Aspen’s eyes flared. “Of course.”
“You haven’t met Pirate yet,” Cady argued.
My chest felt tight. I needed air.
Aspen placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and squeezed. “Roan needs to get home to his own house.”
It was the first time I’d heard her say my name. Something about the shape of it in her mouth sounded different than how I heard it every other day.
Cady pouted.
Aspen simply tweaked her nose. “How about a bubble bath before bed?”
The little girl instantly brightened. “Can I wear my goggles?”
Aspen laughed. “Go get them.”
“Bye, Mr. Grizz,” she yelled as she ran off.
I was already on my way to the door. My lungs felt like fire. “Lock up after me.”
There was a bite to my words that I didn’t intend but couldn’t help.
Instead of annoyance or anger in Aspen’s eyes, there was concern.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek. The last thing I needed was for her to see me. There was too much darkness there. I slipped out the door, shutting it hard behind me. But then I stopped, sucking in ice-cold air.
I waited until I heard the telltale sound of one, two, three locks. The snick of each one twisted my gut and ratcheted my unease higher. She had three locks for a reason. The need to know what that was ate at me.
But I forced my legs to move and carry me away from the farmhouse that needed serious work. I beeped the locks on my truck and climbed inside. Starting the engine, I rolled down the window. I needed air. I didn’t care how frigid it was.
Carefully, I executed a three-point turn, my gaze pulled toward the house. The glow of light in the windows was just as sunny and warm as the two people inside.
They needed to be more careful. Not everyone would wander into your house with good intentions.
I gripped the wheel tighter as I placed my foot on the accelerator. I’d go for a run if there wasn’t still so much snow on the ground. I needed to burn off the bizarre energy thrumming through me.
Glancing both ways, I turned right out of Aspen’s drive and headed away from town. My truck took the familiar bumps in the road easily. In a matter of minutes, I was turning off Huckleberry Lane and onto a private drive.
I slowed at an imposing gate. Tiny red lights flashed, recording in night vision. Usually, each security measure eased a bit of the feral energy running through me at any given time. But it didn’t touch it tonight.
Sticking my hand out the window, I typed in a gate code. Changing it every three weeks was a memory exercise of sorts. I waited a beat for the gate to swing open, then drove through. I stopped just on the other side of the fence while it closed. I needed to see the locking mechanism click before I could drive on.
I lifted my foot off the brake and started the climb up the mountainside. The drive was gravel and still dotted with snow, but it wasn’t enough to give my truck any trouble.
No warm lights greeted me as I pulled to a stop in front of my tiny cabin. No one welcomed me home, not even a three-legged dog. Usually, the silence gave me the only measures of peace I’d ever known. But not tonight.
As I slid out of my truck and walked to the front door, I felt…lonely. I unlocked the deadbolt and doorknob and stepped inside. My alarm let out a series of beeps, and I quickly disarmed it, shutting and locking the door behind me.
I didn’t bother turning on any lights. Instead, I let the glow from the house below guide me. That warmth seemed to reach all the way from the dilapidated farmhouse into my cabin.
I slid open the glass balcony door and stepped outside, then lowered myself into an Adirondack chair and stared at the farm in the distance. I’d never seen her close-up, not until the other night. But I’d seen that flash of red in the breeze as the woman moved to the barn, a child bounding at her side.
I’d made up a million and one stories as I saw them let animals out and call them in. But everything looked different to me now that I knew who lived there. I could no longer make up stories about the woman and her child. They were too real.
And something told me they were in danger.
9
ASPEN
The stars sparkled overhead. They should’ve been a comfort. Autumn and I had always loved the stars. It didn’t matter if we were living in a car or a shelter or a studio apartment, the stars were our one constant while apart from each other.
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and looked down at my phone.
Me
I’m here. Do you need help with your stuff?
I’d sent it four minutes ago. I told myself I’d give her five and then go in.