She responded to his wave, battling equal parts relief and disappointment—which was silly. She’d done what she’d come to do, and she’d hear from Jack again. He’d said he’d get back to her with an answer, and he always kept his promises.

In the meantime, she had much to be thankful for. Clearance from the police chief to leave. An impromptu taco feast yesterday, courtesy of Charley. A memorable place to spend last night. And a soothing stay, however brief, in a town where the very air brimmed with hope.

But it was time to move on. The market Jack had told her about ought to be open by now. She should find it, stock up on provisions, and begin the long trek back to Dallas.

Except she didn’t want to. Not quite yet.

Why not let the peace of this place seep into her pores for another ten or fifteen minutes while she ate her crackers and drank her water?

Because once she reentered the real world, with all its stress and heartache and guilt, a generous reserve of serenity would come in handy.

That young woman looked like she could use a friend.

Beth Adams leaned sideways inside the window of The Perfect Blend to get a clearer view of the blond sitting on the bench across the street, eyes closed, head tipped back against the wall. Fatigue radiated from her. As if mustering up the energy to stand and struggle through another day, one weary step at a time, was beyond her.

Pressure built in Beth’s throat.

Been there, done that, still doing that many days—and it was a hard, discouraging place to be.

“Morning, Beth. You want the usual?”

Swallowing past the tightness, she turned toward the owner of The Perfect Blend. “Hi, Zach. Yes, I’m a creature of habit.”

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you like. How’re things?” He set to work concocting the cinnamon-topped, two-shot mocha she favored.

“Business could be better.” She gave the young woman another once-over and joined him at the counter.

“Tell me about it. If wildfires continue to plague the area come summer, tourism will take a huge hit. We’ll all be hurting.”

“I know—and I was counting on the seasonal visitors to help me recoup the start-up costs of my shop.”

“I hear you. I was in the same boat when I launched this place a few years ago. The first twelve months are critical. You opened in October, right?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s hope the fire scourge is over by summer.” He snapped the lid on her to-go drink and set it on the counter. “Anything else?”

Beth edged toward the front window again. The woman continued to sit on the bench. Alone. Possibly hurting—and desperate for a touch of kindness.

“Beth?”