Chapter 9 #2
At four o’clock exactly, they watched the shadow align with a mark on the sundial’s base. When Aidan pressed it, nothing happened.
“Try again,” Dylan said, kneeling beside him.
He pressed harder. A soft click, but still nothing opened.
“Wait.” Dylan ran her fingers along the sundial’s base, feeling for irregularities. “There—feel that? There’s another mark here, at two o’clock.”
“So maybe we need to—” Aidan checked his watch. “We missed it. Two o’clock was hours ago.”
“No, look at the design.” Dylan traced the ornate metalwork around the sundial’s face. “These aren’t just decorative. They’re Roman numerals worked into the pattern. What if we need to press them in sequence?”
They studied the sundial together, heads nearly touching. The Roman numerals were cleverly hidden in the scrollwork—IV disguised as part of a vine, IX worked into a flower’s petals.
“Four o’clock,” Dylan said. “IV. Then what?”
“The clue mentioned sacred vows. Marriage vows.” Aidan’s eyes lit up. “My grandparents’ anniversary—June 21st. Six and twenty-one. VI and…there’s no twenty-one in Roman numerals on a sundial.”
“But two and one,” Dylan said suddenly. “II and I. Press them separately?”
Aidan found the hidden II worked into what looked like parallel stems. “Got it. So IV, then VI, then II, then I?”
They pressed the sequence. Another click, louder this time, and a section of the pedestal shifted but didn’t open.
“We’re close,” Dylan said. “But something’s still missing.”
She stood back, studying the whole structure. The sundial sat on an octagonal base, each face decorated with different scenes—gardens, mountains, water, stars.
“The clue,” she said. “Where love was witnessed by the stars. Which face has stars?”
They circled the pedestal. The north face showed a night sky worked in metal, constellation patterns picked out in tiny holes that would let light through.
“Press the same sequence on this side,” Dylan suggested.
This time, when they completed the sequence, the entire north face of the pedestal swung open on hidden hinges, revealing not just one compartment but three, each with its own small lock.
“Of course it couldn’t be simple,” Aidan muttered. “Three locks, no keys.”
Dylan examined the locks closely. “Not key locks. These are puzzle locks. Look—each has different symbols.”
The first showed phases of the moon, the second had seasons represented by tiny leaves, snowflakes, flowers, and fruit. The third displayed numbers in what looked like dates.
“The moon garden,” Dylan said. “Full moon for the first—that’s when the white flowers bloomed best.”
The second lock clicked open when Aidan turned it to summer—when they were married.
“The third has to be their wedding date,” he said, spinning the numbers to 06-21-62.
All three compartments opened simultaneously, but only the middle one contained anything—another oilcloth bundle with the next clue.
“Your grandfather really didn’t want this found by accident,” Dylan said.
“He wanted it found by someone willing to work for it,” Aidan corrected. “By people working together. I couldn’t have solved this alone.”
Dylan felt the weight of that statement—the way it applied to more than just puzzle locks and hidden compartments.
She watched as Aidan carefully lifted the oilcloth bundle from the middle compartment, his hands reverent as if he was handling not just his grandfather’s clue but the old man’s faith in what two people could accomplish together.
Inside, another clue waited.
The ring grows closer with each step, / But first you must decide, / Is love worth more than safety? / Is trust worth more than pride? / Seek the place where miners prayed / Before they went below, / Where faith was all they carried / Into darkness down below.
“The mine entrance shrine,” Dylan said, her mind already mapping the route. “North boundary, right?”
“About three miles. We could drive, but…” He gestured at the ATVs.
“Race you,” she said, already moving.
The ride to the mine was pure adrenaline, weaving through trees, jumping creeks, pushing the machines to their limits while the mountains watched like indulgent grandparents. Dylan won by half a length, pulling up to the sealed mine entrance breathless and triumphant.
The shrine stood beside the sealed mine—a small stone structure where miners had once prayed for safe return from the earth’s dark belly.
Years of Montana winters had shifted the ground around it, leaving the approach treacherous with loose scree and erosion channels that weren’t visible until you were almost on them.
“Careful,” Aidan warned, but Dylan was already moving toward the shrine, eager to find the next clue.
The rocks shifted under her boot—a grinding sound like bones breaking. The entire slope seemed to tilt, and suddenly she was sliding toward the mine’s sealed entrance where rusted bars covered a darkness that seemed to breathe cold air.
Aidan’s hand caught her arm, hauling her back with enough force that they both stumbled away from the unstable edge. They landed hard on solid ground, Dylan’s heart hammering against her ribs.
“The whole hillside’s been undermined,” he said, his voice tight. “Grandda must have come from the other direction.”
They circled around, finding a deer path that led to the shrine from above. The structure itself was solid—stone and mortar that had weathered a century of storms—but the ground around the old mine was honeycombed with collapsed tunnels, waiting to swallow the unwary.
“This is why they sealed it,” Aidan said. “Kids used to dare each other to go inside before the county put those bars up. Duncan almost fell through a false floor when he was twelve.”
Inside the shrine, they found another compartment, another piece of Patrick’s elaborate puzzle.
Five stones you’ve turned, five truths you’ve learned, / The journey nears its end, / But one more challenge waits for those / Who dare to comprehend. / The highest point, where eagles soar, / Where earth and heaven meet, / There lies the treasure that you seek, / But first, make love complete.
“Eagle’s Point,” Dylan breathed. “The highest point on O’Hara land.”
“Three-hour climb. We’d never make it back before dark.”
“Next Saturday then. The final clue.”
As they drove back toward the ranch, the sun beginning its descent behind mountains that looked painted by someone in love with drama, Dylan felt the weight of approaching endings—the treasure hunt, the excuse to spend Saturdays with Aidan.
“Let me take you to dinner,” Aidan said as they reached the ranch house. “In town.”
The invitation hung between them like morning mist over the lake—delicate, beautiful, ready to evaporate at the wrong word.
The warmth that spread through her chest had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. “The Lampstand?”
“Where else? Might as well give the town front-row seats to our lives.”
They drove to town as evening painted the valley in shades of amethyst and gold, that mountain twilight that made everything look like it existed in a fairy tale where endings hadn’t been written yet.
The Lampstand glowed against Main Street like a promise of warmth and witnesses, and Aidan found parking in the lot in front of Hank’s construction office.
They walked hand in hand across the street toward Main, where in just a couple of weeks there would be a giant Christmas tree sitting in the center of the X that formed downtown. They were already prepping the area for the skating rink, and it would be full of skaters before too long.
Saturday night had filled the restaurant with locals and tourists, the dining room humming with conversation layered like harmonies.
Heads turned as they entered together—not unusual for Aidan, who drew attention like flowers drew photographers, but different because his hand rested on Dylan’s lower back with unmistakable intention.
Simone seated them in the same booth they’d had the last time.
They’d barely ordered when Dylan spotted her—Victoria at the bar, elegant as winter moonlight, a glass of white wine catching the light like captured stars.
She wasn’t alone—Judge Harrison’s wife provided audience for what looked like casual conversation but felt like reconnaissance.
“She’s here,” Dylan said quietly.
“I know. I saw her when we walked in.”
“And you still wanted to eat here?”
“Of course. This is our town. She’s the visitor here, and I’m not going to walk on eggshells trying to avoid her. Besides, you and I have been inseparable for weeks. I think the town knows what’s going on between us and that my intentions are pretty clear.”
“Hmm,” she said, for lack of anything better.
“You have the most incredible eyes,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ve never seen a color like them.”
“My mother’s eyes,” Dylan said softly. “I think it made my dad sad to look at me. I’ve seen pictures of her. I look like her.”
“You look like you,” Aidan said. “And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She snorted out a laugh at that. “Yeah, right. Especially when I’m covered in grease and grime.”
“Honey, that just means you don’t know men at all,” he said, sitting back with a grin. “I have to catch my breath every time I see you put on those coveralls and cover your hair with that ugly cap.”
Her mouth went dry as a bone, and she had trouble swallowing.
There was a look in his eyes that was heat and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
She’d loved him these last five years, dreamed of him—of them together—but she’d kept those feelings in check, understanding they could never come to fruition.
But somewhere deep inside her was a spark of hope, a heat that had started as an ember and was fanning into something all consuming.
She knew whatever her own gaze held echoed his own, and she would have given anything to be alone with him so the world wasn’t intruding on this moment.
Her voice was low and husky when she was finally able to speak. “Maybe you’re just weird.”
“Maybe so,” he said. “I figure there’s a reason no other woman has stuck before now. It’s just because there’s no one like you.”
Their food arrived, and they talked about safe things while dancing around dangerous ones—the restoration shop’s progress, the weather forecast for next Saturday’s climb, how he wanted to kiss her in the moonlight while the light danced behind their eyelids.
Dylan had been so lost in the conversation, in the moment, that she'd completely forgotten Victoria was there until she showed up at their table, breaking the spell of their private bubble. She felt more than saw heads turn their direction.
"Aidan, Dylan," Victoria said with a smile that belonged in a museum of practiced expressions. "I wanted to stop by before I left."
Dylan's hand froze halfway to her water glass. The confidence she'd felt moments ago—the glow from Aidan's attention, the warmth of their dinner—evaporated like steam off hot metal. She was suddenly, acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the restaurant turning their way.
"Victoria." Aidan's voice was carefully neutral, his body language closing off in a way that made something in Dylan's chest tighten with anxiety rather than relief.
"I hope I'm not interrupting." Victoria's gaze swept over their table—the half-eaten meals, the wine glasses, the breadstick Dylan had been reaching for—cataloging everything with the precision of someone inventorying what used to be hers.
"I just saw you both here and wanted to properly apologize for the other day at the garage. I was caught off guard."
"It's fine," Dylan said, though her voice came out smaller than she intended.
But Victoria didn't leave. Instead, she gestured to the empty chair with elegant certainty. "Do you mind if I sit for just a moment? I feel terrible about how I came across."
Dylan wanted to object, to say they did mind, but the words stuck somewhere between her heart and her mouth.
Around them, she could feel the restaurant's attention like heat on her skin.
Everyone was watching. Everyone would be talking about this tomorrow.
And Victoria had already claimed the chair before either of them could respond, settling in with the grace of someone who'd never been told no.
"I've been thinking about our brief meeting," Victoria said, looking between them with something that seemed like warmth but felt calculated. "And I realized I was rude. I was just so surprised to see..." she paused delicately, "...how much things had changed at the garage."
"Seven years is a long time," Aidan said evenly.
Victoria's laugh was practiced perfection.
"It really is. Do you remember that spring when we drove to Charleston?
It feels like yesterday and forever ago all at once.
" She turned to Dylan with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Aidan and I got caught in the most ridiculous rainstorm.
We ended up dancing in the street like idiots while tourists took pictures. "
Dylan felt herself shrinking into her chair. She'd never danced with Aidan in the rain. Never taken spontaneous trips to Charleston. Never been part of the memories that shaped him.