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There was such bleak desperation in those dark, haunted eyes. It could have been his superciliousness. A man like Lucian Patras wouldn’t take well to being turned down by any woman. Yet, there was something personal hidden in the frantic set of his eyes, something sad. Perhaps the man really did love her.
If he truly loved her, Parker’s plight would only be more difficult than it already was. He turned and faced his small living room. This was no penthouse. He’d found a modest place, and it was the first roof he’d had over his head in years. Great pride should be riding him, but all he felt was trepidation. What if this wasn’t enough for her?
He shook the thought away, trusting his instinct that he knew Scout better than anyone, and while money held importance to her, material things did not. So long as she had shelter, warmth, and food in her belly, she’d be content. All the other extra shit was just distraction.
Men like Patras were masters of distraction, magicians over the meek, drawing the eye with glitz and ostentation. But Scout was anything but meek.
He still recalled the first day he’d met her. She was small and thin. She’d been crouched low, tying a tattered lace of a boot too many sizes too big for her small foot. Parker had been still adjusting to a life without walls. His mother was dealing poorly with their new lifestyle and mourning the loss of her husband.
***
He glanced down at his shoes. They were warm and cushioned with support. “Wanna trade?” he asked the small girl. When she glanced up at him, he stepped back. Her eyes were crystal blue and lined with far too much cynicism for a girl of her age.
“Get out of here,” she snapped, and he frowned.
“Those shoes are too big for you.”
“Who asked you?” she said smugly and went back to lacing the boots.
“Mine are a little tight.”
She glanced at his shoes and then to his face. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Parker Hughes. My mom and I are staying over there for a while until we find a new place.”
She laughed. “Once you come to the tracks, you don’t leave. Better keep the shoes you got. Mine gots holes and you won’t likely find a better pair than the ones on your feet. Winter’s coming. Your feet freeze, and you’ll be limping all the way to spring.”
She had a crass way of speaking he found intriguing. She looked about five years younger than him. Her face was dirty and her long, dark hair disheveled, yet her hands were clean.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She knotted her lace and stood. She was a little thing. Her jeans were serviceable, tucked into the boots and drawn with a rope around her waist, a thermal shirt tucked sloppily beneath, and a flannel tied low around her hips. She slung a canvas bag over her shoulder.
“I’m Scout.”
“Scout. Like in To Kill a Mockingbird?”
She frowned. “I ain’t killed nothing.”
“It’s a book.”
Her expression remained tight, but something in her eyes shifted. “You read books?”
Parker’s brow pinched as he nodded. “Yeah. I love to read.”
“About birds?”
“About anything. Do you like to read?”
Her tiny shoulders pulled back. A curious look took over her small face as she hardened her expression. “Sure. I read all the time. That’s why I’m smart. Smart enough to not go trading good shoes right before winter.”
“Scout!” a scratchy voice called, and they both turned.
“I gotta go,” she said, shifting her bag again.
“Do you live here?” She was the first kid he’d seen in weeks. Granted, she was years younger than him, but he missed talking with people close to his age.
She jerked her head toward a dim corridor. “We stay at the end there, but don’t you think of coming by and snooping through our stuff. I got ways of keeping back creepers.”
She was being quite serious, staring up at him with those witchy blue eyes. He fought back the pull of a smirk. She mesmerized him from the hard set of her mouth to the way she carried herself in those rugged boots. She was rough and nothing like the girls he’d grown up around. No bows and lace for this little scrapper. She was all sharp edges and intimidation. He doubted she’d ever held a book in her life.
“Well, Scout, it was nice meeting you.”
Her brow crinkled. As her gaze moved over him, he waited. Her eyes settled on his watch. She lifted her chin. “You steal that?”
He looked at his wrist. “No. It was a gift for my fourteenth birthday.”
“Probably shouldn’t wear that ’round here. People go thieving on new folks with expensive things. Could probably get some good money for that. I’d hide it away and pawn it when you need food or clothes.”
“Pawn?”
“Yeah. Sell it.”
His life sure was not what it used to be. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
