Chapter 2
chapter
two
Caleb stood still long enough for his disbelief to pass.
Millie was really here. Standing in front of him. Looking frightened and confused—and rightfully so given the coincidence of their reunion.
She wasn’t a memory. She wasn’t a trick his brain had pulled after too little sleep and too much responsibility.
No, Millie Johnson—that was how he’d known her—stood with her shoulders drawn and her face pale with exhaustion and shock.
He shoved his emotions down.
This wasn’t the time to feel anything. Whatever history they shared belonged in another life. Right now, Millie was a woman who’d driven too far on too little rest with fear riding shotgun—and his job was to get her inside to safety.
A cocker spaniel stood beside her, watching Caleb with a guarded expression.
He stepped closer, careful to keep his movements slow. “We’re glad you’re here.”
She said nothing. Her gaze flicked past him as she scanned the property, taking everything in—probably looking for any signs that she should run.
He grabbed the radio from his belt. “Max, can you come do a sweep?”
“On my way.”
A light clicked on near the side porch, followed by footsteps crunching over gravel. Max Kincaid appeared. Caleb was thankful to have him here to help.
Max had worked the land for Sarah before her death, and he’d stayed on afterward. The man was quiet, capable, and deeply loyal to the place she’d left behind. Caleb didn’t know what he’d do without his help around here.
“Can you check the car?” Caleb kept his voice even so he wouldn’t alarm Millie. “Just the usual.”
“On it.” Max nodded once and headed toward the Lexus.
The tension in Millie’s shoulders seemed to shift as she watched, the motion subtle but unmistakable.
“This is just standard intake,” Caleb explained. “We don’t assume anything, but we don’t ignore possibilities either. We have to make sure there are no trackers on your vehicle, nothing that could lead anyone to your location.”
Relief flickered across her face before she masked it. She nodded, lips pressed together. Her grip on her dog’s red leash loosened a fraction.
Caleb crouched and held out a hand toward her dog. “Hey there.”
The dog sniffed, then stepped forward. Friendly. Cautious. Smart.
“What’s his name?” Caleb asked.
“Biscuit.”
“My dog is Hamilton.”
“Hamilton . . . ?” She stared at him and blinked.
Of course, she’d put it together. He’d named his dog after the musical the two of them had seen on one of their first dates.
He’d claimed to hate musicals, until Millie convinced him to see that one. He’d been a changed man after that. He’d even caught himself humming songs afterward.
He shoved the thought aside. It didn’t matter anyway.
Biscuit’s tail wagged once when Hamilton moved closer. They sniffed each other, then began wagging their tails.
“Looks like they’re good,” Caleb said.
Millie released a slow breath.
As the dogs made introductions, Max circled the car, checking beneath the chassis, the wheel wells, the seams near the bumpers. He worked quickly but thoroughly, flashlight beam steady.
Caleb took Millie in at a glance. Then, against his will, he did the same a second time.
Millie’s skin still held that warm olive tone he remembered. Her hair was darker now—deep brown, nearly black in the low light—worn long and pulled back in a loose knot that exposed the familiar line of her neck.
When she turned slightly, her profile was unmistakable. Straight nose. Defined jaw. The same thoughtful stillness he remembered from years ago. This was the woman who’d had a strong sense of adventure. Who’d loved musicals and hiking and pistachio ice cream.
What had changed was the way she carried herself. She stood with a quiet awareness, weight balanced, shoulders relaxed but ready. She was slimmer than he remembered—not fragile, just pared down.
When she met his gaze, her eyes were steady and familiar.
Six years had passed. She was different in ways he could see, but not unfamiliar. That was clear enough. She was still Millie. And standing there in front of him, she made it impossible to pretend the past had stayed where he’d left it.
His life was so different now. So much had happened. Had changed. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t regret how he’d ended things with her. It had seemed like the right choice at the time. But his heart told him differently.
Caleb shoved those thoughts aside and turned back toward the house. “While Max finishes up here, let’s get you inside. Mom made some homemade chicken noodle soup that’s still on the stove and some fresh sourdough bread before she left. You look like you could use both.”
Her eyes lifted to his, surprise flooding her gaze. “That sounds . . . it sounds really good. I haven’t eaten since I left. I didn’t want to risk stopping for too long—only for coffee, gas, and bathroom breaks.”
“Max will grab your bags when he’s done and move your car into the garage and out of sight,” Caleb said. “You left the keys in the ignition?”
“I did.”
“I’m glad you made it.” As they started toward the house, he added, “You’ll be safe here.”
Caleb would do everything in his power to make sure that was true.
Warmth wrapped around Millie from the moment the door closed behind her.
It wasn’t just the heat—though the air inside was comfortably warm, and the smell of soup settled something tight in her chest.
It was the feeling of reprieve. The realization that walls stood around her. The fact that—for just a moment—she didn’t need to worry that Garrick might appear from the shadows to punish her.
She and Caleb—as well as their dogs—had come in through a side entrance. Caleb reached past her to flip a switch, and soft light filled a short hallway. He took her coat and hung it on a row of hooks already crowded with jackets and work coats.
The sight was oddly reassuring.
The hallway opened into the kitchen, and she slowed without meaning to.
The room was beautiful. A large, white marble island anchored the space, four barstools lined neatly along one side.
Beyond it sat a long wooden table with eight chairs pulled close, as if meant to be filled more often than not.
A black farmhouse-style chandelier hung overhead, casting a warm, even glow.
“This house . . .” she said before she could stop herself. “It’s gorgeous.”
Caleb followed her gaze, a faint—almost sad—smile touching his mouth. “My sister had great taste.”
Had.
The word didn’t go unnoticed. Millie filed it away without comment. Now wasn’t the time to ask. Maybe there would never be a time to ask.
Her attention shifted as she took in the space beyond the kitchen.
In the living room, beige couches formed a comfortable sitting area, centered around a gray brick fireplace. A black-and-white rug grounded the space, pulling everything together. A few candles burned along the mantel, their light steady and calm, their scent soothing.
Another room was tucked beside the front door. From where she stood, she could see walls lined with bookshelves, a mini-grand piano, and a couple of plush chairs.
Millie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
If she was going to be anywhere tonight, she was grateful it was here. It was much better than some dirty motel in the middle of nowhere that only took cash.
A woman wandered into the room, and Millie recognized her immediately. Naomi—Caleb’s sister. She stirred something on the burner, then turned as they stepped farther into the room.
Naomi’s gaze met hers, and recognition flickered in her eyes. Her expression eased into a small, genuine smile. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Millie?”
“It’s me.”
They met halfway across the kitchen and hugged.
“I can’t believe it,” Naomi said against her shoulder. “It’s really you.”
Millie nodded, throat tight. “I didn’t expect to see you either.”
“Same here.” Naomi pulled back, her eyes searching Millie’s face. “But I’m glad you’re here, that our paths crossed again. I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Coincidences . . . Millie didn’t believe in them either.
She believed in God, believed that He worked in all things.
Even when Garrick had convinced her to leave her church for a more “prestigious” one—one filled with politicians and powerful people she had nothing in common with—she’d maintained her faith.
Even after everything with Garrick had imploded, her faith was what had sustained her through the sleepless nights and paralyzing fear.
But sustaining didn’t mean understanding. She still had questions. Still wondered why God had allowed this to happen to her, why He hadn’t protected her from Garrick in the first place.
Maybe her being here was part of some sort of plan He had for her.
Is that what this is, God? Are You trying to teach me something? Forgiveness maybe? Are You trying to humble me more? Haven’t I been humbled enough?
“You must be hungry.” Naomi headed to the stove, where a large pot with steam rising from it sat on a burner. “Have a seat while I get you some food.”
Millie lowered herself into a seat at the table while Naomi grabbed a bowl and ladled some soup into it. A moment later, she set it in front of Millie along with thick slices of bread and pads of butter. A glass of iced tea followed, beads of condensation sliding down the side.
Biscuit looked up longingly, and Naomi noticed.
“Can I give him something to eat also?” Naomi said. “I think I saw Max bring in a bag of dog food.”
“If you don’t mind, that would be great.”
“Of course.”
A few minutes later, Naomi crouched in the kitchen to set down a bowl of food and water for Biscuit. He didn’t hesitate, tail wagging as he dug in.
Millie watched him eat and released some air from her lungs.
Biscuit was fine. He was safe.
So was she.
For now, at least.
Caleb took the chair across from her. He sat there and patiently waited for her to eat. He’d always been steady and stalwart.
Stalwart? Where had that word come from?