Deputy MacNeil’s radio started beeping. Alanna and the rest of them listened as the sheriff’s voice came through the radio, calling the deputy and Diamond to the station so the car could be used to block the traffic coming up the mountain.

“Roger. We’ll be on our way.” The deputy opened the door. “We need to leave. Mrs. Bates, Ms. Easton.”

“Of course. Alanna, I’ll motion for the charges to be dropped, and you should have that contraption off your ankle by the afternoon.”

“Thank you,” she said to their backs as Deputy MacNeil ushered them out of the house.

Once they left, her lips trembled in worry for Fynn. “You should go. I’ll be fine here.”

“I’m not leaving you alone. The whole town is probably already there, helping out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure Fynn is okay. Fynn is tough. He’s used to us tossing him around like a football when he was little.”

Matthew tugged her into his arms. “Hey, don’t worry. We should be happy. The case against you is going to be dropped.”

Alanna knew he was trying to relieve their worry by being positive.

“I’m going to get the marshmallows. We can go ahead and start the firepit, and you can start roasting the marshmallows while I get the steaks from your place.”

“I don’t want any. I’m afraid I’ll choke on them right now … until I know Fynn is all right.”

He grabbed her arms. “He’s okay. Ezra would have known if something bad was going to happen.”

“How would Ezra have known?”

Matthew’s face settled into a firm expression. “Let me get the marshmallows, start the firepit, and when I come back from getting the steaks, we’re going to have a talk.”

She nodded, her stomach sinking. Was he going to come up with some excuse for them not to get married now that she was practically free of the charges against her? Would he want her to return to Ohio?

The different possibilities were still running through her mind when he returned with the marshmallows. Silently, she walked alongside him to the firepit, her mind in turmoil with worry about Fynn and Matthew wanting to backpedal on their relationship.

She jumped when he placed a chair several inches away from the firepit. She hadn’t noticed him getting the chairs from the outdoor shed.

Taking her by the shoulders, he sat her down. Numbly, she stared up at him.

“I won’t be five minutes. Remember, there’s a bucket by the cooling barrel, if you need it. Do not—I repeat: do not—dare roast one marshmallow until I’m back.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his foreboding expression.

“I promise.”

“You better not,” he warned with a finger pointed at her.