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"It isn't." She turns her head and I kiss her, awkwardly, over her shoulder, her mouth open and wet on mine. "Move."

I move. It's slow and deep, long strokes that make the quilt rustle and the old bed whisper under us. I hold her against me with one arm across her ribs. My other hand slides back between her thighs. She moves with me, rolling her hips back to meet each stroke, her breath coming in soft broken sounds I want to hear for the rest of my life. I kiss her shoulder, her neck, her hair. The sun lies warm over both of us.

"Ethan." Her voice is hoarse. "I'm close."

"I've got you."

"Don't stop."

"I'm not stopping." I circle my fingers, faster, firm. I feel her whole body draw tight. "Look at the window. Keep looking."

She does. Her head tips back against my shoulder and her mouth opens. The cry that leaves her is low and unguarded, her thighs trembling as she comes, clenching around me in long, slow pulses. I hold her through it, my face in her hair, my heart slamming against her back. When the last shudder passes she goes limp in my arms. I let myself go. I push deep and groan her name against her neck as I come, the heat of it going through me like a wave, my arm locked around her.

I stay there for a long time with my eyes shut.

Afterward she turns in my arms. She's flushed and drowsy, her hair stuck to her cheek. She lays her palm over my heart, which is still running. We lie face to face on the gray quilt with our legs tangled. My hand is in the small of her back. She has hers on my chest. Her thumb moves in slow circles over the skin above my collarbone.

"I'm not leaving at five-thirty," I say.

"No one's asking you to."

"Not tomorrow either."

She smiles, eyes closed. "Is that a promise?"

"It's a very preliminary one."

She laughs, a sleepy rumble against my chest. I tuck her head under my chin, and for a brief moment, we don't say anything at all.

Not until my phone buzzes on the nightstand.

It's a long, harsh vibration against the wood. The screen lights up with Kieran's name. Carolina's hand goes still on my chest. I reach over and take it. I look at her. She nods. I put the phone to my ear.

"Kieran."

"I woke you."

"No." I clear my throat. "What's up?"

"Mae called me at six this morning. Dale Pruitt was at the tavern last night after the festival, drinking hard. He told three separate people he'd made two thousand dollars for a can of spray paint and a pry bar. I picked him up an hour ago. He confessed before I'd finished reading him his rights. He cried."

I sit up slowly. Carolina sits up with me, holding the sheet against her chest, her eyes on my face.

"Who paid him?"

"Ridgeline's local rep. Brent Calder. Dale never met the man. There was an envelope in his mailbox with half the money and a phone number. We've got the number." A pause. "Dale says he didn't know anyone was in the house. He about threw up when I told him someone was upstairs. He kept asking if she was okay."

"She's okay."

"Good. The state's involved now, and Calder's lawyered up. I don't think anybody's going to come near that hill again." Another pause, slightly longer. "Tell her I'm sorry about the barn. The locksmith still can't come until Monday, but she's safe. She can go home tonight if she wants."

I look at Carolina. She's heard every word. I watch her face change, slowly, and settle into something calm and polite. The same look from her porch yesterday morning.

"I'll tell her."

"Ethan?"

"Yeah."