Page 21 of Weight of Guilt

“Of course.”

The walk back home felt longer than the walk over, even though the distance hadn’t changed. Wren took her time crossing the gap between the properties. As she walked, she turned Nash’s words over in her mind.

Document everything. Get a DNA test. You deserve to actually know.

His advice was practical, laid out like a checklist. Maybe that was exactly what she needed right now—advice from someone capable of being almost clinical about the situation when she and her sisters couldn’t manage anything but hope or dread in equal, exhausting measure.

Bo materialized from somewhere between the properties with something dangling from his mouth.

“What is that?” She paused and looked at the object in his mouth.

Then she pried it out and frowned.

It was one of Tank’s toys—a bright orange ball.

“Why do you have to do that?” she muttered. “I can’t even deny our neighbor’s claims that you’re a menace.”

She tossed the ball back onto Nash’s property, holding Bo’s collar so he didn’t go after it. She kept her hand on the collar as she led him back home, not trusting him to stay focused and not go back for the ball.

Her dog was definitely a handful, but she loved him anyway.

As she crossed the yard, she glanced at the house.

Her breath caught at the face she saw staring back.

It was Christian. He was watching her from his bedroom window.

As soon as he realized he’d been caught, he dropped the curtain and disappeared.

Wren stopped and stared up at the window, an unsettled feeling in her gut.

He was probably just looking outside. Acclimating himself. There was nothing strange about that. Who knows when the last time was he was able to have that freedom?

Except there was still a small slit between the curtain and the frame. She sensed he was still there, still watching but trying to be secretive about it.

Her throat tightened.

How long had he been watching her? Had it been simple curiosity or had something else driven his actions?

Wren wished she knew that answer.

Chapter

Ten

Before Wren reached the house, a truck skidded to a stop in the driveway, gravel spraying behind the wheels.

In the blink of an eye, Cody climbed out, engine still running, and began hauling Mason’s bike from the truck bed. He wore his uniform pants, boots unlaced at the top. His sandy hair was flattened on one side from a hat he wasn’t wearing anymore.

He’d been handsome at eighteen in a way that made teachers forgive him, and he was handsome now in a way that made dispatchers do the same.

“Hey—sorry to show up like this. But I got called into work.” He set the bike down without breaking stride. “A man was found unresponsive off one of the trails. I’m the only paramedic close enough.”

Her heart pounded in her ears. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it doesn’t. Sorry again to throw this on you at the last minute.”

“It’s fine,” Wren murmured. She’d told Cody he was always welcome to bring Mason home if something popped up. “You coming back for him tonight?”