Page 75 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

“How about you?” she asks me.

“I daydreamed a lot,” I say. “Thinking up a riff or writing songs in my head.”

Her face lights up. “I can picture that.”

“Quinn though, he worked himself to the bone to get good grades,” I say.

“We all have different strengths.” Quinn nibbles her shoulder, as if to remind her.

“That’s why you two are such good friends,” Lexie says, beaming. “Dawson’s the dreamer and you’re the strategist.”

Quinn gives her an approving grin. “I like that.”

We return to the couch and cuddle in front of the fire. It’s not long before Lexie’s breaths get heavy and she falls asleep.

Quinn and I don’t talk, but we don’t need to.

I think about his question, about what I want, and the answer comes to me:

to build a life I’m proud of.

Spending time with Lexie has changed us. Or maybe it’s bringing us back to the beginning. Of course this has to happen now, when I’m on the verge of losing it all.

Later that night,after Lexie leaves for her shift in the dining room, I stoke the fire and pull up a chair with my guitar and a tumbler of whiskey. Before I can start playing, Quinn strides in, the Soren Creek mine project contract in hand.

He drops it onto the table with a hardslap.

“Yes or no?”

“Not yet.”

With a frustrated glare, he strides out of sight.

I start to play, but the words sound strained and my voice falters. With a sigh, I cradle my guitar and close my eyes. I think back to that day on the Stony River with Lexie, the rush of the current and the earthy scent heavy in the air.

That was the day I fell for her, and this remarkable place. The two are intertwined, inseparable.

What do you want?

I set my guitar back in its case, and climb the stairs to the office. An idea is taking shape, but it’s rough, with too many unknowns.

There’s still time to coax it to life. I’ll give it my all, and send it to Brielle.

It’s time to build a life I’m proud of.

Starting now.

ChapterNineteen

LEXIE

I returnfrom my morning session on Wolf Creek humming one of Dawson’s songs, my head in the clouds. The bluegrass festival is tonight, and I have a surprise.

A man dressed in chinos and a blue chambray dress shirt hails me as I make the turn to home. “Lexie?”

I stare him down. It’s not unusual for a guest to seek me out to talk fishing, but I don’t recognize this guy. He’s pale, and wearing wire-rimmed glasses. He pushes them up his nose using his middle finger then extends his hand.

We shake. His hand is smooth, with a quick, tight grip.

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