of warmth stirred around his heart. “That’s…that’s great. Thank you, truly.”
“It’s as much for me as it is for you,” Lorraine assured.
“Hey,” Burke said, his mind shifting back to the property. “The agent here warned me that the town wouldn’t—what were his words—take too kindly to my client, which is me, of course, for buying the property I snatched up. Sounds like they don’t welcome much change around here.”
“Well, you can’t blame them,” Lorraine said. “They don’t have to know you’re the one who purchased the property, right?”
“Right,” he agreed. “Even the realtor thinks I’m just the agent. But the guy said that even he might get crap from the townspeople for selling that particular piece of land without notifying anyone. He made it seem like it was significant to the town somehow.”
“And you didn’t ask why?”
“Nope. Didn’t want to know, honestly.” And just why was Burke suddenly worried about that? An image of Justine shot to his mind, answering that question before his conscious mind could.
Lorraine laughed a little. “Quite right. Well, if they bring out the torches and pitchforks, you’ll have to turn on that Benton Charm. It’s proven to be hard to resist, and you’ve definitely got it.”
Burke didn’t know how to accept the compliment. “Maybe.”
She sighed. “You’re like your father in more ways than one—handsome, successful, and far too humble.”
He grinned. Hearing her talk about Jonathon, about how Burke was like him—it fed him in one way, and left him hungry in another. Hungry for the years he’d never have.
“So what’s on the agenda tonight? Quiet evening at your cabin there?”
“Actually,” Burke said, “I’m having dinner with a…someone I met in town.” He tightened his lips, already regretting sharing the tidbit. The last thing he needed was Duke razzing him about dating some country bumpkin.
“Someone?” The emphasis she put on the word said she was looking for details. “Who is this someone?”
“Just…a…” Burke shook his head. Just lie, man. Can’t you just lie and say it’s the agent? “A woman I met, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a friendly dinner.”
He cringed.
“Hmm. Very good. I’m glad to hear that you’re not just isolating yourself out there.”
He nodded, still wishing he could rewind time and take back what he’d shared. “I better go, Grandma.” He liked how easily the term fell off his lips that time.
“Alright, dear. And keep me posted on any offers you get for the property. Once you get it on the market, that is. I spent some time in Piney Falls as a child. Lovely place.”
Burke nodded. “Definitely. I will.”
The phone call distracted Burke enough that he hadn’t paid mind to the spot where Justine’s truck had been. Something he only realized as he pulled into her drive and spotted it on the side of the house. He had to hand it to Frank—he was a quick responder.
Burke snatched a roll of Mentos candies he’d set in the cup holder and nudged one of the chewy pieces out with his thumb. He popped it in his mouth and took in the appearance of Justine’s modest-sized home. It was cute. In a listing—if he still sold homes as he did the first year of his career—he’d call it charming. Like a little cottage in the woods.
On the small porch, lit by the outdoor light, a rocking chair stood beside a large clay pot of sunflowers. A bright green watering can rested nearby, along with a pair of canvas tennis shoes.
Warm light spilled from the front windows—one beside the door, the other at the opposite side. Her bedroom perhaps.
As he stepped out of the car and smoothed a hand down the front of his suit coat—this one black instead of navy—Burke noticed a new crispness in the air. The temperature had dropped significantly. Turned out the guy at the gas station was right about the cold front coming through.
Nerves tangled in his gut as he approached the steps, visions of the beautiful blonde floating through his mind. He’d seen her in Levis, a flannel top, and a pair of hiking boots. The outfit seemed to suit her. But what would she wear to some “fancy” place outside of town where reservations were necessary, as Wilfred pointed out?
Burke spotted the doorbell, but he opted for a knock on the door instead. Three short taps.
The far light flicked off. Just the sight caused something to flick on inside him—a new dose of adrenaline. Sweat broke out over his palms. Tightness built along his throat.
If she was