“Oh thank God,” he says. “You’re okay.”

I don’t know if I’d go that far. Okay seems like the last thing that I am. I cough and cough and my lungs finally clear and I look up into Tucker’s crazy worried eyes and try to smile. And promptly cough some more.

“I’m fine,” I say. Hack, hack, hack.

“Hold on. We’re almost there.”

He starts walking again and in a couple minutes we’re back at the truck. He opens the back, grabs that big familiar blanket, and spreads it out, all with one hand as he holds me with the other. He lays me gently down into the bed of his truck. Then he climbs in beside me.

“Thanks,” I rasp. “You’re my hero.” Understatement. The coughing, at least, has stopped.

“What happened?”

I stare up at the sky, the big, fluffy clouds slowly lumbering over us. A tiny shiver passes through me. Tucker notices.

“You can tell me.”

“I know.”

I look at him. His sweet blue eyes are filled with so much love and concern it makes a lump rise in my throat.

“Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?”

“No, I just passed out.”

He waits. I take a deep breath.

“I had a vision,” I tell him.

Then the story comes tumbling out.

“Where are we?” I ask when I’m done. We’re both sitting up now, Tucker leaning back against the cab trying to process it all. I can’t tell if he’s mad about the Christian aspect of the whole thing or relieved that my obsession with Christian Prescott was for a good reason. He hasn’t said anything for an entire ten minutes.

“What are you thinking?” I ask when I can’t stand it anymore.

“I think it’s amazing.”

That word again.

“It’s like a sacred duty you have to do.”

“Right.”

Of course the version I told Tucker doesn’t include those pesky little details about the hand-holding and the cheek touching, the way we both, Christian and I, were totally into each other in all kinds of ways at that moment. I don’t know what to think about that stuff myself.

“So where are we?” I ask again.

“We’re good, I think. Don’t you?”

“No, I mean, where are we? Literally?”

“Oh. We’re out on Fox Creek Road.”

Fox Creek Road. Such a simple, unassuming name for this place where destiny’s going to go down. Now I know the where. And the who, and the what.

All I have to figure out is the when.

And the why.

Chapter 18

My Purpose-Driven Life

I’m sitting in a boat with Tucker, smack in the middle of Jackson Lake, when Angela finally calls me back.

“Okay, what’s up?” she asks. I hear bells ringing in the background. “Has the fire happened yet?”

“No.”

“Did you finally get some action with Christian?”

“No!” I stammer, completely flustered. “He’s—I’m not—He’s not in town.” I glance at Tucker. He raises his eyebrows and mouths, “Who’s that?” I shake my head slightly.

“So what’s the big emergency?” she asks impatiently.

“I sent that email weeks ago. You only now got it?”

“I haven’t had an internet connection for a while,” she says a bit defensively. “I’ve been kind of off the beaten path. So everything’s okay now? Crisis averted?”

“Yes,” I say, still looking at Tucker. He smiles. “Everything’s fine.”

“So what happened?”

“Do you want me to take us in?” Tucker asks. I shake my head again and smile to show him that everything is, like I said, completely fine.

“Can I call you back later?” I ask Angela.

“No, you can’t call me back later! Who was that?”

“Tucker,” I answer with forced lightness. He moves across the boat and slides into the seat next to me, grinning wickedly the whole time in a way that makes my breath catch and my heart accelerate.

“Tucker Avery,” she says.

“Yes.”

“And Wendy’s there, too?”

“No, Wendy’s still in Montana.”

Tucker lifts my free hand in his and starts to kiss my knuckles one by one. I shiver and try to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let go.

“So just Tucker,” Angela says.

“Right.” I stifle a laugh as Tucker nips one of my fingers.

“What are you doing with Tucker Avery?”

“Fishing.” We’ve spent the afternoon turning in slow circles on the lake, kissing, splashing each other, eating grapes and pretzels and turkey sandwiches, kissing some more, snuggling, tickling, laughing, oh yeah, some kissing, but in there somewhere was definitely fishing. I distinctly remember a fishing pole in my hands at some point during the day.

“No,” says Angela in a low voice.

“What?”

“What are you doing with Tucker Avery?” she asks again, pointedly.

Sometimes she’s too smart for her own good.

I sit up and pull away from Tucker. “This really isn’t a good time. I’ll call you back.”

She refuses to be sidetracked.

“You’re screwing it up, aren’t you?” she says. “You’re losing your focus at the time when you should be sharpening it, preparing yourself. I can’t believe you’re messing around with Tucker Avery now. What about Christian? What about destiny, Clara?”

“I’m not screwing up.” I stand up and walk carefully to the other end of the boat. “I can still do what I’m supposed to do.”

“Oh, right. Sounds like you’ve got it all under control.”

“Leave me alone. You don’t know anything.”

“Does your mom know?”

When I don’t answer, she gives a short, bitter little laugh.

“This is perfect,” she says. “Wow.”

“It’s my life.”

“Yes, it is. And you are totally screwing it up.”

I hang up on her. Then I turn and face Tucker’s questioning eyes.

“What was that all about?” he asks softly.

He doesn’t know about Angela’s angel-blood status, and it’s not my secret to tell.

“Nothing. Just somebody who’s supposed to be my friend.”

He frowns. “I think we should go in. We’ve been out here long enough.”

“Not yet,” I plead.

Overhead there are storm clouds darkening. Tucker gazes up at them.

“We really should get off the lake. We’re starting into storm season, when the thunderstorms pop up out of nowhere. They only last for like twenty minutes but they can be brutal. We should go.”

“No.” I grab him by the hand and tug him to the end of the boat, where I pull him down and sit curled against him, arranging his arms around me and retreating safely into his heat, his familiar, comforting smell. I press a kiss against the pulse that beats in his neck.

“Clara—”

I put a finger to his lips. “Not yet,” I whisper. “Let’s just stay here a little longer.”

The next time the phone chirps at me I’m eating pork tenderloin with apples and fennel, one of Mom’s more impressive recipes. It’s delicious, of course, but I’m not thinking about the food. I’m not thinking about Angela either. It’s been two days since the phone call on the lake and I’m doing my best to forget about it. Instead, I’m all wrapped up in some Tucker daydream. He’s been out on the river for the last couple days, working so he’ll have the money to buy his girlfriend a steak dinner for our monthiversary, he said. We’ve been together one entire month, which is crazy. Every time he calls me his girlfriend I still get a thrill. He’s going to take me dancing, teach me how to two-step and line dance and everything.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Mom asks, arching an eyebrow across the dinner table. Jeffrey stares at me, too. I try to collect my jumbled thoughts. I pull the cell out of my pocket and look at it.

It’s an unknown number. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I hit the TALK button.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hey there, stranger,” says a familiar voice.

Christian.

I almost drop the phone.