Sarah had told Bodie he could go anywhere in the house and Harry could come inside if he kept an eye on him. No worries on that account. If he moved, Harry moved. The dog apparently thought Bodie couldn’t inspect the house unless he accompanied him.

Still feeling as if he didn’t belong inside the sprawling old mansion, Bodie pushed the uneasiness aside by focusing on his work. He did a full check starting at the bottom by crawling under the floor space. After making sure to clean off any stray dirt, he then checked the attic to identify any problems Sarah might be unaware of before heading downstairs.

One by one, he inspected the rooms, making written notes.

When he’d gone through the door to the room where Sarah slept, his throat had tightened.

With its sunny yellow walls and intricate blue and yellow quilt covering a full-sized bed, the room fit Sarah. Next to her bed was a walnut nightstand with a well-read Bible and lamp on it. There was a matching walnut wardrobe and dresser. But what drew him was across from Sarah’s bed.

He walked over to the table where the antiquated sewing machine was set up and ran his finger over the sleek line of the black and gold machine. The quilting in Sarah’s creation had been done by hand, but most likely she’d sewn the quilt top pieces together while sitting here.

Even now, with everything she had going on, there were sewn pieces of fabric neatly stacked in a basket where she worked on a new quilt top.

Red, white, and blue fabric.

She was making another Quilt of Valor, a precious gift to another soldier. Would that recipient appreciate Sarah’s generosity the way Bodie had? Would this quilt offer hope the way his had to him?

Would that person go from the bleakest black to seeing a flicker of light as he or she read the note Sarah would no doubt attach to the quilt?

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

He shouldn’t be here. Not in Sarah’s room. Not in Hamilton House. Not in Pine Hill. He didn’t belong.

But he would do this, would make the repairs for Sarah, would pretend he fit into her shiny world when he’d only ever belonged as an Army Ranger serving his country in a desert half a world away.

When the repairs were done, he’d move on, having repaid her kindness. She need never know why he’d come to Pine Hill or why he’d been willing to linger in the town she’d painted so vividly in his mind but that made him starkly aware of how much he was an outsider.

She’d told him to go wherever, but being here, in her private space, in the room where she’d likely made his quilt, felt wrong. He exited the room, closing the door behind him even though she’d left it open that morning. He didn’t want to see into her room when he walked down the hallway.