Page 63 of Lost Trust

Then locks the screen.

Then checks it again.

“Expecting a call?” I ask.

“Huh?”

I nod toward her hand.

“Oh.” She shakes her head. “No. I just told Ryder he could call me anytime. If he needs me.”

She left him at Wildhaven with Grandma Evelyn, and judging by the way her thumb keeps hovering over the screen, she’s fighting the urge to call him herself.

“You know he’s fine, right?”

Her eyes flick toward me. “I know.”

“You don’t sound like you know.”

“I know,” she repeats, softer this time. “It’s just”—she looks back out the window—“I’ve never been away from him.”

I glance over. “Not even for one night?”

She shakes her head.

“Damn. How old is he? Five?”

“Four.”

Four years without a single night away from her kid.

That lands somewhere deeper than I expected. Even the best mothers deserve a day off from time to time.

“You’re allowed to miss him,” I say. “But you’re also allowed to let somebody else spoil him for a couple of days.”

Her mouth curves. “I’m pretty sure Evelyn is already doing that.”

“I guarantee it. She’s probably fed him cookies for breakfast.”

Marina gives me a look. “She wouldn’t.”

“No.” I grin. “She’s probably got him sitting at the table with a stack of pancakes as tall as he is though.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of her, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders.

A few minutes later, I pull into Jackson Hole and steer toward The Rebel Whisk. The place is already humming despite the early hour—pickup trucks filling the lot, the smell of coffee and bacon hitting us before we even make it through the door.

“Hungry?” I ask.

Her stomach growls loudly at that moment.

“I guess that’s a yes.”

Inside, we grab a small table near the window. It’s the kind of place where everybody seems to know each other, where coffee appears before you ask for it, and the waitress calls everybody honey.

Marina orders an omelet and coffee.

I order coffee, eggs, sausage, hash browns, biscuits, and a side of gravy.