And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. ~John 8:32

Lilah Dale mulled her newest menu idea for the family diner, shortcutting through Cherokee Springs Park across the footbridge. "Too spicy. Too exotic. No one'll even try it."

Water rushed over the falls beneath her feet in an endless curtain, where the river curled south through Arkansas.

She passed the red-handled cooler from one hand to the other and glanced at the sun, just rising over the hills.

Eden was opening, and her polar-opposite sister was never late.

If Lilah hurried, she'd make it to town in time to prep before the breakfast crowd arrived. Mentally, she ticked through the same old, same old, day in, day out.

Mr. Hackleberry would want toast and poached eggs. Because it was Saturday, the Emerson clan would be there for mountains of pancakes. Scrambled eggs and sausage for Mr. Steadman, who'd sit at the counter by Papaw like it was his job.

Lord, what I'd give for a little bit of change ... Passing the visitor center, she cast a longing gaze heavenward, all but tasted the cilantro she'd chopped up yesterday. Her latest kitchen triumph was perfecting chipotle sauce. Change today looked like grilled trout smothered in the stuff. Totally crave-able. Too bad no one would order it.

The lonely truck in the empty lot gave her pause, parked just to the left of a posted "No Camping" sign.

California plates, windows steamed with a night-full of breath, and it didn't look like the driver could afford the two-hundred-dollar ticket.

Taking a mental coin toss between where she needed to go and what she ought to do, Lilah crossed the parking lot to the driver's window, and saw him through the foggy glass. Like an old motor, her heart kicked over.

His jaw hinged open in a snore. A crop of overgrown, red-gold hair obscured his face in shadow, his movie star features looked a day or two past shaving. Handsome in a gut-check way, though she had no right to look and admire. Not now, and maybe not ever again.

Lilah set down her gear and knuckle-rapped on the window, quick-stepping back when the drifter's eyes flew open in a gasp.

"Wha —? Where?" He blinked, sluggish, and a hand scrubbed his stubbled face.

"You lost?" She nodded toward the crumpled map at his side.

The now-awake stranger seemed more rugged. Raw. And utterly male.

"N-no." He cranked the window down and wiped his eyes. "Road weary. Pulled over last night to wait for morning. Guess the falls put me to sleep."

"You can't camp here. They'll ticket you, for sure." She thumbed at the sign. "Park gets more cash that way than from tourists, believe me."

"I'm not —"

"There's a motel across the river, or if you're tight, the campground. It has showers, facilities." She picked up rod and cooler, elbow-pointing the direction. "Good thing I got here first or Rita might've called the cops."

* * *

Across the river, the fierce wail of an approaching train caught their mutual attention.

Jake watched the engine heave its bulk around the curve, rat-a-tatting across the tracks. Its rusty cars and cargo stuttered through the trees like a loose movie reel.

He turned for a better look at the girl who'd woken him.

Tall and willowy, with blonde curls that framed her suntanned face, a dusting of freckles on her nose, and an obvious distrust of strangers, by the way she stayed well out of arm's reach from his open window.

He did his best to cast a friendly, non-ax-murderer smile. "Catch anything?"

"Rainbow." She revealed the ample stack of filleted trout. "Good morning for it."

"As delicious as that looks, is there a fast food restaurant or something nearby?"

"In Thayer, just across the state line." She flicked her gaze to the little wooden cross dangling from the rearview mirror, then back to him and grinned. "You could do a lot better than fast food, you know. Try Earl's Kitchen, in town. Good for the soul." Her brows jogged in good humor, and Jake watched her ponytail swish as she disappeared under the bridge.

He should have offered her a ride, said something, but she hadn't really given him a chance to mention that he wasn't passing through. But waking to the sight of the natural beauty with a cooler full of fish had scrambled his thoughts.

Dragging the crumpled state map from where it bookmarked last night's reading from Exodus, he spied his location. Mammoth was a dot, just on the Arkansas side of Missouri's boot heel. He'd made it after all, though he thought he'd missed it altogether. Blink and you'd drive right by. Now what, Lord?

Would Margaret have ever come to a place like this? With no mall, no fancy restaurants? Not a chance. Because his hair blocked his view, he blew through his shaggy bangs. "That's not the haircut of a pastor," her voice scolded in his memory.

Great way to make a good first impression with his new congregation. Accordioning the map, he tossed it to the dash. Wifeless. Homeless, except for the lodgings the Women's Auxiliary League provided for him.

His parent church hadn't given him much background on his new home, just that they needed a fresh start as much as he did — that's why Dad allowed him to abbreviate his name, arrive incognito. Jake Gibson would be known as Jake Gibb until he'd found himself — decided which path to take. Accept his place as heir to his father's mega ministry, or to leave the pulpit all together, with no one the wiser.

"It's better for you, better for everyone until you get back on your feet."

Memory of his father's calm, mega-church pastor's assurance followed him as he drove east, and still churned his gut. A good son, he'd try it Dad's way. For now.

Maybe this was what he needed. He'd deleted himself from all social media, as if he'd never existed, with no old friends, and nothing to fall back on but his teaching and the Lord's good graces. And a town of under one thousand souls? To Margaret and her friends, it probably looked like punishment, hidden away from everything and anyone he'd ever known. And right now? That was fine with him.

Jake opened the driver's door, cringing at the long creak. He hopped out, turned this way and that to stretch his back and to catch the mid-April breeze. The glassy pool of Cherokee Spring beckoned, a broad, flat lake rounded by rocky slopes and patches of grass. Its edges grew thick with sucker plants. But the water! With shades ranging from clear at the shore to midnight blue at the depth, it struck him as a mini Lake Tahoe. No tourists, though, and no one fishing on this brisk spring morning. Just a sad-looking dock with paddleboats tied up on one side, while crumbled cement pilings jutted off on the other like a bridge to nowhere.

No one was fishing up there.

He thrilled briefly, thinking about the mysterious blonde with the cooler full of trout. When his ragged-edged heart healed, he'd only date girls not afraid of baiting a hook.

He jammed hands into his jeans pockets. Since a path wound around the spring, he decided to walk it, take in his new surroundings, and pray the weight of guilt off his shoulders. He wished he'd taken the time to search the internet for the church and the town, instead of trekking across the country like Moses with a map. A church like this was basically a blank slate. But then again, so was he.

Turning away from the stream and lake, Jake hoofed it toward...