“I’m sorry I missed it. Maybe you could give me a private showing?”

Her gaze lifted. “Why?”

“I’d like to see what you did with the suites after I left.”

She straightened, motioned for him to go inside. He followed her through the hallway to first one suite, then the other.

“I like the furniture and how you decorated. It all looks simple but beautiful.”

“I can’t take the credit. It’s the furniture Aunt Jean’s in-laws bought more than half a century ago. There’s still cookies and drinks in the kitchen if you want some.”

He’d grabbed something during his last pit stop to let Harry out and to stretch both their legs, but he wasn’t one to turn down Sarah’s cookies.

He started to follow her to the kitchen but, with her face looking a little pale, she stopped him. “I… Wait in the living room, and I’ll bring them there.”

With that, she went to the kitchen and left him in the hallway. Bodie watched her go, then went back to the foyer to make his way to the living room. In the foyer, he paused to look at the photos on the stairwell.

Specifically, the photo of Sarah.

He took a deep breath and went to the living room. Barely inside the doorway, his gaze immediately went to where his quilt lay on the rocker. Walking over to it, he picked it up.

It was warm.

When he’d gotten there, Sarah had been beneath the quilt.

“I figured I should use it since I couldn’t regift it to Quilts of Valor. They only accept new quilts.”

Continuing to hold the quilt, he turned to her. “If they’d have taken it, would you have given it to another soldier, Sarah?”

Her gaze dropped to the quilt. Her eyes closed, then she shook her head. “No.”

“Because?”

Opening her eyes, she took on a steely resolve, lifting her chin and asking, “Why are you here, Bodie?”

But Bodie wasn’t stopping until he had answers, until he gave her answers. They had a lot to discuss and it all began with the quilt he held. “Why wouldn’t you have given the quilt away again, Sarah?”

“Because I… It’s your quilt, Bodie. I made it for you.”

“You didn’t know me when you made this.”

“As crazy as it sounds, I still made it for you.” She set the tray of cookies and drinks on a side table, turned to stare at the quilt he held. “My mother made a quilt for a soldier once. It wasn’t a Quilt of Valor, but a quilt of love she made for my father while he was overseas. She poured love into every stitch.” She pointed to his quilt. “Every Quilt of Valor quilt Aunt Jean made was for Roy. I did the same thing when I made that quilt.”