Page 19 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

Returning home had not been an option for any of us.

“He saved us,” Katherine whispered. “No one around here understands that, but Lou saved our lives.”

“Yes, he did. I wish I would have gone to his funeral. The timing . . . it didn’t work out.” More like I hadn’t made the time. “Do the Greers know? About our childhood?”

“Have you met Carol? She got me to blurt the whole thing one night about a month after you left. I was feeling alone and angry, so I told her everything. And there’s no such thing as a secret on this ranch. The next night, I went to the family dinner and you should have seen all the pitiful looks. I was so pissed.”

Which meant Easton knew too.

I’d kept my past to myself when I’d worked here. We all had. The Sheldons were the only people we’d told. At the time, I wasn’t sure what had caused Katherine and me to spill our tale, to guests, no less. But after working with Sandra and Eric for a few years, I’d learned that it was their nature. They had this magnetic pull, a way of drawing people out of their shells.

Even after I’d stopped working for their firm, I’d kept in touch with my former mentors. Sandra was my constant companion at Fashion Week in Paris.

There were others who knew my story—I’d spent years telling Dr. Brewer the horrid details—but the list was small. Not even Benjamin knew about my past. Because, as Katherine had said, the fastest way to earn someone’s pity was to tell them about our youth.

I didn’t want pity from the Greers. I certainly didn’t want pity from Easton.

All I’d ever wanted from him was affection.

Which I’d gotten one glorious night.

Hours before I’d boarded a Greyhound bus and left Montana behind.

“Do you ever miss the tent?” Katherine asked, pouring us both more wine.

I laughed. “I don’t miss sleeping on the ground, but I do miss the nights when we’d have everyone crowded inside because it was raining. I miss the days when we were all bored and would play cards for hours and talk and laugh.”

“Me too. It’s sad that we’ve all lost touch. But for me, it’s easier this way. To just go on with my life and not look back. I mean, we were happy in the junkyard. As happy as homeless kids could be, but it was hard.”

“So hard,” I agreed. “My God, we were tough.”

“And lucky.”

There were countless other stories of runaway kids whose lives had been cut short. Whose lives had no happy ending. Kids who’d gotten addicted to drugs and alcohol. Girls who’d disappeared into a trafficking ring, never to be seen again.

Lucky was an understatement.

“I’m glad you came back,” Katherine said. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’m glad I came too.” There was a sense of peace here. A calm weight to the air. “It’s relaxing.”

“Tonight’s a quiet night. You came at exactly the right time. Normally, the dining room is full until eight or nine. But this is a slow week.”

Which explained why we were the only two in the room except some staffers wandering in and out, checking to see if Katherine needed anything.

After I’d settled into my guest room earlier, I’d called to check in with Benjamin. As expected, he had everything handled and no emergencies to report. But with nothing else to do—something that hadn’t bothered me while I’d been driving because I’d been driving—I’d pulled out my laptop and spent an hour going through emails.

It had felt good to reconnect with that familiar part of me. The person who worked efficiently and effectively, checking boxes off lists and moving things forward.

Except there hadn’t been much to move along. Mostly, it had been correspondence from my financial management team who were still processing the details from my sale of Gemma Lane. Then there’d been a few notes from acquaintances around Boston wondering if the rumors of my hastened exit from the city were true.

Those emails I’d simply deleted. There’d be buzz about my departure for weeks. People would speculate that I’d lost my mind or burned out. They’d gossip about my shortcomings or that the pressure had become too much.

It didn’t matter.

Boston was history and I had no plans to return.

The rest of my afternoon had been spent reading. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read a book for sheer pleasure. I hadn’t even owned a book, but my room had compensated for my shortcomings. It had come stocked with three different paperbacks in the dresser drawer.