Page 79 of Chasing the Sun

I swallowed hard and nodded. “The barn was completely destroyed,” I said glumly. “There’s nothing left and we have to start over. Every construction company I called can’t even start for at least a few months, let alone getit done in a matter of days.” The mere thought of it had frustration simmering beneath my skin, but there was no use in crying over it—again.

I sighed and gripped the steering wheel. “Okay, well, best of luck with your carriage.”

“We do not ask for much, only that we may serve where we are needed. The Lord provides, but neighbors must also do their part.” Before he closed the door, Gideon reached into the back pocket of his slacks, pulled a small white rectangle from his pocket, and reached across the cab to hand it to me. “The business is roofing, but as you can see”—he gestured toward the barn raising in the distance—“there’s more than that we can do. The number on there is for a business line—voicemail only—and it gets checked once every few days. If you’re needing our services, you know how to reach us.”

“I—I couldn’t possibly—” I stammered as I turned the card over in my hand.

“Around here, community is everything. Seven people passed us before you stopped to offer your aid. Returning the kindness would be the neighborly thing to do. You’re not one to give back a miracle, are you?” His words hearkened back to when Stan called the morning sunlight and a burned-out barn, the simplicity of it all, a miracle.

I swallowed hard. “No, sir, I’m not,” I answered with a smile.

He nodded. “Then I suppose I’ll be hearing from you.” With that, he closed the door and walked away.

I ran my thumb over the edge of the card, tracing the embossed print like it held some kind of secret magic.

A barn in a matter of days. A second chance. A miracle.

I looked up at Gideon, at the quiet certainty in his expression, and grinned.

TWENTY-FOUR

ELODIE

Somethingabout the morning felt off before I even opened the cottage door.

It was the kind of stillness that didn’t belong to a farm in midsummer. Too quiet, too weighted. Not the peaceful kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a soft blanket, but the kind that made you feel like the world was holding its breath—like something had already changed and was just waiting for you to notice.

I stepped outside anyway, because what else was I going to do? Sit inside and pretend that I wasn’t waking up in a place that still smelled faintly of smoke and soot? Pretend the barn wasn’t still a blackened memory visible from my front porch?

The mug in my hand was warm, but my fingers drummed lightly on the ceramic. I stared out at the field, across the hill where the barn used to stand. The wind tugged at my curls, but I didn’t lift a hand to fix them. I didn’t move at all until I heard the crunch of gravel beside me.

My smile widened as I sipped my morning coffee. “You’re lurking now?” I teased without turning.

“I brought coffee. Thought it might help keep you from murdering the next contractor that tells you to wait six months.”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Cal standing there, holding out a second mug of coffee. Not his usual scowl, but not soft, either, his expression was somewhere in between.

I glanced at the mug of crappy instant coffee in my hand before tossing the entire thing, mug and all, into the grass. “Perfect.”

Cal shook his head in disbelief before inching forward to pass me the ceramic mug.

“Thanks.” I smiled, wrapping my hands around the cup and letting the steam curl around my face.

Cal sat and leaned against the railing beside me. Our shoulders didn’t touch, but the space between us felt electric.

For long moments we both looked out onto the sprawling farmland in front of us. “You’re quiet,” he finally said.

I glanced sideways, smiling into my coffee. It was bitter and a little underwhelming, but it seemed like he tossed in some cream and sugar and hoped for the best.

It’s the thought that counts,I reminded myself. “Being quiet isn’t a bad thing.”

He grunted beside me. “For a woman like you it means trouble. It means you’re plotting, and that’s when you’re most dangerous.”

I snorted softly, but the sound felt hollow. The wind shifted again. And this time it carried more than just the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. It carried the sound of footsteps.

I smiled as Helen approached us, but I didn’t even need to see her face to know something was terribly wrong. Her stride was too slow, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Cal straightened beside me, reading the same thing I was.

“Good morning, Helen. Are you okay?” I asked, setting my mug down on the railing as I stood.