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After dinner, I follow Amanda to the kitchen to help her clean up. As I’m watching her packing leftovers, I realize she plans to send them home with me. “You don’t have to do that,” I protest.
“Nonsense. Gabe and I can only eat so much. Besides, with the long hours Liam works, I know he doesn’t have time to cook for himself.”
“True,” I say without thinking.
She glances at me with a curious expression.
“I mean. From what he says—”
“I’m not stupid, dear. I know Liam’s staying with you at Vinny’s.”
Wow. How the hell do I respond to that?
“It’s not like that.”
To my surprise, Amanda’s shoulders slump.
“I had a bad break up, and he’s just looking out for me.”
She reaches out, cupping my chin and turning my head. Under her intense stare, my heart drums. She releases me without commenting.
“That’s too bad,” she finally says. Her gaze strays to the back door. “Are you and Liam going to light a fire tonight?”
Yikes. My mind goes someplace completely different than I think she intended.
“It’s not too late to join the guys for some target practice.” She raises an eyebrow. “If you’ve finally developed a desire to learn.” A smile tugs at one corner of her mouth. This has been an inside joke for years.
Mr. Hollister was a weapons instructor for a private company and used to travel a lot. He made sure his wife and son knew how to protect themselves. Mrs. Hollister would have made a great pioneer woman. She handled a shotgun as deftly as she baked a pie. My aversion to guns had always been a bit of a curiosity in this household.
“Maybe Mr. Hollister can give me some lessons this summer.”
“Oh, I think if anyone’s going to do that, it will be Deputy Hollister,” she teases. Her laughter stops abruptly and she takes my chin again, angling my head toward the light.
“Amanda,” I mumble through the tight hold she has on my face.
“Bad breakup, huh?”
“I’m handling it.”
“You’re done with him?” Her stern voice leaves no room for any answer other than yes. Coming from anyone else, that question would raise my hackles. “I left,” I whisper. “I was leaving him when this happened,” I explain, pointing to my cheek.
She glances at the back door again. “Did you know I was married before Gabe?”
“No. I had no idea.”
“Married right out of high school, against my parents’ wishes.” She rolls her eyes. “Young love, you know.”
I’d have to be an idiot not to know where she’s taking this story. Still, I’m riveted.
“He was very…volatile. That’s how Gabe and I met.”
“How?”
She lets out a long, slow breath as if she wishes she hadn’t brought this up. “We were at a gas station and Burt slapped me across the face for not topping off the gas tank. It didn’t take much to piss him off. Right out in the open. Gabe was at the next pump.” She shakes her head and I feel terrible that she’s sharing this story with me when it’s obvious she doesn’t like to think about those times. “Let’s just say, he intervened on my behalf. He dropped me off at my parents’ house. They were still furious with me, but Gabe sat down alongside me and explained what was happening. They helped me get the marriage annulled and move on.”
“And Gabe?”
“I didn’t see him for a while. Needed to take care of myself first, otherwise I was no good to him.”
“Oh.” Is this her way of telling me to stay away from Liam?
“You,” she says. “Are a very different woman, yes?”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t need a man to rescue you. You didn’t marry this guy.”
My heart squeezes. She’s the most amazing woman I’ve known. Someone I admired very much growing up. How can she blame herself for what happened? “Amanda. It’s not your fault.”
Her eyes widen as if she’s happy I finally understand the point she’s trying to make.
“Anyway, Gabe and I always wanted more children.”
This doesn’t surprise me at all, but I’m not sure why she’s sharing that now.
“Even though we were only blessed with Liam, we always thought of you and Vince as our own.”
Shame threatens to drown me. When I walked out of town and cut ties with everyone, I’d also cut ties to the family who had been my safe haven.
“You always treated me more like a mother than my own did,” I choke out.
Amanda pulls me into a hug. In her arms I feel like a giant. How this tiny woman created Liam defies logic. “I know your mom had problems. But you and Vince turned into wonderful people, so she couldn’t be all bad.”
Except, I’d ended up no better than my mother.
“I think that had more to do with you and Mr. Hollister than my mother.”
“Oh, honey,” she soothes. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. What I meant was, I always hoped, well, you know.”
Confused, I just stare at her.
“The way he looks at you is different than any other girl he’s ever brought home,” she explains.
Just how many women has Liam brought home to meet his parents? Swallowing down a wave of jealousy that I have no right to feel, I shake my head. He can bring whoever he wants home. It’s not my business. “I’m nothing more than an annoying kid sister to him.”
Amanda blows out a frustrated breath—clearly disagreeing with my assessment of Liam’s feelings, but she doesn’t press me further.
The back door screeches open and Liam steps into the kitchen. My heart speeds up as soon as his gaze lands on me.
“I’ve got a handful of sticks ready. Dad wants to know if you’ve got dough and pudding for him?” he asks without taking his eyes off me.
“Is the fire ready?”
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Getting there. Dad got sidetracked showing me the newest addition to the family arsenal.”
“Why are you pestering me when it’s not even ready?” Amanda swats at him with a dish towel. “Get out of my kitchen. Bree and I were having an important discussion.”
Liam bites his lip, trying not to laugh, and ducks out of range of the wet terrycloth his mother’s still wielding.
“Ooo! Are we making campfire éclairs?” I ask, bouncing up and down on my toes a little. “I haven’t had those in forever. No one else knows what the hell they are.”
I attempted to make them for Chad once and he acted as if I’d tried to light him on fire instead of a few strips of dough. He didn’t eat low class food he’d informed me. No wonder I hated to cook, I got slapped down—sometimes literally—every time I tried.
“If I’d had more time,” Amanda says, giving her son a healthy dose of side-eye. “I would have made everything from scratch.”
“That’s all Liam,” I explain, winking at him.
He raises his eyebrows and taps his chest in a who me? gesture, making me laugh.
Amanda’s gaze shifts from Liam to me. “I figured
.” She gives me an affectionate pat on my arm as she moves past me to the refrigerator. “Here,” she says, flailing a tub of pudding around in the air. “Liam, dammit, do you want the stuff or not?” she huffs.
“Sorry, Ma.” He grins at me as he rushes to grab the tub out of Amanda’s hand.
“See what I mean?” she asks after he leaves. “Too busy staring at you to do what he came in here to do.”
“Do you read minds now, Amanda?”
“No. I just know my son.” She loads my arms down with a bunch of items and pushes me out the back door. “Ask Gabe to come in here, will you, sweetheart?”
Liam and his father have a pretty decent sized fire going when I walk up and set the tubes of crescent roll dough, jar of Nutella, foil, cooking spray, and a bunch of utensils on the table.
“Your presence in the kitchen has been requested,” I tell Mr. Hollister. He chuckles and motions me over to where he and Liam have set up a target about ten yards away.
“I was showing Liam this revolver I picked up for Amanda,” he explains, offering the gun to me with the cylinder open to show me it’s not loaded.
“Wow. It’s heavier than I expected.” I’m holding it away from my body as if it might explode at any minute.
His dad smiles. “Good instincts already, Bree. Always assume it’s loaded and never point it at anyone.”
“No problem there,” I mutter.
Liam reaches over and pries it from my hands. “I’ll take it, sweetheart.”
I give it another look. “Your mom really shoots that thing?”
Both Hollister men chuckle at me.
“Yes,” Mr. Hollister says. “She wanted this particular one for concealed carry.” He slides a finger over the smooth metal. “All the edges have been taken down, nothing to snag when you draw.”
“How about throwing a laser grip on it?” Liam suggests.
“Yes.” They discuss grips, sights, and other gun stuff that goes right over my head until I hear my name.
“Would this be a good one for Bree to start with?” Liam asks.
His father’s already shaking his head before Liam finishes the question. “Not loaded with .357.”
“No, no, with defensive thirty-eights.”
