“Guilt for what?”
“That’s Miller’s business.” Ernie returned his heavy brown eyes to the field where Garrett stood with our group. “And that right there is yours.”
Chapter Twelve
Poems and love songs had been written about the kind of golden moon hovering in the sky above me as I stepped out of my car that evening. The light filtered soft and languid, casting gentle shadows and illuminating the path to my cottage.
The nightsong of crickets and tree frogs filled the air, harmonizing from nearby grass, singing warbly odes to the warm breeze and fragrant honeysuckle perfume.
After a long day of working with three rounds of our new clients and scrambling for a replacement horse, not to mention tackling piles of paperwork, I’d met up with Olivia and Rosie at the Bayonet restaurant for some appetizers and venting. Each of us had our woes, but my sisters were all ears to hear about mine.
They were also all over my dating prospects. It had been a brief and foolish hope that the two would’ve forgotten it. But they’d shown me a list of contenders taken from three dating apps to run the potentials by me. Then forwarded the dude shopping list to Miller.
Without my blessing.
I could hardly think about Josh from Joplin, who enjoyed long walks in the park, or Frank from Fayetteville, who liked concerts and cozy nights at home, when my mind insisted on replaying this morning’s infuriating encounter with Miller.
Who did he think he was? My work was the one area in my life I was confident in, and I wasn’t going to let Miller take that away from me. I would never get in the way of other therapies, but there was something happening between Garrett and that horse. I’d seen that kind of connection time and again. Why not see where it led, especially if it could be a pathway to healing?
And what had Ernie meant when he said Miller was carrying guilt? Guilt for what? If it was in regard to his brother-in-law, Miller had been living in a completely different state when Jonathan had taken his own life. The responsibility wasn’t Miller’s.
My sandals slapped against the cracked pavement as I followed the path of the narrow sidewalk to the house, wishing I didn’t have to go inside.
Then I saw it.
Bathed in the glow of the porch light like the star of its own show.
It swayed slightly in the gentle wind, inviting me to come and sit.
I blinked twice and refocused, but nope. It was truly there.
Miller had bought me a porch swing. And not just any simple swing, but a hanging daybed, just as I’d described.
With a squeal, I ran up the steps and dove onto the swing, giving it a send-off, laughing as I took flight. The wooden frame smelled newly stained, and though it was a little underdressed now, I’d go to town tomorrow and buy just the covering my swing needed. Maybe some more ferns and flowers to keep it company. The lines of the piece were gorgeous, with curved arms and angles made for comfort.
Stretching out, I lay down, my skirt fanning around me. The August moon now seemed to be smiling, as if it had been waiting for me to find my gift.
Truck headlights illuminated my porch sanctuary as an old Ford truck I’d seen occasionally rambling on the farm pulled into my driveway. The driver’s side door opened, and Miller bailed out.
Even in the dark, I could see his sheepish grin. “Stay out here too long and the mosquitos will carry you away,” he said.
I’d wondered when he’d show up. “Miller James. Did you do this?”
He stood at the base of the porch, hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Just another home improvement. Adds to the value of the home.”
My heart swelled anyway. “You did this for me.”
“It was supposed to be here for your party, but my handyman was delayed.”
The blush rising on his cheeks raised a suspicion. “Did you design this?”
Miller shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “I did a quick sketch and asked a woodworking friend to do the labor.” He pointed to a rounded armrest. “The lines should make it more aerodynamic.”
“Very important in a porch swing. I noticed Myrtle Ellis a mile down the road has one. If that eighty-six-year-old ever challenges me to a race, I’ll totally smoke her.” My heart was doing funny things, and I sure wished it wouldn’t. The nicest thing Ned had ever given me was a six-month membership to the car wash, so something as thoughtful as designing and having a swing built was simply more than I could process. “I love it, Miller. Thank you.” I patted the space beside me, ready to offer a truce. “Come on up and try it out. You know you want to.”
His hesitation stretched for long seconds, and the night creatures stilled, as if leaning in and waiting for his response.
Finally, Miller put his long legs into motion and mounted the steps, crossing the porch with that athletic grace.
