“And now you want it back.” It wasn’t a question, and her concern was growing the longer he stayed. She was clearly not in the best state of mind for the full story. And he needed to tell her, if he was going to have any success.

“Not necessarily.” This was the difficult part. He didn’t want to lie, because a lie would cast an unpleasant pall on her future dealings with his family. But the entire truth wasn’t an option. Not now, here on her porch. He did want the book. But more than that, he wanted both the book and the girl.

He continued cautiously, “I would like your help. Help with reading the book and learning the contents. I can’t do that without your assistance. So the book on its own isn’t as useful to me or my family.”

“If it belonged to your family, don’t you already know what’s in it?” Lizzie’s question made it clear she didn’t know how the book worked. The information stored in the book was much larger than any one book, or even ten books, could hold. In that sense, the book was more like a computer holding a vast store of knowledge.

“Not exactly.” John could read the disappointment on Lizzie’s face, so he quickly continued. “But, I do know that it contains stories of my family and of their journey to the United States. For all I know, there are also recipes and dress patterns, alongside crop yield information and favorite horse shoeing methods.”

All true. He also hoped the book showed the patterns of changing cultural norms and laws over the last several centuries, as well as the marriages, births, and deaths of pack members. If he was right, there might be clues in the book that could help his pack thrive well into and beyond this century.

Lizzie was staring thoughtfully out into the yard, possibly considering her next question, when she stood up suddenly. “I just realized the time. I’m sure my friend will be here soon, and I think it would be best if you were gone before she arrives.”

John pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it to her, intentionally brushing his fingers against hers. “My cell is on the back. I’d like to meet with you again. To discuss the book, and if you’d be willing to help.” He grinned. “Look me up. I’m a completely upstanding citizen.” No lie there. He paid his taxes. And followed the law. Mostly. When it was convenient.

Seeing her indecision, he said, “I won’t knock on your door again. Promise. Not unless I’m invited to.” He flashed his most innocent smile. He’d been told it made him look approachable. And he held up three fingers in the traditional Boy Scout’s honor sign. And he meant it—he wouldn’t be knocking.