The third mile, the romance began to fade. The breezes were too damned gentle—hardly even there at all. The pines and the cedars were too few and far between. And she had decided that the wild sage and daisies stank. Four miles in, she consoled her aching feet and back that this was some sort of spiritual excursion, a discipline that would enrich her soul. Hell, she might even lose a few pounds. The fifth mile she began to curse Ryan Stone silently for bringing them into this godforsaken place. The sixth, she let him have it. “They’d better be out here, Stone, ’cause if we’ve gone through all this for nothing, you’re dead meat,” she said, huffing and puffing as the sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes. “I’m going to bop you over the head and leave you out here to rot.” “I’m more convinced than ever that we’re on the right track,” Ryan said, dropping to one knee to examine the ground. Savannah was grateful for the chance to pause and catch her breath.
