She shook her head, a grin transforming her face. “No need. I’m certain this is what he wanted me to find. If you knew how many times we’d sung this song together, you’d understand.”

“But—”

She walked toward the exit doors.

On the drive back to Misty River, Finley played several renditions of “Pat Works on the Railroad” for him. The song was old-timey, catchy, and Irish. Something about a cravat and a straw hat. Britches and whiskey. Lots of “working on the railway.”

Finley hummed along the first few times, then started singing. She wasn’t a trained singer, but she wasn’t bad, either. Her voice was low and sweet and why had he been forced into such close proximity with her?

Finley looked like a cross between a Disney princess and an extra in a movie about Woodstock, but she was deceptively strong. A miracle worker with dogs. Someone who refused to quit. It was as if light loved her. . . . It seemed to gather within her so that she glowed.

Surely, Ed couldn’t have imagined that Luke had enough self-control to withstand this many hours with Finley. Luke’s defenses were high. But not high enough.

“Sing with me!” she encouraged.

“Not on your life.”

They reached her cabin in the bronze hours of late afternoon. She waited for him on her front step before unlocking the door. Finley’s pug greeted her with excitement. Inside her office, the hedgehog woke and scurried over to them inside its cage. If hedgehogs could smile, hers was smiling.

“This is it.” She stopped before the piece of art hanging on the wall to the side of her desk. Her dad had done a good job of pegging her style. Colorful lettering in a modern font covered the poster-sized rectangle. Delicately, she lifted the artwork from its hook and turned it around. Nothing out of the ordinary about the back of the piece. No envelope taped to the smooth foam board.

Discouraging.

“Don’t be discouraged,” she said, reading his mind. After placing the art facedown on her desk, she used a pair of scissors to pry up the metal tabs holding the backing in place. When she’d freed three sides, she slowly tilted up the board . . . and revealed a white envelope with For Finley written across the front.

Her breath caught. “Good Lord above.” With a half-laugh, half-squeal, she flung her arms around him.

Luke froze.

Need rose inside him with the suddenness and force of a snake preparing to strike. And not just physical need. Worse was the overwhelming need for connection. For affection. For forgiveness.

Keeping her arms around him, she looked at him with an expression that said, Be happy with me, Luke. We found the clue.

She had to let him go.

He didn’t want her to let him go.