He jerked back as if she’d slapped him, cool night air rushing in to fill the space where his warmth had been. Several feet of distance materialized between them.
“Noah?”
He acted as if he’d read her mind.
He shook his head, took another step backward. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
The words hit, hollowing her out. Bruising.I can’t kiss you. I can’t move on. I can’t love you.
He stood there for an eternity, wrestling with demons she couldn’t see. Then he sighed.
It sounded terribly like defeat.
“Early hike with Teague tomorrow. Need to…turn in early.” His voice trailed off as he headed for the side door.
Right. Whatever.
Meg stared at the empty space where he’d been, the canyon’s silence pressing against her eardrums. What was she supposed to do with that? Chase him down? Demand explanations? Force him to face whatever haunted him?
No. She turned back to the dark canyon, the moon’s glow, and finally saw the owl, alone and soaring in the night, searching.
She’d forgotten how beautiful color could be.
Nimue let the vibrant red pencil drift across white paper, tracing the canyon rim’s gentle curves in unhurried strokes. Sunlight warmed her shoulders through the thin cotton of her shirt, a whisper of breeze carrying the scent of pine and sage across the Grand Canyon Lodge’s back porch.
Her sketchbook rested against her knees, pages fluttering softly in the mountain air. A week since the hospital—ribs still tender, movements still careful—but the ache had settled into something manageable. Healing, like the slow blending of red into ocher and gold beneath her fingers.
Years of sketching in careful grays seemed like another lifetime. Another person. The woman who’d lived in shadows and encrypted files felt like someone who’d died.
And in her place, a rebirth of sorts. A new life.
And now, the canyon stretched endlessly before her in layers of ancient beauty.
She added a touch of amber to catch the sunlight on distant stone. The pencil moved without hesitation now, each stroke a small act of joy. No overthinking. No second-guessing. Just color blooming across the page like wildflowers after rain.
Tourist voices drifted from inside the lodge, punctuated by the soft clink of coffee cups and gentle laughter. Peace. When had she last experienced true peace?
A red-tailed hawk circled lazy spirals above the rim, riding thermals with effortless grace. Nimue paused to watch its flight, pencil suspended above the paper, a smile tugging at her lips.
Boot steps approached across weathered planks, familiar and unhurried.
“Caught you in the zone.”
Liam’s voice wrapped around her like warm honey. Just his presence was sweet. She glanced up and her breath paused. He stood silhouetted against the morning sky, ranger hat tilted at that perfect angle that cast shadows over his strong features. Sunlight highlighted the stubble along his jaw and the windswept waves of his dark hair. Trail dust coated his worn jacket, stretched taut across shoulders that had carried her to safety.
Everything about him radiated quiet strength, the kind of man who walked into danger without hesitation, who made promises and kept them.
He looked over her shoulder.
“It’s good, Nimue. Really good.”
Heat climbed her neck as she held up the sketch. The canyon blazed across the page—alive, vivid. Nothing like her old tentative drawings.
“Feels right.” The words came out softer than intended.
Liam picked up one of the broken blue pencils from the battered tin. “Still wish you’d let me replace these.”
“Never.” Her hand covered his, stopping the motion. “Ex-Navy SEALs thought they were weapons, remember? And you paid the price.”
