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Jernegan knew they’d come. He’d left enough clues for them to find him. Besides, Swain wanted him dead, so it was only a matter of time. Yet the moment he stepped off the bus and sniffed the air, such thoughts left, abandoning him to the smell of the soil, the pines, and the faint tang of the sea.
Jernegan took in the hills, the sky, and the faraway mountains, knowing this was the land that never changed, the place where he longed to be.
Thirty summers he’d waited, and with the passing of each season he had convinced himself it was special, magical even, the gradual reshaping of his memories telling him a better story.… Read the rest