I plunged into deeper waters. “Clay and Isaac told me you had an aversion to guns.”

“I do. I hate weapons of all kinds. Always have.” She hesitated. “I know. It doesn’t make sense . . . considering.”

“Let’s talk about something else. What makes you happy?”

She closed her eyes. “You first.”

“Living at the cabin, riding Big Red, taking pictures, enjoying a quiet life.” I watched a squirrel outside scamper across the driveway. “I hope when I’m back in Houston, I can return here when life gets overwhelming. Your turn.”

“Not yet. Hobbies other than photography?”

“I like high school kids. I volunteer at a youth center.” I grinned. “Now, let me hear about you.”

“Okay. Creating things and helping others.”

“You design jewelry, bake, write poetry, and sing. What am I missing?”

She laughed. “Back in high school, I wanted to be an interior designer in New York City. I dreamed of having an apartment overlooking the busy city.”

“You’re one talented lady.”

“And you’re an enigma.”

“Is that good or bad?” I said.

“I’ll let you know when I decide.”

I took a sip of coffee. “What are your goals for the future?”

She stared out the window where the squirrel still played. “Same. Help others, possibly work for a prison ministry. It’s a nudging in my spirit, but I haven’t talked to Pastor Emory for his thoughts. Build my jewelry business. How about yours?”

I chuckled. “My future changed before six this morning. In your words, ‘I haven’t processed them all yet.’ Back to you. What about marriage and a family?”

“An impossibility.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “No decent man with an ounce of sense would want me.”

“You’re wrong. When this is over, I’d like to talk about us.”

She startled. “Have you lost your mind? Everything about ‘us’ spells trouble.” Her narrow shoulders lifted and fell. “In your processing for the future, ask yourself how to reconcile the fact I murdered a man.”

She’d hit me with reality, but the woman before me was not that irrational seventeen-year-old.

Shelby’s eyes showed profound sadness. “You’ve known me two weeks.”

“I’ve known you a total of fifteen and a half years.”

“Denton, for nearly fifteen and a half years you’ve despised me.”

“They’re similar emotions . . . love and hate.”

She sighed. “You’ve found Jesus, but you’ve lost your mind.”

“Good one, but not the truth. The agent in me hasn’t detected your denial of ‘us.’”

Shelby’s blue-gray eyes watered, and she blinked. “‘Us’ has too many negatives. Reality is key here. How would you ever explain me? And what about your family? How would they introduce me? And what if they broke contact with you because of me?” She held up a finger. “I’m living the broken family relationship scenario, and it’s a miserable existence.”

“My family is forgiving.”

“You have no guarantee of their reaction. And if we . . . became a permanent thing, what about our kids? Do you think they’d have respect for either of us?” She tilted her head. “Your features have hardened. What are you holding back in our come-to-Jesus meeting?”