“I won’t forget.”

Their call ended a few minutes later, with Micah promising to keep his eyes peeled for CarleeAnn’s photo and Sydney promising to eventually come home. She’d laughed as Micah had wrangled the vow from her. As if she could actually stay here. For all she knew, this whole thing was still a wild goose chase.

Or maybe the scrapbooks awaiting her perusal would reveal . . . something. Sydney rose and peeled the lid off the tub, but movement out her window caught her gaze before she lifted out the first scrapbook. She padded to the sill, peering outside just as she had last night.

And just like last night, her attention hooked on the man crossing the backyard. Neil, once again heading . . . somewhere. This time he carried a flashlight, the moon obscured by clouds.

He couldn’t have chores to do at this time of night, could he? Why, it had to be after ten. Where are you going, Neil MacKean?

Instinct took over then. Or maybe impulse. Whatever it was, it propelled her to her bedroom door and into the hallway, scrapbooks once again abandoned. She hurried down the steps and through the dining room, the kitchen, into the mudroom.

She halted. She couldn’t run outside in slippers. That would be ridiculous.

More ridiculous than chasing a man down while wearing a robe and pajamas?

Well, with any luck, he wouldn’t actually see her. All the same, she’d ruin these white slippers if she wore them outside. With a huff, she scanned her surroundings, focus landing on a pair of rubber boots near the door. Perfect.

She tugged off the slippers and pulled on the boots, wiggled her toes. Too big, but she could manage. A second later, she was out the door, just in time to see Neil’s form disappearing into the trees.

You are bananas, Sydney Rose.

But she was also curious.

Try nosy.

Whatever twinge of guilt she might feel was entirely lost in the exhilaration of the moment. Or maybe that was the cold filling her lungs and urging her to keep her muscles moving in a paltry effort to ward it off. She moved her feet as quickly but quietly as she could, reaching the grove and straining to make out Neil’s striding form and the bobbing light of his flashlight up ahead.

She kept a healthy distance behind him, praying she didn’t step on any snapping twigs or crunching leaves, hoping his own steps were loud enough to drown out hers.

The light veered after a time, leading into a stretching field. Should she keep following? If he turned around, there wouldn’t be any trees to shield her.

But you’ve come this far . . .

With a shrug, she stepped from the cover of the grove.

Froze. A third set of steps came scampering through the trees. Oh no, not good. Captain—that had to be him. Unless there was some other dog on this property.

A yip, a bark.