“LITTLE LILY.”
No one had called her that in years. No one except—
She turned sharply.
A man stood several feet away, tall, shoulders hunched against the cold. A hood shadowed most of his face, but the mouth—the jawline—that was familiar enough to turn her blood into frost.
Her heart slammed. “Who are you?” she demanded, her trembling voice betraying her.
“You know who,” the stranger murmured. “You were never supposed to come back here.”
Her pulse shot upward.
No one here knew her nickname.
No one except Mary. Except—
Jeremiah burst out of the cabin behind her. “Lily? What’s wrong—”
The man jerked like an animal sensing a trap.
Lily took a step back, breath stumbling. “How do you know that name?”
He didn’t answer. But she felt him watching her—evaluating her—the same way someon
