"You told her you were mine."
She goes still.
Then her chin comes up, and there's the grin, small and crooked and shaking at one corner.
"Yeah," she says. "I did."
Chapter Six
HARRISON
She said six. It's five forty and I've already checked the window twice.
The cabin's clean. It was already clean, but I swept the porch, wiped down the table, stacked the wood shavings into the can instead of leaving them scattered. Pulled on a fresh flannel after washing the sawdust off my arms.
Doing all this for a woman who grabbed my hand in a gravel yard this morning and told my brother's wife she was mine.
I haven't sat down since I got back from the timber. Can't. My body's running on something that isn't food or rest, and every time I stop moving, Delaney's voice fills the gap.
You've had your space.
He hasn't been sleeping.
You've been up here with nobody to spend your money on.
Then Paige's, right underneath. Steady as roots.
I'm his.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
The woman lied for me. Looked Delaney straight in the eye without blinking and claimed a man she's known two weeks. Threaded her fingers through mine in front of God and Kidd's truck and held the entire line while I stood there with cement in my throat.
And now she's coming up this mountain with food, and I'm checking the window, and that should tell me everything I need to know about how far gone I am.
Hoofbeats on the trail.
Serenity comes through the firs with Paige on her back, saddlebag bulging, hat tipped against the evening sun. She spots me on the porch and doesn't wave. Just gives me that look. The one that says I see you, and I'm coming anyway, so make peace with it.
She ties Serenity at the rail and pulls a foil pan from the bag along with the thermos. Those two dented mugs hooked on her fingers.
"Chicken and dumplings," she says, coming up the steps. "Mama's recipe. Don't even think about telling me you've eaten."
"Wasn't gonna."
"Good. Progress."
She's past me and through the screen door before I can hold it for her. By the time I'm inside, the pan's on the table and she's opening my cabinets for bowls.
"Left of the stove," I say.
"I know where your bowls are, Aiden. I've been in this kitchen before."
She has. I remember exactly where she stood, what she touched, which shelf she pulled the walnut bowl from. Every detail of every minute she's spent in this cabin is filed in my head whether I want it there or not.
She dishes up. Slides mine across. Sits.
"Eat."
