Page 58 of Sterling Stone

Grand adventures were had in their backyard.

Heaven in West Virginia? I believed I’d arrived.

But the darker side of landing a dream placement as a foster kid was the reason I was in Trudy and Carlton Wallace’s home in the first place.

“My mama . . .” I begin, licking my lips. “She didn’t make good choices when it came to men.”

Stone lowers his gaze and nods, like he already understands my meaning.

“I never knew my daddy. He was long gone by the time Mama met Trudy Wallace’s older brother. Sedona and Jolene are his daughters.”

Stone’s head lifts, and his thick brows pinch, hinting he already knows where this story might be headed.

“He was a mean man.” I exhale. “He loved my mama something fierce and then acted the opposite with the flip of a coin.” Love was not the right word to describe what my mother and Trent Wallace had. I wasn’t deaf to the noises coming from my mama’s room or blind to the way he’d sometimes kiss her in front of us. Like he wanted to swallow her, bring her into his chest, and keep her near his heart.

“They were not good for one another. Toxic.” Stone’s face has my attention, but my mind is years behind me. The insults. The fights. The results.

“She went to the police.”

Stone’s head starts to bobble like he knows how this story played out.

“When they didn’t help her, she took the law into her own hands.”

Stone closes his eyes, scrubs a hand down his face, the rasp of his scruff loud in the otherwise quiet room. He leans against the high back of his chair.

Shame washes through me. The stain of my mother’s decision was like paint I can’t ever seem to remove. And I don’t know why I’m telling him this story when I never share it with anyone. Traveling here and there doesn’t lead to long-term relationships or anyone getting close enough to need to know, want to know, these details from my past.

Water under the bridge, Trudy might say. But when the tide rose, a flash flood of memories could drown me.

“She was found guilty and sentenced to life in prison.” I swallow thickly. “And we never saw her again. By her choice.”

I tried to reach out to Mama when I got older. Sent her a handful of letters to tell her about art school, and Sedona and Jolene. How we all fared well with Trudy and Carlton.

The letters were returned in a bundle, marked Return to Sender. I never reached out again.

Maybe that’s another reason I sent Stone all those postcards without a return address. I couldn’t take that kind of rejection again. If he tossed them in the trash, I wouldn’t be the wiser. But if he sent them back to me, I couldn’t handle that kind of dismissal.

Stone leans forward again, slowly, deliberately, like he knows he’s approaching someone fragile. Someone on the edge of cracking, despite the strong exterior I display.

He reaches for my hands and tugs one toward him. Cupping both his hands around mine, he strokes the thick pad of his thumb over my knuckles, focusing his gaze on where he touches me.

“I’m so sorry that happened to her.” He pauses. “That she sought help and didn’t receive it. And I’m sorry she felt desperate enough to make a decision that altered her life, and Trudy’s brother’s life, and yours and your sisters’ forever.”

He pauses again and pulls my hand up to his lips, pressing them to those knuckles, lingering there.

“The sins of the father . . . the sins of any parent . . . should never be held against the child.”

With a suddenly sharp look, Stone’s eyes say everything. He isn’t going to hold my past against me.

“You’re the sheriff,” I swallow thickly, shame rattling inside me, remembering what Trudy said. My mama’s situation was not Stone’s fault. “I hope you can understand⁠—"

“You don’t trust the law.”

I shake my head, acknowledging his assessment.

With his head bobbing only slightly, he lowers my hand, still held snuggly in both of his. He stares at the back, continuing to paint even strokes over my skin. My fingers are long and thin compared to the thickness of his and the pad of his palm. His hold on me feels reassuring, soothing, calming.

“Taxi.” He lifts his head. “I’m not asking you to trust something you can’t. But I am asking you to trust in me. As a man. A man who wants to get to know who you are in the present, not what happened to you in the past.”