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having made an irreversible decision. His speech sounded like an ending.
    Filled with a sudden sense of desperation, I stepped forward to re-close the distance between us and wrapped my fingers around his wrists. Lad drew in a sharp breath. I saw the light return to his eyes, and his jaw tightened, muscles flexing under the smooth, unblemished skin.
    “Lad, don’t go yet. That night—I don’t know—”
    He reached out and took my face in his hands as he’d done when those hands were so much smaller, when my tiny face was so cold. Now his hands were large and warm, and they were trembling.
    I stopped breathing, my heart launching into a wild hammering rhythm that seemed to steal all the strength from my legs to power it.
    Almost faster than I could process what was happening, Lad brushed his lips across mine in a hint of a kiss then crushed me to his body, his warm mouth grazing my ear.
    “Good-bye Ryann.” He released me and was gone.
    I looked around me. My book was gone, too. I was left standing alone, shaking, and suddenly cold for the first time in months.

Chapter Four
So Much for the Pretty Face

     
     
    I stumbled through the yard toward the back porch, lightheaded. I really couldn’t explain to myself what had just happened. I wasn’t even going to attempt to explain it to anyone else. If I told Mom or Grandma, they’d never let me set foot outside again. And I was definitely going back. Lad was at the center of the two strangest experiences of my life. I had to know more about him.
    I stepped through the back door into the kitchen, and there was Grandma Neena, sharp blue eyes, wild white ringlets covering her head, and dirt on the knees of her too-short gardening pants. She had a plump fuzzy okra in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other.
    “Hey, girl. I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”
    Grandma Neena had looked exactly the same my whole life. Or maybe it only seemed that way because of the hair. It had been white since I’d known her. Mom said Grandma’s hair was once chestnut brown, like mine, but it had turned white when she was only in her twenties, around the time she was widowed. She was sixty and had hardly a wrinkle. Lord only knew how because there wasn’t an ounce of fat to stretch out her skin. I hoped I’d inherited the good skin from her along with the freaky-tall-and-thin gene.
    “Hey, Grandma. I was out exploring.”
    She spotted my damp hair and raised a brow. “Get caught in a rain shower?”
    “No, I uh…” She knew it hadn’t rained, and we both knew there were no lovely spring-fed pools along the paths on her land. “I found a natural spring and kind of splashed myself. I was pretty hot.”
    She looked me over, as if checking for… damage, maybe? Her squint broke and she grinned, turning back to the cooking. “You’re just like me, you little wood sprite. I’d be out there myself, if I didn’t have this oven going. You didn’t see any signs of coyotes, did you?”
    “No. Why?”
    “I’ve been hearing them the past couple of nights. Just make sure and get back to the house before dark when you go out. And you should wear some brighter colors—don’t want some fool with a gun mistaking you for a critter.”
    “But hunting season’s over. And your land is posted.”
    “A few rusty old signs won’t stop some of these boys. And spring turkey season just ended last week—not everybody obeys the rules. Just be careful, that’s all.”
    “Okay. I’ll try my best not to resemble a wild turkey.” I laughed and peeked inside the old yellow porcelain bowl on the counter, smelling the savory cornbread mixture she’d been stirring. “Making chicken and dressing?”
    “Mmm hmmm. Your momma should be back soon. She had to run by the lawyer’s office after the interview—trying to take care of that IRS mess.”
    “Yeah, thanks, Dad,” I muttered. I picked up a knife and started helping her slice vegetables, the blade chop-chopping against the wooden