“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” Ben agreed, kissing his daughter on her cheek. “But we have a lot to be thankful for. This pip-squeak of a daughter, your father’s new job at the Bait and Fish, the house—”
“Each other.”
He smiled and sighed. “Each other.” Slinging an arm around Carlie’s shoulder, he held her close. Little Mary yawned and closed her eyes again.
Carlie rested her head against his shoulder and watched as the sun rose in the sky, turning the mist on the water’s surface to a glorious white cloud—the ghosts of Whitefire Lake.
She closed her eyes and imagined she heard the sounds of native drums but realized it was only the steady, constant beating of Ben’s heart.
* * * * *