“What are you doing out here?” His incredulity hadn’t dissipated.
What was I doing here? Wasn’t that a story the media would want? “The engine just died.”
He raked his irritated gaze over the car. It was dark and the glare of the headlights from his pickup made it impossibly hard to see the deep blue of his irises. “Have you called anyone?”
God, no.
Thunder split the night. I jumped and squeezed my eyes shut. I was safe. The car was fine. I was fine.
“Shit.” Rhys’s eyes flashed, ripe with indignation, then he turned and beckoned me to follow him. “Come on. We’ll talk in the pickup.”
I was tired of being told what to do and, most of all, wary of being manipulated, but when Rhys ordered me to do something, my brain shut off and my body listened.
My only other choices were to walk the six miles to the cabin or to get into my dead, brand-new car and call one of my siblings. Then I’d have to explain who, what, when, where, and why I was back in Montana.
I had just... needed to leave it all for a few days. But that explanation wouldn’t satisfy my family.
He jogged around the passenger side and knocked on the door. Someone moved inside and then the locks thunked. Who was with him? He opened the door for me.
I smiled my thanks at him, but he refused to look at me. He stepped out of my way and opened the back door. “Get that blanket and pass it up to the front, please.”
His voice had turned kinder, impossibly gentle. He’d said please. I was no longer a recipient of that tone.
I peered into the back seat before I crawled in.
Oh my god. Of course he had his daughters along. “Hey,” I said timidly. I’d seen him with them aroundtown, but they hadn’t seen me. My big floppy hat and sunglasses might be over the top, but they allowed me a surprising amount of anonymity. The getup had given me moments to spy on a version of Rhys who doted on his adorable little girls.
One audible gasp sounded, followed by another. Two sets of big eyes pinned me.
There it was. The recognition. I scrambled into the pickup and was surrounded by his cedar-and-soap scent. That part hadn’t changed.
He got in on the other side. Droplets cascaded from his hair and down his face.
“You’re June Bee,” one of the girls said.
“I am. What’s your name?”
Both girls giggled.
“I’m Bethany.”
“Hannah.”
They each spoke so fast I couldn’t tell who said what.
“I can’t believe it,” the one with odd goggles gushed. “I heard you were from Bourbon Canyon, but I’ve never seen you. I almost didn’t believe it.”
I frowned at their dad. He wouldn’t look at me. He just shoved a fluffy red-plaid blanket toward me. He hadn’t told the girls we’d been friends? Of course he wouldn’t have told them about the women before their mom, but these two had no idea I evenknewtheir dad, much less how intimately well.
At least he hadn’t told them he hated me. Because he’d acted like it at his dad’s funeral.
“Yes, I was born and raised in Bourbon Canyon.” I stared at Rhys. A muscle in his jaw was popping. I draped the blanket over my lap. I hated to get it soaked, but shivers were racing up and down my body. I’d beshaking soon. “Your dad and I used to go to school together.”
The first day he’d shown up in my class, he’d cringed when the teacher had announced he’d been living in New York City and he’d also lived in LA. All the kids had peppered him with questions about the big city, but during lunch I had set my tray next to his and asked what his favorite song was.
The relief and gratitude in his eyes were something I still treasured despite everything.
A high-pitched squeal came out of the oldest. “Really? You know our dad?”
