Page 23 of Property of Bob

That was when I realized she’d been holding herself stiff since she’d walked into the room.

She moved closer, and my eyes stayed on her the entire way.

Twenty fucking years.

I’d known where she was for most of them.

Not exactly.

Ramona moved around too much for me to always know where she was, but I knew she was safe.

Clint and I had kept in touch, and her name came up. Arizona. Colorado. Texas. Somewhere in the Carolinas for a while. Campgrounds. Seasonal jobs. An RV.

I knew pieces. Enough to know she was alive. Enough to know she was doing okay.

At least, that was what Clint always said.

I hadn’t seen or talked to her in years. And I sure as hell hadn’t expected her to walk into my hospital room.

She stopped beside the bed.

Up close, I could see more of what twenty years had done.

Not bad. Not even fucking close.

Just different.

Grown.

She wasn’t Clint’s little sister standing in the hallway anymore. That thought came out of nowhere.

I shoved it right back where it belonged. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Twenty years, and that’s what I get?”

“What do you want? A parade?”

“A hello might’ve been nice.”

“I said your name.”

“That does not count as hello.”

“Hello, Ramona.”

“Better.”

I shook my head. That pulled at my neck, and I stopped immediately.

Ramona noticed, and her eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Never better,” I grunted.

“Right,” she drawled.