Page 113 of Bailey

“Daddy, he doesn’t tell people where he’s going unless it’s a public place, like—like a National Forest campground or something.”

“I know,” Graham said casually. “But he does a ton of winter camping, and there’s no reason he can’t hike out along our trails and build a snow fort up here.”

Reeves forced a smile to his face. “In a video like that, I wouldn’t say where I was. I would just say I was in the Tetons.” He spoke slowly and calmly, the way he would to a scared dog, because Bailey very much put off those vibes right now.

Thankfully, Laney moved the topic to something else, and Reeves finished dinner and helped clean up before Graham went to start a fire in the backyard pit.

“I’ll go get our sweatshirts,” Reeves said, as they’d brought them along, but he’d left them in the truck.

“I don’t know if I want to stay,” Bailey said. “I’ve got a really busy week, and it’s an hour back to the farm.”

Reeves searched her face, then glanced at her mother as she brought in the bowl of leftover salad. “You tell me,” he whispered.

Bailey nodded and turned to her momma. “I don’t think we’re going to stay for the fire tonight. It’s a long way back to the farm, and I have tons of appointments this week.”

“Of course,” her mom said, and she eased into Bailey, her eyes falling closed with bliss as she hugged her daughter. “It was so good to see you. I hope your dinner with Stockton with Ronnie goes well this week.”

“I’m sure it will.” Bailey stepped back. “We’ll go say good-bye to Daddy.”

Her mother nodded, and Reeves stepped over to her and gave her a quick, one-armed hug before he took Bailey’s hand and went outside to say good-bye to Graham.

That done, they walked down the sidewalk that ran between the lodge and a couple of other buildings, and he opened her door before joining her inside the cab of the truck. He started it and adjusted the heat as they’d blown the air conditioner on the way up, but would need the temperature to be warmer on the way back.

He swung around and pulled onto the highway and started down the canyon with the words piling up inside his mouth. He wanted Bailey to start this conversation, because he wasn’t quite sure which one they needed to have, only that she had something stewing and vibrating inside her, and he’d rather just have it out, so he could see it and hear it and examine it.

Halfway down the canyon, when she still hadn’t said anything, Reeves cleared his throat. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, and she sounded absolutely miserable.

“Just tell me what you’re thinking, wildflower.”

She sighed, and while Reeves would really like to hold her hand during this conversation, the canyon was steep and twisty, and he needed both hands on the wheel. Darkness had caught up to them, and Bailey looked out her side window to boot.

“I’ve just been thinking about…” She trailed off and took another breath. “You.”

“Me?”

“Us, I guess,” she said. “I told you months ago about the Youngs.” She paused, almost like she needed to measure every word before she said it. “And how big they are, and how I feel so small among them, right?”

“Right,” he said.

“And I don’t really belong with them anyway, though they include me—and now you—in everything. It’s nice of them, but there’s a reason Bryce and I didn’t work out and never would have. I don’t want a public life.”

Reeves nodded, though Bailey wasn’t looking at him and wouldn’t be able to see him.

“And Reeves, your whole life is public.”

“That’s not true,” he said immediately. “In fact, I’ve worked incredibly hard to make sure that a large part of my life is not public. Forty-five minutes a week while I’m camping is not who I am, Bay.”

“But it’s what people think you are,” she said quietly. “And I want to be able to go to the grocery store, and have my hot husband take me out for steak on my birthday, and take our kids to swimming lessons at the public pool, and not have people try to follow us home.”

Reeves’s throat worked against itself, because she’d just vocalized all of his suspicions, and he had no answer for her.

“That’s all,” she said. “And I don’t want you to shoot at Whiskey Mountain Lodge.”

“All right,” he said, though part of him mourned the loss of the forests surrounding the lodge, where he’d never been camping before. They would make a great series of videos. “I won’t shoot up there.” He looked over to her quickly, refocusing back on the road so he didn’t wrap the truck around a tree.

“I’ve thought about cutting back.”