“Ah, the Lincoln log cabin—that’s what I always called it.” He leaned over the steering wheel and peered through the windshield. “Do you know it has a covered bridge on the property?”

Covered bridges turned regular old creeks into enchanted, storybook streams. Her favorite house just became cooler. “No way.”

“Way. My father used to come out here on house calls, believe it or not. The woman who owned the place was one of my grandfather’s patients, and she expected it, I guess. I don’t think a single doctor at St. Luke’s now has ever made a house call.”

She squinted for a peek in the windows, but the glare obscured her view. “Have you been inside?”

Flicking the blinker, he turned back toward town. “Oh, sure. I was just little—six or seven, maybe—but I’d ride along with my father and carry his bag.” He drummed his fingers on the wheel again. “Mrs. Raffensburger had Parkinson’s, I realize now. She seemed ancient then. I wonder if she’s still alive. I wasn’t often allowed inside, so usually, I wandered off—that’s how I found the bridge. It was just a little, covered footbridge over a stream, but I thought it was pretty neat.”

“Very neat. What’s the house like inside?”

He scratched his head and combed back his hair with his fingers. “Old. I don’t remember much except a huge stone fireplace with a heart-shaped rock right under the mantle. That rock was cool. You like the place, huh?”

“I’ve loved it for years.” She swiveled and watched the house disappear around a bend. Along the road, masses of Queen Anne’s lace bowed in their wake. She never told anyone she was drawn to this house. What a funny coincidence Richard had actually been inside.

“I’m looking forward to the day I buy a house like that.” He chuckled. “There’s a sentence I never thought would come out of my mouth.”

His tone was edged with vinegar. She faced him again. “Here in Green Ridge?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.” He snorted a sigh. “I don’t know. The plan was never to end up in the middle of nowhere, you know what I mean?”

Her bittersweet laugh echoed his. “All too well.” So, Richard felt trapped in Green Ridge too. Maybe they had more in common than she realized.

“But for better or for worse, I’m still at St. Luke’s, and I can’t imagine leaving. When my father died, Claire helped me sell the house. I couldn’t live there after everyone was gone—too many memories. Someday, I’ll buy a place like Mrs. Raffensburger’s, but I’ll gut it and update the whole interior.” He ran a hand over his stubbled chin. “Maybe someday soon.”

She waited, but he didn’t elaborate.

He just stared at the road ahead.