Chapter 12
Twelve
Asher didn’t know what he thought about Destiny and Roger’s argument, but something woke him up in the recliner at five a.m., and it wasn’t just the crick in his neck.
He was missing something.
And Roger certainly wasn’t going to help him. The man had gone to his room and locked the door. And no amount of knocking had gotten him to open it again.
So Asher had checked the house. Checked the perimeter. Checked the security cameras. Made sure they were still safe. Made sure no threats had breached the property.
Then he’d stood outside Daphne’s door. Hand raised to knock. Ready to tell her that he knew more than he was saying.
But it was nearly three a.m., and they’d had a crazy day, and waking her to unload eighteen months of lies felt selfish.
So he’d gone back downstairs. Sat in the recliner. Told himself he’d tell her in the morning.
And despite his best intentions, had fallen asleep thinking about how she fit into his arms.
Now, gray dawn light filtered through the windows, the house quiet. He sat up. His entire body felt wrung out and dragged along the pavement.
He made coffee, no sugar, no cream, black as diesel fuel, and poured it into a travel mug. Pulled on boots and a jacket. Went outside.
He loved the ranch this early in the morning. Mist rising from the creek. Mountains dark against a sky turning from gray to gold. Air cold and sharp with the scent of sage and pine and earth.
This place. This representation of the man he’d wanted to be.
He spotted movement by the barn. Duke was already up.
He liked the man—the kind of man who could fix anything with his hands and needed very few words to communicate.
He’d been working this land for thirty years, from back when it was owned by Clint Waverly and ran three hundred head of cattle.
A working ranch instead of a ranch that leased out hunting rights.
Duke was at the fence line, mending a post and rail that had come loose.
“Morning,” Asher called.
Duke looked up. Nodded. “Morning. You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Bad dreams or guilty conscience?”
Asher laughed. “Wow. Maybe both.”
“Coffee helps with one. Prayer helps with the other.” Duke went back to the fence. “Hand me that hammer?”
Asher grabbed the hammer from the toolbox. Passed it over.
“Hold that rail steady while I nail.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes. The sound of the hammer echoed across the valley.
“Isn’t it hard?” Asher asked. “Working out here by yourself? Living alone?”
Duke looked up at him. “You asking about me or about you?”
“Again, maybe both.”
Duke set down the hammer. Straightened. Looked out at the mountains and the creek and the land spread before them.
“I’m not alone,” he said quietly. “It’s me and the Almighty. Been that way for fifteen years. Ever since my Esther died. Ever since I decided solitude was better than trying to replace what I’d lost.”
“You never remarried?”
“Never wanted to. Esther was it for me. Twenty years of marriage. Three kids. Grandkids now. She left me with plenty.” Duke picked up another nail. “But being alone isn’t the same as being lonely. Not when you’ve got faith.”
Asher held the rail steady. “You really believe that? That God’s enough? That faith fills the gaps?”
“I really believe that.” Duke hammered. Three solid strikes. “You don’t?”
“I don’t know.” The words came harder than Asher expected.
“My mom goes to church. Still. Even after everything. After my dad left. After my sister died.” He paused.
Adjusted his grip on the rail. “So I guess she still has faith. Still prays. Still talks about God like He’s present and loving.
And I—” Asher stopped. “I can’t understand it.
Can’t understand how she holds on to someone who let her daughter die.
Who let her life fall apart over and over. ”
Duke said nothing for a long while, working a new fence pole into the ground. “You think faith means nothing bad happens?”
Asher held another fence pole.
“Isn’t that what it’s supposed to mean? God protecting people who believe in Him?”
“Yes. And no. Hammer.”
Asher handed it over.
Duke grabbed another nail, and Asher held the railing. “Faith means you’re not alone when bad things happen. Means you’ve got someone walking with you through the darkness. Means you’ve got hope, even when everything falls apart.”
He moved to the next section of fence. Tested it. Found it solid.
“Your mama didn’t lose her faith because your sister died. She held on to her faith so she could survive your sister dying. See the difference?”
Hmm. Asher saw it. Didn’t like it, but saw it.
“I’m not sure God accepts me anyway,” he said quietly. “After everything I’ve done. Everything I’ve—” He stopped. “I’ve…made some choices that cost lives. Lied to people I care about. I’m pretty sure God doesn’t forgive that kind of darkness.”
Duke looked over at him, something compassionate in his weathered face.
Then he tucked the hammer away and reached for his coffee cup.
Stood, facing the mountains. “I knew a guy once,” Duke said slowly, “who killed people. Ordered their deaths. Stood by and watched while good people died. Thought he was doing the right thing. Thought he was serving God by destroying His enemies.”
Asher’s stomach clenched. Had Duke—
“His name was Paul,” Duke continued. “Started as Saul. Hunted Christians. Killed them. Did terrible things in God’s name. And you know what God did?”
“What?”
“Saved him anyway. Transformed him. Made him into one of the greatest teachers of faith the world has ever known. Wrote half the New Testament. Brought people to God.”
He took another sip. “And Paul wasn’t the only criminal in the Bible. Moses killed a man. David committed adultery and murder. Peter betrayed Christ three times. The Bible’s full of people who did terrible things. And God saved them all. Used them all. Loved them all.”
He paused. Looked at Asher. “God doesn’t qualify His salvation.
Doesn’t measure your sins and decide if you’re good enough.
He offers it freely. To everyone. No matter what you’ve done.
” He drained his coffee. “You can’t out-sin God’s love, son.
Can’t do something so dark He’ll turn His back on you. That’s not how it works.”
He didn’t know why his chest had filled, tightened.
Duke walked over to the next fence post. It sagged at an angle, and he grabbed his hammer to loosen the nails.
And Asher couldn’t help himself. “Then how does it work?”
Duke grabbed the pole, started to set it to rights.
“Faith. Trust. Just believing that God is who He says He is. That He loves you.” He got it straight and turned to Asher.
“You believe that He’s not leaving, even when you mess up.
Even when you fail. Even when you do things you regret.
” Duke pulled off his glove, clamped his hand on Asher’s shoulder.
“And even when terrible things happen that you don’t have any control over.
Deuteronomy 31:8 says ‘The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.’” Then he patted Asher’s shoulder.
Like a father might his son.
And Asher just…Shoot. His entire body warmed, his chest hot, his throat thick.
“Faith is believing that even when you can’t see Him or feel Him or understand Him, He’s there.
He’s with you. He won’t betray you.” He put his glove back on.
“Whatever you’ve done, son—whatever you’re carrying—it’s not too much for God.
Your sins won’t keep Him from saving you.
His love is bigger than your failures. And His plan for you is better than you can even imagine.
You’re the only one who can hold back all God has for you. ”
“How?”
Duke laughed. “By thinking you can handle it yourself. It’s the devil’s joke to make you think you can finagle your own happy ending.”
Movement behind them. Footsteps on gravel.
Asher turned.
Daphne stood there. Hair pulled back. Jeans and a sweatshirt. Beautiful in the morning light. Green eyes steady, but something urgent in them.
How long had she been standing there? How much had she heard?
“Good morning, Duke,” she said.
“Ma’am.” He picked up his tools, glanced at Asher. “Got more fence to check.” Then he winked at Asher.
Huh.
Daphne seemed to wait until Duke was out of earshot. Then moved closer. Urgent. Focused.
“Asher, we need to talk. Inside.”
Something in her tone. Something was wrong.
They walked to the house. Fast. Silent. Up the porch steps. Through the door. Into the kitchen, where coffee was still warm and morning light streamed through windows.
Daphne turned to face him. Eyes fierce. Determined. “I know who the mole is.”
Asher’s heart kicked. “Who?”
“Destiny was telling the truth.” Her voice was certain. Absolute. “Roger is the mole. And I’m not sure if he’s working with Draven or against him, but he’s definitely in contact with whoever attacked us.”
He stared at her. “I don’t—”
“I found this.” She held out her hand.
He stared at it. The burner phone from the house, the one he’d put in his pocket before the fight with Dmitri.
The one he’d lost.
“Destiny found it in the back seat of the SUV. Roger’s been communicating with them. He’s the mole.”
Aw. He took a deep breath.
“No,” he said quietly. “He’s not.”
Daphne looked at Asher Morrison, and a stone dropped through her.
The secrets. The careful answers. The way he’d said “You shouldn’t trust me,” even while asking her to.
The guilt in his eyes every time she’d questioned him. The way he’d looked at her last night like he was memorizing her face before losing her.
Oh no—no—
“What do you mean ‘No, he’s not’?” Daphne kept her voice steady.
“No. Roger is not the mole.”
She blinked at him. “Then—what’s this?” She pointed to the phone. “Whose—”
And then she saw it. The way he swallowed, looked away from her, sighed.
Her knees wanted to buckle. Her hand went to a chair, her chest tight…
“Asher…?”
“Just, take a breath and listen.”