Page 64 of Tormented Hearts

Hawk waited in silence for her to process the moment.

When she started walking again, he fell back into the slow rhythm of their pace. The birds flitted around the treetops. Somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker tapped on a tree.

“Do you miss him?” he asked after a few moments.

She glanced at him, surprise in her eyes. “My father? Of course I do.”

“I just wondered, since he wasn’t as supportive as you would have liked.” He ducked under a branch.

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t have good times with him.”

They skirted the tree at last and he located the best route through the forest again.

“What about your father, Heath?”

He stepped wrong and almost lost his footing but righted himself by grabbing a sapling. “I don’t remember him. He left when my brother and I were young. All I know is he worked in construction. One day he just never came home. I never missed him. I had my grandpa for the things boys need—playing catch and going to Boy Scout meetings.”

“I’m glad you had him.”

They continued in silence a while, but as usual, they didn’t seem to need words to fill a void—their quiet came with a feeling of ease, as if they’d been friends forever.

As the forest opened up, sunlight brightened the world. He paused to scan the area and excitement tugged at him.

“I think this is it. Booth Ridge.” The view between the trees revealed open air as the ground fell away.

“Really?” Sticks crunched as Sinead rushed up beside him. She had her phone in hand, the photo of the ceiling carving pulled up. She looked around. “Where are the springs?”

He searched the landscape. “Let’s look for them. We’re searching for wet spots on the ground or clusters of rocks where water would bubble between them.”

The chill of the morning still lingered in the shadows, a cooling relief after their hot march through the thick woods. The ridge ran for a good half mile, and he didn’t let Sinead out of his sight, aware of her position at all times as well as their surroundings.

He clocked that the forest hadn’t gone silent, but a prickle on his nape kept him vigilant.

“Heath!” Excitement echoed in her voice. “I think I found one!”

He hurried over to her and stared at the ground at her feet. Sure enough, the leaves were damp. He crouched and sifted through them, gauging whether the water came from the last rain.

Seeing a fresh trickle of clear water, he tipped his head back to shoot her a grin. “You’re right.”

They set off again in search of the two other springs. Within twenty minutes, they located both of them.

She grabbed his hand, eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Get out your phone again. Let’s check the carving.”

They hunched over the photo, studying the line of the ridge and the three springs. Then he expanded the corner where a cluster of small strike marks caught his eye. They were straight, evenly spaced. Nothing like the flowing lines of the route itself.

“These at the bottom. Looks like they’re counting something.”

Sinead leaned in close, her hair catching a stray beam of morning light, and they both stared at the marks.

At the same time, they spoke. “Paces.”

She let out a short laugh, eyes bright in a way that made his heart flex hard. She started counting, murmuring under her breath, finger tracing each strike.

“Okay—I’m getting somewhere around forty, but a few of these look lighter. They might just be scratches, not actual tally marks.”

“It’s an estimate either way. Winthrop’s stride wouldn’t match his prospector buddies’. His pace would differ depending on his height, gait. Yours will be shorter than mine too.”