Page 36

“Mom,” she said.

Her mother, Bettina Jackson, looked at her, and then traveled her gaze down. There as a haughty look, one Betty remembered many times.

“You’re not dressed,” her mother said.

“Betty, honey, I did not hear you enter,” Martha said, coming into the kitchen.

Martha and Bettina were sisters. She knew family was complicated. Between sisters, parents, and children. She was aware of Martha having children, but they were off, living their busy lives, only sending cards, or a random phone call. She and Martha had talked about it often, that she felt she had pushed her kids away to be successful. She wasn’t close to her children, although she did love them.

As Martha would say, she couldn’t keep her kids locked up in Rivermont Ridge. They all had dreams of being bigger and better, and none of them liked to return to town. Martha had been invited to leave Rivermont Ridge, and go and live with her own kids. Martha always refused.

Betty didn’t know why she was thinking about this right now, as she looked across at a woman who proved the Arctic had more warmth. Did this mean her father was here as well?

“Morning, Aunt Martha,” she said, forcing herself to look toward her aunt.

Martha tried to be encouraging, even in her smile, but it fell flat. This was hard. She didn’t like it.

“What exactly are you teaching this girl, Martha? It’s ten o’clock and she is only just getting out of bed.”

“She keeps her own schedule, and she’s old enough to have her own life, Bettina. You know this.”

Betty lost all sense of self. The plan was to cook Grim breakfast, but there was no way she was going to be able to fumble through this kitchen with her mother watching.

“What are you doing in Rivermont Ridge?” Betty asked.

Her mother hated small-town life. She bragged about leaving it behind and never looking back. She would often say the only way to get her back into a small town was over her cold, dead body.

“Is it wrong for me to want to visit my sister and you?” Bettina asked.

She didn’t refer to her as “daughter.” It was always “you,” or “the child,” or some other informal way that didn’t declare her as anything that belonged to her.

Betty hated this and quickly glanced toward Martha. There was no way her own mother could stay in this house with Thanksgiving approaching. They were going to have the Chaos Monsters MC joining them, and she was looking forward to it. She wanted to cook for a large crowd, and seeing her mother made her feel sick.

“Hey, beautiful, you’re taking too long,” Grim said, sliding his hands around her waist, and her humiliation couldn’t be more complete. All she wanted to do was sink against him and not think or feel again.

With her mother’s cold gaze looking down at them, she felt like her world was crumbling. Grim was able to hold her up, to keep her balanced.

“Who is this?”

Could she sound any more judgmental?

“Grim,” he said. “Betty’s boyfriend. Who are you?” He sounded cold, aloof, and it was not a side of him Betty was used to.

But she also felt that little buzz as he said he was her “boyfriend.” They were together. They were a couple, and that meant a great deal to her.

“Betty’s ... mother,” she said. “Bettina Jackson.”

Her mother stepped forward and held out her hand. Betty froze and looked toward Martha. Grim looked at the hand, and this was like watching a battle of wills, only her mother was not a match for him. He kissed her cheek, then brushed past her.

“You’re back in town then,” Grim said, and went to the coffeepot. “Do you want a coffee, babe?”

Betty could have kissed him. “Yes, I do.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“I’ve got creamer in the fridge,” Betty said, and she moved toward the kitchen counter.

“You know the calories that are in creamer?” Bettina asked.