’d appeared in his life a year ago, he’d looked forward to every minute with her. Now they were planning their Christmastime wedding.
The doorknob rattled, and Dulce abandoned him, dashing to leap onto the back of the chair next to the door and stretch toward the woman who stepped through. Mercy’s gaze immediately went to Truman, love and exhaustion shining in her eyes.
A smile stretched across his face, triggered as usual by the sight of her.
She dropped an unfamiliar duffel from her shoulder and had her arms around him, leaving Dulce to meow in protest on her perch.
Something relaxed in his spine as he kissed her, and he caught a hint of her usual light lemon-bar scent as he inhaled deeply against her hair. She leaned into him, taking longer than usual with their evening greeting.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Mmmhmm,” she vibrated against his neck.
He held her several more seconds, absorbed in the headiness of her touch, the simple act of being in each other’s presence. They knew each other inside and out, enough to speak without words.
Pulling back, she met his gaze. Her green eyes were slightly bloodshot, and her lips curved to one side as she studied his face as if memorizing it. “Kids?” she asked.
“Library. Kaylie left enchiladas.”
“I need food.”
They reluctantly pulled apart, and he removed the enchiladas from the microwave as she took a seat at the kitchen bar with a sigh, her glass of wine in front of her. She rested on one elbow, her chin in hand, watching him intently.
“Yes?” He set the plate before her as she sipped her wine, her eyes never leaving his.
She set down the glass. “They’re sending me out of town.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Six a.m.”
So far this wasn’t a big deal, but the uncertainty in the tilt of her head told him she hadn’t shared all the details. He leaned on the bar, his weight on his forearms, his eyes level with hers, studying her face. She’d pulled back her long, dark hair and secured it in a messy knot at her neck, indicating it had been a tough day.
He savored the intensity of her green eyes. She was the queen of the poker face, but he knew how to read her.
Something was bothering her.
He waited.
“They don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Might be two weeks . . . possibly three.”
Surprise struck him. “That’s long.”
She sighed. “I know.”
“Where are you going?”
She spun the wineglass stem with her fingers and dropped her gaze. “They won’t let me tell anyone,” she said softly and looked up at him again.
He felt as if he’d been punched in the chest. He searched her face. Misery shone.
“It’s that important?” he asked.
“They believe so.” Her attention went back to her wine.
“Is it dangerous?” He held his breath but tried to sound nonchalant. Every part of their jobs held an element of danger. His question wasn’t fair.
She shrugged. “It could be. No more than usual, I guess.”
Her answer felt incomplete. The duffel on the floor caught his attention. “You’re already packed?”
Her lips twisted. “They packed for me—well, they tried to pack for me. I have a few more alterations to make.”
He understood. No one knew better than Mercy what she must have with her at all times.
“Jeff and Eddie packed for you?”
She hesitated. “No, this assignment is out of Portland.”
“I see.” No, I don’t see. “Can you tell me anything else?”
“Radio silence.”
His chest caught another blow. “You can’t call or email?”
“Nothing.” Distress flashed in her eyes again.
He moved away from the counter and ran a hand through his hair as he walked in a small circle. “Two weeks of no communication? I understand it—doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“You can always contact Jeff if you need to get a message to me.”
He stopped, taking in the lines between her brows. No wonder she had looked at him earlier as if she was memorizing his face. She had known it’d be a long time.
She was preoccupied with the assignment; she didn’t need to worry about his concern too.
He rounded the counter and slipped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “We can handle two weeks. I suspect it will go a lot faster for you than me. Good thing Rose’s wedding was last weekend.”
“I thought the same.”
He felt her shoulders relax under his arms. He had been right. She was more concerned about his reaction than about the assignment. “Go. Get it over with. We’ll finish the wedding plans when you get back.”
His mind raced ahead. It had been difficult to plan her surprise wedding present. If she was gone for two weeks, he would have time to finish it. The gift was to be delivered to the cabin tomorrow, and he’d worried she’d discover the present before he had time to assemble it.
It was a very thin silver lining to her news.
Neither of them was in charge of planning their Christmas wedding. Mercy’s older sister, Pearl, had smoothly taken over with their blessing. Pearl had organized the majority of Rose’s wedding, so it’d been easy for her to assist Mercy at the same time.
Truman smiled, remembering how his heart had stopped at the sight of Mercy in a lavender dress as she walked down the aisle at Rose’s wedding. He’d been a groomsman and stood at the front of the church with Nick Walker. Mercy had carried Rose’s infant son, Henry, and held him throughout the ceremony as she and Pearl stood by Rose.
The wedding had stirred soul-deep emotions Truman hadn’t known he possessed. He and Mercy were already bound at the heart, but he deeply craved the legal attachment that proved to the world they were committed.
He’d given up trying to understand his need. All that mattered was that they wanted to be together.
Two weeks apart would make no difference.
“I don’t know if I can ask my dad . . . ,” Mercy said, resting her head against his chest.
To walk her down the aisle.
Truman wasn’t surprised. Karl Kilpatrick had proudly escorted Rose at her wedding, but he’d severed his relationship with Mercy fifteen years earlier. In the year since Mercy had returned to Eagle’s Nest, she and her father had experienced more downs than ups.
Truman had hope that Karl would do it even though the man was a dinosaur, mired in beliefs that kept him at odds with his youngest daughter. Mercy pretended not to care, but Truman knew it hurt. He’d considered and discarded a dozen plans for approaching Karl on the sly about the topic.