Page 114 of The Roads We Follow

“Camp Selkirk has a new owner.”

“Really?” he asks. “Do you know who it is yet?”

“Well, technically, as of today, I’m one-fifth owner. Luella purchased it and gave it to her three daughters and to me and Garrett as a living inheritance. The deed is in all five of our names.” I hesitate. “I’m not sure where you stand with her, Dad, but ...” How do I even try to summarize what I feel for Luella after these weeks on the road with her? “But she’s not at all like I thought she would be.”

“I’ve always cared for her, but even more so after she made your mother’s last few days on earth so peaceful. That’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay. But I’m afraid I’m still struggling to wrap my mind around your name on a deed to a camp.”

I laugh. “That makes two of us, then. She’s asked me to do a bit of vision casting with her on our trip home to process through how we can use these grounds to give back to the community while keeping its core values intact.”

“Sounds like a dream come true for you.”

“One of them.”

I turn then and spy Raegan standing at the top of the river trail, her gaze fixed on me. I lift my hand and smile to let her know I’m okay, and then I tell my dad everything I can about the woman I fell in love with on a tour bus this summer ... the same way he fell in love with my mother on the same bus more than thirty years ago.

34

Raegan

I don’t realize how long I’ve been holding my breath until Micah seeks my gaze from down below.He’s okay. It’s as if a valve to my lungs has opened and I’m discovering oxygen for the first time. A mix of relief, elation, and gratitude swells inside me on his behalf, and it’s a sensation unlike any I can name. Only, perhaps that’s not true. Perhaps I can name it.

Once he slips his phone into his back pocket, he strides up the rocky riverbank and the dirt-covered path to where I wait at the trailhead. I’m not sure what expression I expected to see etched into his striking features after such a critical conversation, but the weightlessness of his countenance is so contagious, it captures me in its undertow and refuses to let go.

A dust cloud plumes behind him, the particles shimmering in the sunlight, as he reaches for me in a wordless invitation I readily accept. He scoops me into his arms and nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck. And everything about this moment—my feet liftedoff the ground, Micah’s embrace holding me tight, his lips pressed firmly against my collarbone—is everything I want to hold on to forever, and yet the instant he sets me back on solid ground, I feel a breathless kind of foreboding I want to ignore.

“My dad wants to take you bass fishing,” he says, lacing his fingers behind my lower back. “He wants to make sure you know he’s the resident expert on the best spots around here and that I’m not to take you to any of them on my own.”

I blink, confused. “You ... you talked to him about fishing?”

Micah smiles and bends to kiss one of my cheeks. “You should probably know, we often talk about fishing.”

“But what about—”

“We talked about that, too, and I promise to tell you every critical detail of that conversation as soon as we’re back on the road.” He presses a kiss to my other cheek. “But the highlight of the call came at the end. Care to guess what it was about?”

My cheeks ignite from the imprint his kisses leave behind, and the urge to hold on to him strikes me again.

“You,” he answers. “We talked about you, Raegan Lynn.” Tenderly, he brushes his lips against mine. Soft, sweet, perfect. “I told him that I don’t know how I lived in a world without you before now.” Another tender kiss. “And most importantly, that I hope I never have to again.”

“I feel the same way, Micah.” I touch his face as if to memorize every strong curve as my breath shallows with a desperation I’m fearful to expose.

His kiss only amplifies the longing inside me.

But when he pulls back, he must see it. The coming good-bye I don’t want and yet can’t pretend away. Not even with the vivid imagination God’s given me.

I can’t swallow the ache away, but I manage a shaky smile. “Ever since we arrived today, I’ve had the strangest feeling—almost like I’ve been here before, despite having never visited Idaho.” I touch the collar of his T-shirt. “I couldn’t figure it out until just a few minutesago when I watched you hike back up the trail from the river.” My chin quivers. “This is how I pictured Birch Grove, Micah. It looks so much like the beautiful mountain town I dreamed of when I wrote my novel—”

“So stay,” he whispers. “Stay here with me.”

For what has to be the tenth time this afternoon, tears well in my eyes and spill over my cheeks. “I want that. You have no idea how much I want that, but ...” I drop my chin and study the dirt under my sandals, willing myself to be stronger, to be braver, to be more like the man whose arms are wrapped securely around my waist as if nothing could ever break his hold.

I lift my head and search the ground around us. It’s impossible not to imagine how much of a blessing Micah will be to this community he has loved for decades, or to see how providential the timing is ... even if that timing includes a sacrifice for us both.

“This is right for you,” I say in earnest. “The answer you’ve been praying for is here.”

“You’re an answer I’ve been praying for, too.”

The conviction in his voice ripples through me, and I can’t utter a word in reply.

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