As she returned the papers to the drawer, a drawing of Nora snagged her attention. She pulled it from the pile and studied it. Never once had she seen a smile cross that woman’s face, but Jonas drew her laughing, her head thrown back in joy. Tessa pictured Nora clutching a bowl of ice in helpless agony, and pity welled in her heart. Nora had known profound loss. The kind of bitterness she displayed could only come from deep hurt. Every day, Nora fought to preserve the only family she had left. How could Tessa even think about taking them away?

She found the van key dangling from a hook by the kitchen door, and indeed, when she turned it, the motor spluttered to life. Idling in Neutral, she slipped from the cab, dashed into the barn, and returned with the kitten, mewing and wriggling in her hands. She deposited it on the floor behind her, swung around, and drove down the lane.

When she rounded the bend, she stopped, rolled down the window, and took a long look back. The sun just cleared the eastern ridge, and a cascading veil of purple morning glories covered Elizabeth’s garden gate. The well-appointed farm awaited its family of three. Not a traditional Amish family, but a family, nonetheless.

With a sigh, she shifted the van into gear and drove away forever. Jonas would be home for the evening milking that night and every night after. She knew it with as much certainty as she’d ever known anything.

What she didn’t know, as she rounded the bend and the Rishel farm slipped into the landscape of memory, was where she was headed. Or what she’d do when she arrived. But for the first time, Tessa Meadows didn’t fear the open road. With her hometown in the rearview mirror, she was finally ready to step on the gas and drive.

Epilogue

Epilogue

Aspen, Colorado. One year later.

Time for a walk on the wild side, baby.

Snugging a hip against the counter of her cozy cabin kitchen, Tessa plunged a finger into uncooked, blueberry muffin batter. Risking salmonella poisoning wasn’t exactly Russian roulette, but it tasted a smidge daring. She licked with gusto. Comfort food with a dash of adventure. Her mood lightened.

Butternut rubbed against her ankles, angling for a treat. She messily spooned batter into muffin cups and sprinkled them with coarse sugar. Her mother’s recipe from the Margaret Meadows Does Desserts cookbook was hands down the best. She knew, because she’d tried others. Gently crushing half a cup of fresh blueberries into the batter before adding two cups of whole ones infused blueberry flavor and gave the muffins such a beautiful color. Over the past year, her taste refined with her baking skills. Maybe she should start creating her own recipes.