She drove through the charming town and out of the downtown area. Here, she found some chain restaurants and larger nationally branded stores, a hospital, and a sign pointing to a high school. Just beyond the sign, she turned into a neighborhood and soon parked in front of a brick ranch-style house with white shutters and a flower bed full of yellow and white daffodils.

As she got out of the car, the front door opened, and Rick filled the doorway. He’d changed into a pair of dark jeans and a light-blue long-sleeved T-shirt. He slipped a hand into one pocket and raised the other in a greeting.

“Looks like you found it okay,” he said, approaching her car.

“Yeah. Not hard to find at all.”

When he reached her, he paused, then slipped a hand behind her neck, giving her a soft kiss. She could smell his lemony aftershave and brushed the backs of her fingers over his smooth cheeks.

“You shaved again,” she said when he lifted his head.

“Observant and beautiful.” He used his thumb to point behind him. “I bet my mom’s standing in the doorway.”

Cynthia glanced over his shoulder and saw a woman step through the door and onto the front stoop. “She is,” she said, suddenly nervous. “Is it okay that I’m here?”

“Are you kidding me?” He kissed her forehead, then turned and took her hand, leading her up the drive. “Mom, Doctor Cynthia Myers. Cynthia, my mom, Dorothy.”

Rick’s mom had straight, gray-streaked brown hair cut to her shoulders and laugh lines around her bright-green eyes. “Oh, please. The only person who has ever called me Dorothy was my seventh-grade science teacher.” She stepped forward and held out her hands. “I’m Dottie. Welcome to our home.”

Cynthia put her hands in Dottie’s, and the woman pulled her close for a hug. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. “Thank you. I’m so happy to be here.”

Dottie gestured to the door. “Harold normally gets home about seven thirty, but he was going to see if Monty could close for him tonight. Come in, come in. I have dinner about to go into the oven.”

Chapter
Twenty-six

Cynthia stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back against the chair. The temperature had soared into the midseventies, and the sun beat down, warming her skin. She sat in a picnic area in the gardens on the grounds of the Creation Museum. All around her, flowers bloomed in a beautiful rainbow array. She watched a dragonfly hover over the water of the little creek that ran through the garden and thought about having to go home tomorrow.

“Rick’s coming,” Bill announced, setting a bottle of water on the table next to her. “He’s waiting for the food up in Noah’s Cafe.”

She picked up the bottle. “Thanks.”