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The residents had moved in a couple days ago and were getting settled in, facilitated by the lead social worker Poppy had hired. Emotions were so high, so overwhelming, producing many tears and many grateful hearts. The community center had been full for every waking hour, the washers and dryers always running, the showers always occupied, and the couches stuffed with congregating residents. The TV and the two computers we’d set up were nearly always in use, and the sight was as fulfilling as it was heartbreaking. To be afforded the small luxuries we so often took for granted had already changed them. It had changed all of us.
The day was winding down, the food trucks packing up and the crowd beginning to thin. Poppy called everyone around to thank them and dismiss them to leave everyone in peace, and Keaton had taken my hand and led me to his truck to head back to the house.
It had been a wild few months for Lindenbach.
As we worked to finish our project, the town exploded in tumult. At first, Mitchell tried to spin the situation around, barking and squawking and denying any wrongdoing. But the investigation turned up more and more dirt, including incriminating evidence regarding the sheriff and many of our town’s politicians and the hundreds of thousands Mitchell had paid out over the years to ensure he’d get his way.
In the end, they’d all either resigned or been booted. Mitchell had sequestered himself in a ranch outside Dallas and was awaiting trial, never risking showing his face in town after a nasty run-in with some angry townsfolk. Nobody was hurt, thank God. Couldn’t say as much for Mitchell’s ego.
As such, the political future of our town was up in the air. There would be a snap election for mayor, that much we knew, but we needed to reassign our council and sheriff first. Jensen was up for the job, and he looked like a shoe-in. A number of people had thrown their hat in the ring for mayor, including Poppy, and under duress. But despite her insistence to the contrary, she was gobbling up every minute. The woman was ready to fight, and I was putting my money on her.
Keaton and I rumbled down the dirt road to the house, my hand under his on the center console. A happy smile had graced my lips every minute of every day, pretty sure even in my sleep. We’d been staying in the cottage, though I wasn’t sure for how long. His house just felt crowded these days, and all we wanted was to be alone with each other, and as such, the cottage made the most sense.
We did decide to buy and cook actual food. After the first week, at least.
When Keaton turned unexpectedly up a trail in the woods, I glanced at him, confused.
He kept his eyes ahead of him, but his lips were tilted up.
“What are you doing?” I asked, looking back out the window. I knew where we were, though I had no clue why we were there.
“You’ll see.”
Frowning, I kept looking out the windows, trying to guess and coming up with nothing.
The sun was a finger’s width from the horizon, bathing the meadow and hill we pulled into in golden remnants of sunlight. He pulled to a stop at the top of the hill and opened his door.
“C’mon,” he said with that smile on his face and the jerk of his chin.
Confused but smiling, I followed.
We walked to the crest of the hill and looked out across the rolling land. Below us was the valley I rode in so often, the stream cutting through the land below—we stood in the place I’d often stopped to admire. In the fading sunshine, it was as beautiful as it ever was, and I sighed, despite having no idea what we were doing.
He took my hand and pulled me to the west, talking as we walked, the tall grass rasping against our legs.
“So I’ve been thinking a lot, wanted to get your opinion on something.”
“Sure.”
“Well,” he stopped and motioned in front of him, “I figure the kitchen could go here, the living room over there”—My heart quit beating, springing back to life straight into my throat—“but I was thinking, if we put our bedroom above it instead of in the front where you wanted it, we can see the sun set over the valley every night. The worst part will probably be the driveway—we’re almost smack in the middle of the property—but your mama said we could cut through to the highway anywhere we wanted.”
He was still talking, but I heard nothing. No longer was I looking where he pointed. I was staring at him with my mouth hanging open like a trout.
“Keaton …”
He looked down at me with an expression too amused to be legal. “Hmm?”
