Page 49 of Her Wicker Guardian

“I know.”

Rachel studies me for a moment. “How long will it take?”

“I do not know.”

Shannon smiles. “You sound more certain than we ever did.”

Rachel looks at her. “That may not be saying much.”

Shannon laughs, then taps the picture. “Either way, we’ll need willow. The place we get it is outside town.”

Outside town.

My attention goes immediately to the road. “Town.”

Rachel sees where this is going. “Not today.”

I look at her.

She exhales. “That is not the same as never. We’ll figure out how to get you there.”

“When?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Shannon laughs under her breath. “He’s not going to accept vague answers much longer.”

Rachel gives me a look. “I’ve noticed.”

I rest my hand on the picture again.

The bear will go to the Harvest Festival. Shannon has explained enough for me to understand that people gather there. Many people.

I want to make the bear, but that is no longer the only thing I want.

I want to see where it goes.

I want more of the world than this property can show me.

Chapter Nine

Rachel

By 10:45, I’ve changed shirts twice, burned one piece of toast, and somehow managed to lose the hair tie that was around my wrist ten minutes ago. I find it beside the sink, wet from where I apparently put it down after washing my hands. I stare at it for a second, then blow out a breath. “Naturally.”

I salvage the less-burned half of the toast, take a bite, and head for the kitchen door.

Outside, I walk the short distance along the side of the cottage and let myself into the screened porch. Locke is sitting at the small table with the Harvest Festival drawing spread in front of him, Shannon’s iPad propped beside it.

He looks up. “Problem?”

I hold up the wet hair tie. “One of several.”

I take another bite of toast as I cross to him. Morning light filters through the screen, catching the small green leaves along his forearms. He’s changed into another of Tom’s T-shirts, dark gray this time, and the contrast makes the lighter willow along his throat stand out.

I notice that before I notice the bear drawing, which tells me entirely too much about where my attention has gone.

Locke touches one finger to the paper. “Willow.”