After lunch, Lila disappears to her room with her drawings tucked under her arm, pausing only to inform us that the invisible fortress is expanding.
The house settles again.
Faith rinses her mug at the sink, humming softly, and I watch the way she moves through my kitchen. My home,herhome too, in a way.
“Hey,” I say, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “You wanna go into town with me?”
She turns, eyebrow lifting. “Now?”
“Yeah. I’ve got… something.”
Her eyes narrow playfully. “That sounds ominous.”
“Put your coat on,” I say. “Trust me.”
She hesitates just a beat, then nods.
The drive into Buckhorn is quiet, comfortable. Snow lines the roads, the sky bright and clear in that cold Oregon way. Faith watches out the window, relaxed in the passenger seat, still getting used to the fact that she’s allowed to just be.
We park outside the town hall, and that’s when she looks at me properly.
“Dallas,” she says slowly, “why are we here?”
“Trust me,” I say. “Please.”
She hesitates, then nods, slipping her gloves back on.
We’re barely three steps into Mayor Ruth Caldwell’s office before I feel Faith tense beside me. I’m tense too, but mostly because she’s about to find out about my secret meetings. I hope she takes it well.
The room is bright in that small-town civic way. Wide windows, framed photos of Buckhorn through the decades, a hand-stitched quilt folded over the back of a chair. Nothing intimidating. Nothing corporate.
And still, Faith straightens, bracing for impact.
Ruth notices.
She doesn’t comment on it. That alone earns her points.
“Faith Ross,” Ruth says warmly, standing and offering her hand. “I’m glad you came.”
Faith hesitates only a fraction of a second before shaking it. “Yes, Dallas… brought me here.”
“Sit,” Ruth says, already moving back behind her desk. “Both of you.”
Faith perches on the edge of the chair, polite, careful, waiting to be evaluated. I sit back, boots planted, letting her take center stage even though I can feel her trying to shrink.
Ruth folds her hands. “Dallas has been talking about you to me.”
Faith shoots me a look. Half surprise. Halfexcuse me?
“All good things,” Ruth adds dryly. “Mostly about how you see things. And how you don’t see Buckhorn the way the rest of us do.”
Faith blinks. “I?—”
Ruth lifts a hand gently. “Before you start worrying you’re about to be quizzed, let me be clear. This is not a job interview in the traditional sense. I don’t care where you worked before or who you know.”
“A…” She glances at me. “A job interview.”
When she gives me an inquisitive look, I nod and smile.
