Finding Her Way Home by Linda Goodnight Page A

bent.
    â€œOops. Sorry.”
    â€œNo, you’re not.”
    She shrugged, but the sparkle in her eyes gave him hope. Somewhere behind that defensive facade was a really fun woman. He was sure of it.
    â€œSo what’s the decision? Want the tour? Might as well accept. I’m relentless.”
    â€œDon’t you ever sleep?”
    â€œTonight will be a quiet night. I feel it in my bones.”
    â€œLast time Daddy said that, he took me to Grandma’s at ten and stayed gone all night.”
    Trace reached over and tweaked Zoey’s nose. “Tattletale. Whose side are you on anyway?”
    â€œYours. And Cheyenne’s.” The delicate face swiveled in Cheyenne’s direction, though her eyes never made contact. “Say yes. It’s easier. Daddy’s not good with the word no .”
    Cheyenne, soda straw to her lips, set the cup down abruptly and sputtered with laughter.
    Trace, grinning, waited until she regained her composure to say, “She’s right, you know. I don’t take rejection well. And you are my employee.”
    â€œIs that blackmail?”
    â€œPure and simple. So what will it be, the fifty-cent tour or the dollar one?”
    Cheyenne reached into her jeans pocket, pulled out a wadded bill and slapped it on the table. “I’m feeling reckless. Let’s go for the whole buck.”
    Â 
    Spring brought more hours of sunlight, but the weather was cool and Cheyenne was glad for her jacket. The tour, as Trace and Zoey called their excursion, included a drive to the river bridge she’d admired her first day in town. She’d been meaning to come back and explore once she was settled, but hadn’t the time or inclination. Seeing the pretty old bridge with Trace and Zoey appealed more than it should.
    Zoey Bowman was adorable, a gifted child whose lack of vision did nothing to dampen her joie de vivre. Cheyenne had wondered for days what happened to her eyesight. She’d also wondered about Zoey’s mother, but some things were too personal to ask. If Trace still grieved for his wife, she didn’t want to pry and stir up painful memories. Besides, she didn’t want anyone prying into her life. Why should she pry into theirs?
    But she did wonder.
    â€œThis is a place everyone should see,” Trace was saying. “Without the river and this bridge for crossing, there would never have been a town called Redemption.”
    He pulled the truck off the road and parked beneath a stand of willows at the end of the bridge where stone met earth.
    â€œIt looks old. Pretty, but old.”
    â€œThe bridge is old. Well, half the structure is. The other lane is an imitation built in modern times to match, but this side is still the original stone constructed for wagons and horses.”
    The cop in her had to ask, “Is it safe?”
    Trace shrugged as if he never worried about safety. Life must have treated him well in that respect. He was lucky.
    â€œThe county does the upkeep, but since the bridge is on the list of historical structures, I don’t know how they do it. But every part of the road, including the bridge, has to pass inspection or be closed. I’m certain it’s as safe as any.”
    â€œCan we get out and look around?”
    Zoey was already unbuckling her seat belt.
    Trace reached for his. “I’d be a poor tour guide if I kept you trapped in a truck.”
    An unexpected shiver wiggled up the back of her neck. Trapped in a vehicle. Not a good thought. A dark image rose behind her eyelids.
    â€œIf you look through those trees,” Trace was saying, “you can see where Redemption River curves toward town.”
    Cheyenne shook off the tremor of anxiety and firmly blocked the images kaleidoscoping inside her head. The flashbacks hadn’t come in a long time. She wasn’t about to let them start again.
    Unclicking her seat belt, she hopped outside, gripping the hard metal of the door.
    The