I care.
Then understand it’s been a long day.
You’re gone. Mom won’t tell me where you are.
Goodnight, Hugh.
I love you. I’m sorry.
I love you.
Running was exactlywhat Rowan needed this morning. Seven o’clock and it was already a steamy eighty-two degrees and one hundred percent humidity. Welcome to an Oklahoma August morning.
Sweat waterfalled from her scalp to her ankles, detoxifying the negative energy from her body. A night of tossing and turning produced several truths. Yesterday’s fiasco had in no way shaken her faith and love for Hugh—and…He would explain his actions. No ifs, ands, or buts. He wasn’t hiding his feelings. Not from her. Rowan had chosen Hugh. She was his and he was hers. That meant no secrets.
She had stopped trying to understand her strong connection to Hugh a year ago. Some things just were—fate, destiny—whatever the label, it began and ended with that man.
She veered toward a lesser run path, but one she knew had more trees and flowers. Rowan flew by blankets of gorgeous Blue Violets, startling a squirrel who chittered furiously at the interruption. Grinning, she pelted down a steep ravine and leaped up a rock incline.
She was about to meet the main path again. Ten more strides, and she’d be out of the rougher, more natural path. Rowan was about to burst through the shaded haven when a shadow startled her. She yelped and stumbled over a loose rock. She would swear she’d seen a man move behind one of the large, older oaks fifteen or twenty feet off the path.
Her heart pounded out of her chest, the ghost of Samuel Delton raising its ugly head momentarily discombobulating her run. Frustration burned that she’d allowed herself to get spooked. Delton was dead. May he rest in Hell.
Being shot by Delton produced occasional random fissures of fear, but honestly, it had started long before the shooting. The discovery that he had taken pictures of her and put them on his dark web rape page. That he’d planned on kidnapping andviolating her. Videoing the crime for his followers to rent and view.
Imagining that had left her feeling exposed. Vulnerable. Jumpy. Everyone had been heavily guarded. The difference was that Rowan’s sisters and Jo had Bran, Patrick, and MacGregor to share their innermost fears. Allowing another to share the burden lessened the hold. Delton was dead and couldn’t follow through with his threat, but sometimes, her brain didn’t care. The dreaded what-ifs.
Rowan had promised her sisters before leaving Dublin that she’d get a therapist, and she was thankful she had. Dr. Sehoy was a Native Creek therapist and had been helping her tremendously over the past several weeks. She was learning what might trigger her anxiety and coping methods. Still, it was frustrating that she allowed negative thoughts to intrude during her run.
Shaking off her unproductive thoughts, she regained her easy stride, maneuvering onto the main trail and smiling at a few other runners. Rowan finished her run and quickly showered. She was treating herself to a few spa treatments this morning. The cleaning crew would be there most of the day, so she decided to take advantage of the time off.
Rowan was in the middle of getting her calves massaged, pure heaven, during her pedicure when her phone dinged. Groaning at the interruption, she checked her messages regardless. It might be a family thing.
Please let me see you tonight.
Rowan was about to reply when she noticed Angela walk-running across the spa heading toward her chair. One look at her frantic, tearstained face and Rowan’s heart dropped. “What happened?”
“Oh God, Rowan, I’m so sorry to interrupt your pedicure like a lunatic, but oh, God, you mentioned your appointment,”she wailed, gaining the other customer’s attention as she slipped into the empty chair next to Rowans. “The furniture company called me. The delivery truck, with all my furniture, was in a traffic accident and the truck caught on fire. Fire, Rowan! No one was hurt, thank God—only my furniture. All of it.”
“Oh Lord, no.” Angela’s dramatics were well-founded. Most of the pieces they’d picked had taken weeks to get in.
“They said they can reorder, but it will take four to six weeks, and some of the pieces are backordered. I’ll have to put my grand opening off. I already had all the mailings made. The article for the newspaper is set to run this weekend,” Angela recited the nightmare list in panic.
The boutique owner looked a minute away from hyperventilating. Shit!Think, Rowan think.“We’ll figure this out, Angela.” Glancing down at her pedicurist, she asked, “Would you mind just drying me off? I’m sorry, but I have to leave.”
Angela and Rowan walked into a small bakery on the same block as the spa. “Would you order me an iced green tea? I’ll grab a table. I need to return a few texts before we figure out some amazing plan for your furniture.” She nodded and smiled, looking slightly relieved.
There’s been a problem at the boutique. Furniture order delay. I should know in an hour what my schedule will look like. Meeting with Angela now.
But will you see me?
Will you explain?
Yes.
Then, I’ll see you.
Thank fuck, call me when you know. I love you.
