The soft glow of dawn slipped through the old lace curtains that still hung at the window, waking Elsbeth before her alarm had a chance.
For a moment, she simply lay still, listening to the creaks and sighs of the farmhouse settling around her.
She felt...better. More rested than she had been in weeks.
Yet something lingered at the edges of her mind, the memory of last night, the unmistakable sensation of a presence just beyond her window. Had it really been a bear, or had her eyes been playing tricks on her?
But if it had been a bear, it hadn’t frightened her. If anything, it had felt reassuring, as if a guardian was keeping an eye on her.
Was she crazy to think her mother was the one out there somewhere, watching over her?
Yes, was the answer from the voice in her head.
And even though the idea that her mom might be watching over her comforted her, made her feel less alone, the idea that her mom was not resting in peace did not.
She shivered and sat up, shaking the feeling off. This was no time for ghost stories.
She had work to do.
Swinging her legs out of bed, she stretched and breathed in the cool morning air that carried the faint scent of dew and wildflowers.
Today was about progress. It was about taking those first tentative steps toward building the life she had promised herself. And her mother.
Grabbing a hair tie from the nightstand, she quickly braided her hair and pulled on jeans and a worn flannel shirt.
It was her mother’s shirt, faded from years of wear and sun-bleached in patches, but still soft against her skin. She breathed in deeply, catching the faintest hint of her mother’s scent that somehow lingered in the fabric despite countless washings.
Wearing it always gave her comfort. Gave her confidence in herself. It was almost like armor against any self-doubt she might feel. Her mom had always been her greatest cheerleader.
Elsbeth stifled a sob. How she wished her mom were here by her side. This new beginning would be so much easier if she were not alone.
For a moment, she stood in the center of the room, her arms wrapped around her body, hugging the flannel close as if it could somehow bring her mother back. But her mom was gone, and all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change that.
The one thing she could change was her life. Her fate. Which meant she had to get on with her day and start working her way through the long list of jobs that needed completing before her dream could become a reality.
And that list needed prioritizing.
She hurried downstairs and put on a fresh pot of coffee. While it brewed, she opened the back door and let in the new morning. The sound of birdsong always cheered her up, and the birds on the farm sure knew how to sing.
With a freshly poured cup of coffee in one hand and her trusty notebook in the other, she padded outside in socked feet to sit on the worn steps of the back porch. The dew-soaked grass glistened in the early light, and a gentle mist hovered just above the ground, giving the fields a dreamlike quality.
This was her favorite time of day, when the world felt made anew and full of possibility.
Elsbeth flipped open her notebook, a pencil hovering over a fresh page as she sighed contentedly. Then she set to work.
The list grew quickly. Repair the chicken coop, clear the overgrown garden beds nearest the house, and call about getting the tractor serviced. Small tasks that would add up to something bigger. Something that would honor her mother’s memory and the promise Elsbeth had made.
But the biggest task for the day involved the irrigation system—or lack of one.
Without water, her flowers would die. And her dream would die with them.
Her gaze drifted to the road, searching for Philip’s truck. Would he come back today to help her find the spring? Or had he forgotten about her already?
Ugh. Since when had she become the kind of woman who waited around for a man to help her? Finn had confirmed what she already knew: that the irrigation system was a priority. So today, she would make a start on it. If Philip came back, if he found the spring, that would be a bonus. If not, she would search for it herself. And, if she didn’t find it, she’d simply return to her original plan of using water from the well.
However things turned out, she needed to get the pipes in place.
Turning to a fresh page in her notebook, Elsbeth sketched out a rough outline of the property and then carefully added dotted lines where the main irrigation pipes would run, branching into the future flower beds.
As she stared at the sketch, her stomach lurched. It was a big job. And she was only one woman.
In an ideal world, she would pay someone to do the work. But this was not an ideal world, and her funds only stretched so far.
You can do it, her mom’s voice said in her head, repeating the same advice she had always given her daughter in life, when challenges seemed too great.
“I can do it,” Elsbeth whispered to herself, taking a sip of her coffee.
She’d watched her mother tackle far bigger problems on her own. Elsbeth wasn’t always sure if that stubbornness was admirable or foolish, but she’d inherited it all the same.
So, she set to work. By midday, she had crossed the smaller jobs off her to-do list. After a lunch of freshly picked tomatoes from the garden, coupled with locally made cheese and freshly baked bread, Elsbeth stood at the edge of the field, surveying the land that would soon—hopefully—be awash with color.
Hers.
With a satisfied smile, Elsbeth headed to the shed and opened it to reveal an array of pipes and other equipment. Time to get to work.
The first roll of tubing was heavier than she’d expected, and she paused to catch her breath. Maybe she should hire some help after all. But no, this was her farm. Her dream. She could handle a little manual labor.
As she stood wiping her brow, the distant rumble of an engine caught her attention. A familiar blue pickup was making its way up the winding dirt road toward her property.
Her heart skipped a beat. Philip.
She watched as the truck pulled up beside the barn, and Philip got out. He wore a simple white T-shirt that contrasted with his tanned skin and faded jeans that had clearly seen their share of manual work.
“You started without me,” he called out as he strode toward her.
Elsbeth straightened, suddenly conscious of her appearance. Her hair escaping from her braid, dirt smudged across her cheek, her mother’s flannel shirt damp with sweat.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” she admitted, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Philip’s expression grew serious. “I said I would, didn’t I? A Thornberg always keeps his word.” He gestured toward the tubing. “Besides, this is a two-person job, at minimum.”
“I was managing,” she said, though the ache in her shoulders suggested otherwise.
“I’m sure you were,” he said, with no hint of teasing. “But why don’t we go look for this spring first?”
“Sure,” she replied. She could come back to the heavy pipe later in the day when the heat had eased.
“Do you have a map of the property?” Philip asked, his eyes scanning the landscape with practiced ease.
“I do,” Elsbeth nodded. “It’s in the house. Let me grab it.”
She hurried inside, grateful for a moment to collect herself. Her heart was racing, and not just from the physical exertion of moving pipes. There was something about Philip’s presence that made her feel both unsettled and completely at ease. A contradiction that both confused and intrigued her.
And there was something else. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit.
When she returned with the map, Philip was still scanning the farm, his hands on his hips. For a moment, she stood with the map in her hands, staring at him. Then he turned to face her, a broad smile on his face.
“I have the map.” She held it up, hoping he hadn’t noticed her staring.
“Okay, let’s take a look.” He nodded toward his truck.
“Sure.” She opened the map and spread it across the hood of his truck.
“Springs typically follow the natural contours of the land,” he explained, moving to stand beside her. “They’re drawn to low points, but they originate from higher ground.”
“Makes sense.” Elsbeth was acutely aware of how close Philip was to her.
His finger traced the topographical lines, his touch deliberate and sure. “If I were a spring, I’d be somewhere...here.” He tapped a spot near the eastern boundary where the property dipped into a gentle hollow.
“Great. Let’s go take a look,” Elsbeth said, folding up the map.
“Okay.” Philip smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that made her stomach flutter. “Let’s go.”
They set off across the field, walking side by side through the tall grass. Wildflowers nodded in the breeze around them, and Elsbeth found herself stealing glances at Philip’s profile as he walked with quiet confidence.
“You seem to know a lot about water,” she ventured.
“Water is life,” he replied simply. “Especially when you’re growing things.”
“Is that why you work with the vines? Because you like to help things grow?” she asked as they walked through the field of wildflowers.
Philip’s pace slowed slightly. “Partly. There’s something about helping things grow that gets under your skin. And your fingernails…” He glanced at her. “I imagine you understand that.”
She did. Deeply. “I inherited it from my mom.”
“Your mom taught you well,” Philip said as they went through a gate at the top of the field and headed toward a stand of trees. “She must be a wise woman.”
“She was.” The words caught in Elsbeth’s throat.
Philip stopped walking, turning to face her fully. “Was?”
Elsbeth nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “Cancer. Last year.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, as if he could feel her sorrow.
“That’s why I’m here,” Elsbeth admitted, surprised at herself for sharing something so personal. “She knew I always dreamed of owning a flower farm, but life got in the way. When she got sick, I promised her I’d make it happen.”
Philip was quiet for a moment. “This is a beautiful tribute to your mom.”
“If I can pull it off,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“You will,” he said with such certainty that she believed it, too. It was as if his confidence and encouragement gave her courage.
“I will if we can find this spring,” she said lightly. The last thing she wanted was to burst into tears in front of Philip.
“Then we’d better find it,” Philip said, nodding toward the rise ahead of them. “I think our best bet is to head up there first.”
As they climbed higher, the land began to slope upward more steeply. The wild grasses gave way to rockier terrain, dotted with clusters of pine and aspen. Philip moved with sure-footed confidence, occasionally pausing to examine the ground or a particular formation of rocks.
Elsbeth breathed harder as they ascended, but the exertion felt good, purposeful. When they reached a small clearing, she turned back to look at her farm spread out below them.
“Great view, huh?” Philip asked, coming to stand beside her.
“Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming,” she admitted, taking in the patchwork of fields, the weathered barn, and the farmhouse with its faded blue paint.
“Me, too,” he said, and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. One so intense and meaningful that it made her heart stutter strangely in her chest.
“Listen!” He suddenly held up his finger, his head tilted slightly.
Elsbeth strained her ears. “I don’t hear anything other than the breeze through the trees.”
“Come on.” He held out his hand to her, and she took it without hesitation, his warm palm engulfing hers.
Together they headed higher, skirting around the trees, and then he cut across a small outcrop of rock. He moved like a bloodhound on a scent, walking with such certainty that Elsbeth struggled to keep up. If he could hear water from this distance, he must have superhuman hearing.
But then, faint but unmistakable, she heard it, too. The softest trickle of water over stone.
“I hear it!” she said excitedly, squeezing his hand.
Philip half-turned to look at her and grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I told you I would find it.”
“You must have a sixth sense,” Elsbeth said, shaking her head in wonder.
“What would you say if I told you I did?” Philip asked, and she swore he was serious.
“I’d believe you,” she said, equally serious. Because of the way he made her feel, she would trust him. Whatever he said, whatever he did. Which was the strangest thing since she barely knew him. And yet it felt as if she had known him all her life.
Philip’s eyes widened slightly, as if her answer surprised him. Then his expression softened into something that made her breath catch.
“It’s just up ahead,” he said quietly, still holding her hand as they navigated around a cluster of boulders.
The sound grew louder as they approached, and then suddenly, there it was, a small, crystal-clear spring bubbling up from between rocks, forming a narrow stream.
“I can hardly believe it!” Elsbeth said as she reluctantly let go of his hand and kneeled beside the spring, cupping her hand to catch the water. The liquid sparkled in her palm, pure and pristine.
“It’s probably from a similar source to the one at the vineyard,” he replied, scooping up a handful and taking a drink. “Tastes like it.”
She took a sip of the water. It was cool, refreshing, and laced with minerals. “It’s wonderful,” she murmured, and she didn’t just mean the water, but the man beside her. Something about Philip felt as natural and necessary as the spring itself.
“We can lay the irrigation pipes and use the water for your flowers,” Philip explained, his voice deep against the musical backdrop of the flowing water.
“But won’t that cut off the water from wherever it goes?” she asked, suddenly concerned.
“Some,” he replied, “but we don’t take all of it. We just use what we need.”
There it was— we , as if they were truly in this together, as if she were not alone.
Elsbeth sat down on the grass and hugged her knees to her chest as she watched the water trickle over stones into a pool. It was tempting to take her shoes off and dip her feet in the water, but that seemed too childlike. And she was not a child. Not when Philip was around. He made her feel all woman.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she finally said as she drew her gaze from the water and looked at him.
Philip shook his head as he sat down beside her, his thigh nestled against hers. His touch sent an electric current through her body.
“I want this to work out for you, Elsbeth. I want you to fulfill the promise you made to your mom.” He took a breath and then added, “I want you to be happy.”
And in that moment, she was. Completely and utterly.
The realization washed over her like the spring water over stones, gentle but unmistakable. For the first time since her mother’s passing, Elsbeth felt a genuine sense of contentment, of possibility. It was as if the water had washed away all her fears.
Or maybe it was the knowledge that Philip had her back. That if ever she needed him, he would be there for her. No question. No hesitation.
“You know,” she said, “when I bought this place, everyone told me I was crazy. That it was too much for one person to handle.” She traced patterns in the grass with her fingertip. “Sometimes I believed them.”
Philip’s gaze remained steady on her face. “And now?”
“Now I’m starting to think that maybe I’m not as alone as I thought.” She glanced at him, then quickly away, heat rising to her cheeks.
“You’re not alone, Elsbeth.” He bumped his shoulder against hers. “But those irrigation lines are not going to lay themselves.”
“They are not,” she said with a smile.
“So, let’s go do some work.” He sprang up lithely and held his hand out to her.
When she placed her hand in his, that now-familiar shock of recognition shot up her arm. And when she looked into his eyes, she knew he felt it, too.
But there was something more in his eyes. Something deeper.
A secret.
One he longed to share.