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Then I remember what I came here for.
Sierra.
Even if Holt’s making me feel like I’m glowing, I can’t stop worrying myself sick.
So I press tighter into him, hiding my face against his chest, closing my eyes with a shaky sound as I hold on even harder.
“We need to talk, but not here,” I whisper, because people have had enough of my business to chew on for a month. “Let’s go home.”
* * *
We don’t get to talk on the drive back in our separate vehicles.
Probably for the best.
I’d probably crash the truck trying to fumble words out while driving, and I wouldn’t even know whether to start with Sierra or this burning, lovely butterfly storm in my belly.
But the choice gets taken away from me as we pull up to the ranch.
That ugly-ass Taurus is waiting.
My heart leaps into my throat.
It’s like all my worrying brought her to my doorstep.
I know Sierra has a key, so if she’s nowhere in sight…
She’s either inside or down Nowhere Lane.
I go from focused to fighting mad faster than it takes the needle on the truck to drop as I kill the engine.
Girl goes and gets me all scared for her, then just shows up here after ignoring her phone?
Oh, she’s getting an earful.
Holt looks puzzled as he climbs out of his truck. I join him at the gate, scowling.
“Sierra?” he asks.
“Yeah. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but I came out looking because I was worried. She sent me a dead call this morning, then wouldn’t pick up.” I shove the gate open. “So her showing up here now, after all that?”
“Damn fishy,” he agrees.
I stalk up to the front door and sure as shooting, it’s unlocked.
When I push it open, there she is.
Sitting there on the sofa looking all mournful.
For once she’s not dressed to her version of the nines in too-tight thrift shop attire.
Today it’s just ripped, tight jeans and a white shirt splattered in artistic rainbow bits of paint, tied up over her midriff to bare her stomach.
She looks—I don’t know—weird?
Like the color’s been drained out of her, her hair’s gone lackluster, her cheeks sunken in, hollows under eyes that look a little more washed out than before.
Dammit, I’m worried about her.
Especially when she offers me a wan smile.
“Hey, Libby,” she says, glancing past me. “Oh, hey, Holt.”
I freeze next to the bowed up wall of a man next to me.
He senses it too.
Something ain’t right at all.
“Sierra,” Holt answers carefully.
I don’t say anything at all, at first. Then it just comes out.
“Where’s Declan?” I hiss.
Sierra flinches, fidgets her hands together.
“Not here,” she says. “He…he doesn’t matter. I didn’t come here to talk about Declan, Libby.”
Warily, I eye her, folding my arms over my chest. “What did you come here to talk about? Couldn’t get you on the phone earlier. I’ve been worried.”
“I know. I came because…well, Nowhere Lane.” She swallows, her mouth working in a soft, upset twist. “I know what’s out there, Libby. I don’t know why it’s there. I don’t want to know. It’s just…too much.”
“You’re damn right it’s too much.”
I want to snap at her, but I don’t get it.
I’ve been carrying this alone, the weight of that dead man ever since our dad died.
And now—now—she wants to poke around?
It’s tempting to lay into her, but I can’t.
Not when she looks so sad, so emptied out.
I know I’m a sucker for my sister.
Sue me.
I sigh, unfolding my arms and stepping into the living room, dropping down on the opposite arm of the couch from her.
Holt follows, settling next to me, this silent, warm weight anchoring me down.
“Listen,” I say. “You don’t have to get involved with all that. I’m taking care of it. But what prompted this? Last I checked, your boyfriend was sending his boys to threaten me with jail time over it.”
Sierra ducks her head, grimacing. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know he’d…” She waves her hands. “Any of that.”
I blink, studying her closely.
“I’m tired, Libby. I’m just tired, that’s all.” She draws in a shaky breath. “And honestly, I don’t want to make a bigger mess for either of us.”
“Making messes has kinda always been your specialty,” I point out dryly.
She actually gives me a real smile for once. A smile that lets me see my sister, and not the two-faced creature she’s become.
“If I ever had a talent, it was that,” she says before abruptly asking, “Hey…did I ever tell you why I stole Mom’s stuff?”
That’s enough to get me flashing hot—instant ice to fire, a scowl hurting my face. “Huh? Now you want to tell me?”
“Better late than never, right?” She looks away. “I never said it was a good reason. But since…since I feel like that’s all you think I am, that bitch who stole Mama’s stuff, I can at least tell you why.”
