Eventually, Zach’s truck pulled up beside him and the passenger side window rolled down. “Want a lift?” Zach asked.

Shaken from his reverie, Lucca hesitated. “Hey man, I’m sorry. I just … I needed to walk.”

“No problem. Let it go, Lucca. The whole purpose of coming up here was to do what we felt like doing. Hell, sometimes I’ll come up here to go fishing, and I never touch a fly to water.”

Lucca nodded, grateful for the unstated understanding, and climbed into the truck. “Thanks for bringing me along, Zach. It’s a peaceful place.”

“Lots of places around Eternity Springs are peaceful. You’ll be surprised what you’ll find and where you’ll find it. All you have to do is open your eyes to the possibilities.”

Hope was physically tired and emotionally exhausted when she arrived home following the end of a session up at the Davenports’ summer camp, the Rocking L Ranch. While volunteering in the craft studio the past week, she’d befriended a little girl from Louisiana whose personal story about losing both her mother and brother to cancer had ripped Hope’s heart out.

She wanted to soak in a hot bathtub, read a book, sip a glass of wine, and unwind. Unfortunately, she discovered that her water heater had picked that day to go out, so she not only had to spend an extra half hour on the phone making arrangements to have it replaced, but the bath she’d looked forward to wasn’t going to happen.

Instead, after tending to the puppies, she pulled on a sweater, poured her wine, and stepped out into the backyard, Roxy at her side. The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun, making it the chilliest evening in recent weeks and heralding the advent of autumn, which was just around the corner.

Hope took a seat on the lounge chair that sat next to the fountain she’d installed earlier that summer, and Roxy hopped up into her lap. Hope stroked the dog’s coat and smiled. She loved the sound of flowing water, and since she couldn’t afford a home on Angel Creek, she’d decided this was the next best thing. Against the backdrop of a burbling fountain, she gazed up at the star-filled night sky, drew a deep breath, then exhaled the stress of the day. Picking out the Big Dipper, she thought about her daughter. Was Holly out there somewhere looking up at the same stars, too? She’d like to think so.

Roxy lifted her head from Hope’s lap and let out a low-throated growl. “Well, now,” Hope chided. “What’s that for?”

A voice floated from out of the darkness. “I trust you’ll keep hold of old scissor-teeth there. I’m not in the mood to nurse another dog bite.”

Startled, Hope stared in the direction of Lucca Romano’s voice and after a moment, made out the shadowed figured of the man lying on the ground. “Are you drunk, Mr. Romano?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

Because she’d heard through the grapevine that he’d taken to spending most evenings at Murphy’s Pub. “You are lying on the ground in the dark. Seems to me like something a drunk would do.”

“You and your dog are a lot alike, aren’t you? You’re both suspicious and mean.”

“Roxy isn’t mean; she’s sweet. She was protecting her babies when she bit you. And I’m not mean, either.” Suspicious, however, was another thing entirely. What was the man doing out here in the dark?

“Sure you are. You haven’t even asked if I’m okay. What if I tripped on something and fell and broke my leg and I can’t get up?”

“Is that what happened?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not mean for ignoring your broken leg, am I?”

“That’s a technicality. You still shouldn’t have thrown drunkenness as your first pitch.”

Hope sipped her wine and considered it. “All right. I concede the point. So what are you really doing lying in your backyard in the dark?”

“Stargazing. It’s a hobby of mine. I took astronomy in college because it was supposed to be an easy A class. It wasn’t easy, though. I worked hard for my A. Never expected to fall in love with the night sky, but I did.”

Now she was intrigued. “I can find the Big and Little Dipper, but beyond that, I’ve never been able to pick out the constellations. My mind doesn’t see the lines between them.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Do you have a good grip on that dog?”

“She’s not going to hurt you,” Hope replied, rolling her eyes.

She heard a rustling and watched the shadow rise. He strode into her backyard, his features still hidden on this moonless night. “There’s too much light here. Why don’t you take the mutt inside and turn off your house lights. I’ll show you the stars.”

Hope’s pulse sped up. Her sense of self-preservation told her to take Roxy inside and stay there. Maybe it was her fatigue or the wine or the fact that she hadn’t enjoyed any male companionship in longer than she cared to remember, but she didn’t want to listen to any voices of reason whispering inside her. Without responding, she rolled to her feet, deposited Roxie with her pups, switched off the lights, and returned to the backyard.

Lucca had pulled a second lounge chair beside the one she’d been sitting in and he’d lowered the headrests of both chairs flat. He lay on one of the chairs, his head pillowed in his hands. Hope hesitated, then stretched out beside him.

“It’s a good night for stargazing,” he said. “Cloudless sky, and since we’re on the edge of town, limited ambient light.”

“I have binoculars in the house.”

“Don’t need them. Constellations and large comets and meteors are best observed with unaided vision. If you develop your skills this way you’ll have better success once you move on to binoculars and telescopes. Tonight, I’ll be your star chart. Let your gaze wander around the sky and choose something you are curious about.”

“I want to see a constellation. Really see it.”

“Any one in particular?”

“No.”

“Well, then, since you already said you can find the Big Dipper, why don’t we start with the Great Bear.”

“Ursa Major,” she said.

“That’s right. You already know it?”

“Only the little I picked up from shows on PBS.”

“How scientific do you want me to be?”

He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body. She wished she could see his eyes—see his expression. She felt a tension in the air that she couldn’t quite interpret without reading him visually. “What do you mean by ‘scientific’?”

“Reality or mythology?”

“Honestly, I like the mythology best.”

“All right, then. Find the Big Dipper.”

“Got it.”

“The handle of the dipper is the Great Bear’s tail. The dipper’s cup is the bear’s flank. Now, Ursa Major is a large constellation, so keep your field of vision wide. You’re looking for the bear’s head now.”

He removed his hands from behind his head and pointed toward the sky. “The bright star at the top of the Big Dipper’s bowl is Dubhe. If it’s the center of a clock, you’re going to draw a line at about one o’clock to the next brightest star. That’s part of the bear’s head. Got it?”

“It’s too dark to see where you are pointing.”

He rolled over onto his side facing her and took hold of her right hand with his. Lacing their fingers, he extended their arms toward the night sky. “Put your index finger against mine.”

His hand was so big. His skin so warm. He leaned forward until their faces almost touched. Hope’s pulse began to race. His voice was low and gravelly against her ear as he moved her hand. “Big Dipper. Dubhe. One o’clock. Bright star. You with me?”

Breathlessly, she murmured, “Yes.”

“We take that line this way to the next brightest star. That’s the tip of the old guy’s snout. See it?”

“I do.” Hope fought the instinct to snuggle against the heat of him.

“Now we’re going to come back and down toward the bottom star in the Big Dipper’s bowl, but first, we stop here. Got to give the old guy his front legs.”

Hope’s attention wandered. He must have showered shortly before he went outside because the scent of the sandalwood soap his sister-in-law sold in her shop clung to his skin. She’d managed not to snuggle, but she couldn’t help but lean forward and sniff.

“We are about halfway between the snout and the lower star in the bowl of the dipper. Okay?” She nodded, and he continued, “Take your line down curving here to what looks like a double star, his knee joint.”

“Are they called knees in bears?”

Lucca seemed to bury his nose in her hair, and goose bumps skimmed up her neck. In a low, intimate voice, he asked, “What else would you call them?”

She couldn’t think of anything, and she forced her attention back to the night sky. “Is the star down from there at five o’clock the foot?”

“Very good.”

She felt his breath on her neck. She shuddered and closed her eyes, and yearned. If she turned her face toward him, would he kiss her? It had been so long and she’d been so alone. What would it hurt? Just to feel connected with someone for a short time would be so … welcome. “Lucca, I …”

He stilled for a beat, then subtly moved away without releasing her hand. Rather than intimate, his tone now sounded instructive. “Now, see if you can find the bear’s hind legs. Start from the bottom of the Big Dipper.”

It took Hope a moment to drag her attention back to the sky, and upon doing so, she discovered she really didn’t care about the bear’s hind legs. She also couldn’t see the stars very well because her vision had blurred.

Watery eyes from the chill in the air, she told herself. Not tears. Tears would be stupid. He was her grumpy next-door neighbor with whom she had nothing in common except an affinity for his mother and sister and an appreciation for starry nights.