He picked up a biscuit cutter and pressed it into the dough. “Reality has hit us hard. Denton told me about last night’s call and details about the other threats and shootings. The person responsible will pay.” He focused on me, and I flushed hot. “Whoever it is.”

My thoughts reached back to my last conversation with Mom . . . Aria’s concerns about Marissa . . . and the identity of the one person who feared what I knew and might not hesitate to kill me. If I’d figured it out, how much longer until everyone else realized the improbable was a reality?

“I will have a long talk with Aria on the way back home.”

“You might not appreciate what she has to say.”

“I don’t care.” He wiped his hands on a towel and drew me into his arms. “I’ve missed you.”

We sobbed together.

Reconciliation was the most beautiful word in the English language. I leaned against the porch post and watched the car disappear with Aria and Dad. A profound loneliness settled on me, choking me like a thick cloud of dust. Each breath hurt. My chest ached. I’d been blessed beyond earthly understanding, and His favor humbled me.

The door opened behind me. I couldn’t pretend emotion hadn’t overtaken my heart. Oh, the struggle to keep from crumbling.

I swallowed.

I blinked.

I trembled.

Denton touched my shoulder. “There’s no reason for you to go through this alone. The Pearce family took a giant step forward in the last twenty-four hours.”

“I will treasure every minute for as long as I live.” A longing to face the man who’d inched into my heart coursed over me. Why his caring when my past lay in blackness with no hope for the future?

“Shelby, tears are healing.”

I turned and allowed him to hold me. He dropped his crutches and embraced me with both hands. The smell of him, the tenderness, the stroke of his hands in my hair all belonged to a more worthy woman. Not since my childhood and early teens had I experienced genuine caring without conditions attached. The joy and confirmation of no longer enduring abandonment by those in this world filled my wounded heart. He kissed my cheek, and the intimacy burst the dam of pent-up hurts.

I have no idea how long I shed one tear after another, but when I stepped back with spirit-filled renewal, my foot bumped against a crutch. “I’m so sorry. You could have fallen.” I retrieved both crutches, and he slipped them under his arms.

“Holding you was worth a fall.”

I dug deep for words. “I—”

He brushed my lips with a kiss. “I’m not apologizing.”

Fifteen years without a kiss, and none of my teenage memories compared to the warmth of his lips touching mine. “You did tell me to ‘deal with it.’”

“I love you.” He traced my lips with his finger.