She opened the door before I managed to maneuver up the porch steps. How did she always manage to pull off a sweet country girl look?

“Heard me coming?”

Her face lit up. “Agent McClure, you can’t sneak up on anyone.”

“Give me six weeks, and I’ll be back to fighting form.”

“Six?”

I shrugged. “Maybe eight.”

She tilted her head. “Are you supposed to be driving?”

“I’m sure short jaunts are fine.”

Joy wiggled between Shelby’s legs, and she snatched up the puppy. “I want to hear about all your adventures.”

“More like swapping stories.” An unwelcome surge of pain split my senses, and I jerked.

“Denton, get inside before you fall.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jewelry pieces were in various stages of construction all over the kitchen counter. “You’ve been busy.”

“It’s therapeutic.” She closed the door and locked it. “Please, sit. I have a freshly brewed pot of coffee. Had a feeling you’d be stopping by.”

“Oh, so I’m always welcome?”

“Don’t press your luck.”

I eased onto the sofa, relieved to rest. A small notebook lay open. Four lines caught my attention.

The day swirled in black and white.

The kiss of death and the hope of life.

Good and evil struggle like sibling strife.

Who will hold me safe till heaven’s light?

Shelby picked up the notebook. “I’ve been scribbling.”

Her creativity moved me. “I’m not a professional, but I hear the emotional turmoil in your words. Is there anything you can’t do?”

She tucked the notepad into a drawer. “When’s the last time you popped a pain pill?”

Ah, nice change of subject. She needed to trust me. “Last night. Some Advil earlier this morning. I’m trying to leave the heavy-duty meds alone.”

“Don’t blame you. Perhaps using one to ease the pain makes sense.” She brought me a mug of coffee with fresh bubbles breaking the top and sat with her own in a nearby chair. “You always have a reason for doing things. And here you are.”

“Are you ready for news?”

She whirled to me. Alarm clearly written on her face.

“It’s positive. At least I think so.”

“You scared me. You’ve found the guilty person?”

“Not yet. This is personal . . . In the wee hours of the morning, I became a Christian.”

Shelby rubbed her palms together reminding me of a little girl’s excitement. I adored so many things about her.

“What incredible news,” she said. “But at the hospital you indicated noninterest.”

“Weird, huh? I don’t understand it all myself.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

I shared with her about my mamaw, her influence on my life, and my coming to faith. “Do you think I sound like a kid when I’m a grown man?” Another trait I admired about her—compassion for others.

“I think we’re supposed to have childlike faith.”

I widened my grin across my bruised face. “Guess I qualify, and I’m confident about my decision.”

“Are your parents Christians?”

“Yes, and I called them earlier. Woke them up.” I paused, remembering. “Mom had given up on me finding faith.”