CHAPTER NINE
Not much has changed in the Hollister household. Mrs. Hollister still adores her only son. She still welcomes me into her home with open arms.
“Good grief, young lady. You’ve known me long enough to call me Amanda by now.”
“Thank you, Amanda.”
“Or Mom,” she suggests with a quick look at her son. Painful longing rolls through me, twisting my stomach. How many times when I was little had I wished this woman was my mother? How many times had Vince and I sought refuge under the Hollisters’ roof?
Liam disappears out the back door, and Amanda sweeps me into the kitchen where she won’t let me do anything. Instead, she directs me to a stool next to the counter where she can pepper me with questions and feed me tidbits.
“Tell me about school.”
I spill everything about the last four years of my academic life. As the words flow out of my mouth, it occurs to me that it’s a miracle I made it through my program and into graduate school. The fog I’ve been living in seems to lift.
Even though I’ve been gone for four years, in this house I feel at home.
When dinner’s ready, I help carry everything to the table.
Mr. Hollister gives me a big hug. “You must have gotten lost in the kitchen, since you didn’t come out to say hello.”
“Sorry.”
“Shush. She was helping me,” Amanda says, playfully pushing him into his chair. I’m pretty sure he reaches around and pinches her butt. Smothering a smile, I turn and find Liam watching me.
“They’re so cute.” I silently mouth the words at him, and his lips quirk. He pats the chair next to him, and I take it.
“So Liam says you just graduated,” Mr. Hollister says after all of our plates are full. “You’ll have to show us some pictures.”
He doesn’t say it unkindly. Maybe that’s why it makes me feel so awful. I duck my head, fiddling with the cloth napkin in my lap. “There aren’t any. I didn’t bother going.”
“Why the heck not, honey?”
“Dad—”
“I just didn’t see the point,” I answer, cutting Liam’s protest off. My shoulders lift. “They give you an empty folder and mail your actual diploma to you later.” Not to mention my brother was out of town and Chad said it was a waste of his time to sit through a three-hour ceremony for the whole five minutes I’d walk across the stage.
“We’ll have to do something for you to mark the occasion,” Amanda says, driving guilt down into my soul. It didn’t occur to me to ask them or Liam to attend. I might have gone if I’d known at least one person who gave a shit about me was in the audience.
“It’s no big deal.”
“Mom, are you still working at the library this summer?” Liam says, thankfully changing the subject.
“Yes.” She happily rattles off a bunch of details about the children’s literacy program she’s taught every summer at the town’s local library since I can remember.
Somehow the conversation comes back to me, though.
“What are your plans now, Bree?” Mr. Hollister asks.
“I’m starting graduate school at the end of August.”
Next to me, Liam’s hand tightens around his fork and he lays it on the table with a thump. He knows I’m going back to school, doesn’t he? I can’t stay here forever. Although this time I promise myself I won’t let anything stop me from staying in touch with Liam and his family.
After dinner, I follow Amanda to the kitchen to help her clean up. As I’m watching her packing leftovers, I realize she plans to send them home with me. “You don’t have to do that,” I protest.
“Nonsense. Gabe and I can only eat so much. Besides, with the long hours Liam works, I know he doesn’t have time to cook for himself.”
“True,” I say without thinking.
She glances at me with a curious expression.
“I mean. From what he says—”
“I’m not stupid, dear. I know Liam’s staying with you at Vinny’s.”
Wow. How the hell do I respond to that?
“It’s not like that.”
To my surprise, Amanda’s shoulders slump.
“I had a bad break up, and he’s just looking out for me.”
She reaches out, cupping my chin and turning my head. Under her intense stare, my heart drums. She releases me without commenting.
“That’s too bad,” she finally says. Her gaze strays to the back door. “Are you and Liam going to light a fire tonight?”
Yikes. My mind goes someplace completely different than I think she intended.
“It’s not too late to join the guys for some target practice.” She raises an eyebrow. “If you’ve finally developed a desire to learn.” A smile tugs at one corner of her mouth. This has been an inside joke for years.
Mr. Hollister was a weapons instructor for a private company and used to travel a lot. He made sure his wife and son knew how to protect themselves. Mrs. Hollister would have made a great pioneer woman. She handled a shotgun as deftly as she baked a pie. My aversion to guns had always been a bit of a curiosity in this household.
“Maybe Mr. Hollister can give me some lessons this summer.”
“Oh, I think if anyone’s going to do that, it will be Deputy Hollister,” she teases. Her laughter stops abruptly and she takes my chin again, angling my head toward the light.
“Amanda,” I mumble through the tight hold she has on my face.
“Bad breakup, huh?”
“I’m handling it.”
“You’re done with him?” Her stern voice leaves no room for any answer other than yes. Coming from anyone else, that question would raise my hackles. “I left,” I whisper. “I was leaving him when this happened,” I explain, pointing to my cheek.
She glances at the back door again. “Did you know I was married before Gabe?”
“No. I had no idea.”
“Married right out of high school, against my parents’ wishes.” She rolls her eyes. “Young love, you know.”
I’d have to be an idiot not to know where she’s taking this story. Still, I’m riveted.
“He was very…volatile. That’s how Gabe and I met.”
“How?”
She lets out a long, slow breath as if she wishes she hadn’t brought this up. “We were at a gas station and Burt slapped me across the face for not topping off the gas tank. It didn’t take much to piss him off. Right out in the open. Gabe was at the next pump.” She shakes her head and I feel terrible that she’s sharing this story with me when it’s obvious she doesn’t like to think about those times. “Let’s just say, he intervened on my behalf. He dropped me off at my parents’ house. They were still furious with me, but Gabe sat down alongside me and explained what was happening. They helped me get the marriage annulled and move on.”
“And Gabe?”
“I didn’t see him for a while. Needed to take care of myself first, otherwise I was no good to him.”
“Oh.” Is this her way of telling me to stay away from Liam?
“You,” she says. “Are a very different woman, yes?”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t need a man to rescue you. You didn’t marry this guy.”
My heart squeezes. She’s the most amazing woman I’ve known. Someone I admired very much growing up. How can she blame herself for what happened? “Amanda. It’s not your fault.”
Her eyes widen as if she’s happy I finally understand the point she’s trying to make.
“Anyway, Gabe and I always wanted more children.”
This doesn’t surprise me at all, but I’m not sure why she’s sharing that now.
“Even though we were only blessed with Liam, we always thought of you and Vince as our own.”
Shame threatens to drown me. When I walked out of town and cut ties with everyone, I’d also cut ties to the family who had been my safe haven.
“You always treated me more like a mother than my own did,” I choke out.
Amanda pulls me into a hug. In her arms I feel like a giant. How this tiny woman created Liam defies logic. “I know your mom had problems. But you and Vince turned into wonderful people, so she couldn’t be all bad.”
Except, I’d ended up no better than my mother.
“I think that had more to do with you and Mr. Hollister than my mother.”
“Oh, honey,” she soothes. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. What I meant was, I always hoped, well, you know.”
Confused, I just stare at her.
“The way he looks at you is different than any other girl he’s ever brought home,” she explains.
Just how many women has Liam brought home to meet his parents? Swallowing down a wave of jealousy that I have no right to feel, I shake my head. He can bring whoever he wants home. It’s not my business. “I’m nothing more than an annoying kid sister to him.”
Amanda blows out a frustrated breath—clearly disagreeing with my assessment of Liam’s feelings, but she doesn’t press me further.
The back door screeches open and Liam steps into the kitchen. My heart speeds up as soon as his gaze lands on me.
“I’ve got a handful of sticks ready. Dad wants to know if you’ve got dough and pudding for him?” he asks without taking his eyes off me.
“Is the fire ready?”
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Getting there. Dad got sidetracked showing me the newest addition to the family arsenal.”
“Why are you pestering me when it’s not even ready?” Amanda swats at him with a dish towel. “Get out of my kitchen. Bree and I were having an important discussion.”
Liam bites his lip, trying not to laugh, and ducks out of range of the wet terrycloth his mother’s still wielding.
“Ooo! Are we making campfire éclairs?” I ask, bouncing up and down on my toes a little. “I haven’t had those in forever. No one else knows what the hell they are.”
I attempted to make them for Chad once and he acted as if I’d tried to light him on fire instead of a few strips of dough. He didn’t eat low class food he’d informed me. No wonder I hated to cook, I got slapped down—sometimes literally—every time I tried.
“If I’d had more time,” Amanda says, giving her son a healthy dose of side-eye. “I would have made everything from scratch.”
“That’s all Liam,” I explain, winking at him.
He raises his eyebrows and taps his chest in a who me? gesture, making me laugh.
Amanda’s gaze shifts from Liam to me. “I figured.” She gives me an affectionate pat on my arm as she moves past me to the refrigerator. “Here,” she says, flailing a tub of pudding around in the air. “Liam, dammit, do you want the stuff or not?” she huffs.
“Sorry, Ma.” He grins at me as he rushes to grab the tub out of Amanda’s hand.
“See what I mean?” she asks after he leaves. “Too busy staring at you to do what he came in here to do.”
“Do you read minds now, Amanda?”
“No. I just know my son.” She loads my arms down with a bunch of items and pushes me out the back door. “Ask Gabe to come in here, will you, sweetheart?”
Liam and his father have a pretty decent sized fire going when I walk up and set the tubes of crescent roll dough, jar of Nutella, foil, cooking spray, and a bunch of utensils on the table.
“Your presence in the kitchen has been requested,” I tell Mr. Hollister. He chuckles and motions me over to where he and Liam have set up a target about ten yards away.
“I was showing Liam this revolver I picked up for Amanda,” he explains, offering the gun to me with the cylinder open to show me it’s not loaded.
“Wow. It’s heavier than I expected.” I’m holding it away from my body as if it might explode at any minute.
His dad smiles. “Good instincts already, Bree. Always assume it’s loaded and never point it at anyone.”
“No problem there,” I mutter.
Liam reaches over and pries it from my hands. “I’ll take it, sweetheart.”
I give it another look. “Your mom really shoots that thing?”
Both Hollister men chuckle at me.
“Yes,” Mr. Hollister says. “She wanted this particular one for concealed carry.” He slides a finger over the smooth metal. “All the edges have been taken down, nothing to snag when you draw.”
“How about throwing a laser grip on it?” Liam suggests.
“Yes.” They discuss grips, sights, and other gun stuff that goes right over my head until I hear my name.
“Would this be a good one for Bree to start with?” Liam asks.
His father’s already shaking his head before Liam finishes the question. “Not loaded with .357.”
“No, no, with defensive thirty-eights.”
“Then, yes. It might be harder for a novice to get on target because of the long trigger pull. But for a beginner, a revolver is a lot easier to figure out.”
“Right.”
“Let me know when you’re ready to buy her one and I’ll find you a deal.”
Apparently Liam’s buying me a gun.
“I better check on your mother.” Mr. Hollister leaves instructions for Liam on how to man the fire before going inside.
“Have a good talk with my mom?” Liam asks, flipping open the chamber of the gun and spinning it to show me that it’s empty.
“Sure. I always love talking to her.”
What am I supposed to do, tell him she strongly hinted I’m good daughter-in-law material so I can feel like an idiot when he gives me the “you’re like a sister to me” speech again? No thanks.
Mr. Hollister has a small wooden table and bench set up and Liam guides me over to it, casually picking up a few bullets and sliding them into the chamber. My gaze strays to the table top where a much larger revolver, two boxes of bullets, ear plugs, and safety glasses rest.
I tap my hand on the table, next to the larger gun, drawing Liam’s attention to it. “Is this the big brother to that gun?” I ask, nodding at the one in his hands.
He huffs out a laugh. “No. That’s Dad’s Colt Anaconda.”
“You know that means nothing to me, right?”
The corners of his mouth twitch with amusement. “It’s a whole different league of gun.”
“Ooo. Fancy.”
Another short laugh from him and I enjoy the sound, even if it is directed at me. “It’s a little much for your first time.”
“You have no idea how much I can handle.”
His eyes widen at the comment, making me laugh.
“Smartass,” he grumbles.
“Wait a minute. I’m not shooting anything tonight. I don’t have a pistol permit.”
“You’re with a sheriff,” he says with a smooth smile and a wink. “I’ll let it slide this time.” Turning back to the gun, he adds, “I want to see if you’re comfortable with this. I can get you a permit application and sign you up for one of the safety classes this week.”
“Wait, why? I don’t know if I want to do all that.”
He narrows his eyes at me as if this isn’t up for discussion. “Okay, but think about it. I’d like you to at least know the basics.”
Something about his answer leaves me feeling as if he used a lot of restraint in his words, but I appreciate the effort he’s making not to seem like he’s bossing me around. I know it doesn’t come easy for Liam. Especially after…well, everything.
“You really think I can do this?” I ask, nodding at the gun in his hand.
“I think you can do anything you set your mind to, Bree,” he answers in a solemn voice.
“Okay. Hand it over, Hollister.”
“Yeah? All right.” His half-smile spreads into a full-on grin.
I hold out my hand and he shakes his head. “Not so fast.” He hands me a pair of safety glasses and earmuffs. I slip the glasses on, and he settles the muffs around my neck before continuing.
“There’s no safety on this gun. The double-action trigger is the safety.”
“Is that good?”
“Yes. You have to purposely pull the trigger back for it to go off.
“Okay.”
“It just means there’s less chance of an accidental fire.”
“Uh, good, I guess.”
Sensing my unease, Liam moves a little closer to show me the cylinder. “This takes six bullets, most small revolvers take five.”
He hands me three bullets and shows me how to slide them into the empty chambers.
“Ready?” he asks.
Feeling a little more confident, I answer, “I think so.”
He takes his time placing the gun in my palm and showing me how to hold it properly with both hands.
“Line up your sights. Really focus on putting that front sight on the target.”
It’s harder than I thought. He moves behind me, helping to keep my arms steady. The heat of him at my back momentarily distracts me.
Focus. Prove to him you can do this.
“When you’re ready, slowly squeeze the trigger. Nice and smooth. All the way until it fires. It will be louder than you expect.”
I practice holding it and aiming the way he showed me a few times.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He moves closer and slips my earmuffs into place, then stands behind me and to the left.
“When you’re ready,” he shouts.
I take a few deep breaths, letting each one out slowly. On the third exhale, I pull the trigger back, back, back and when I’m almost out of breath it goes off.
Because Liam warned me, the noise and movement of the gun isn’t a surprise. He taps my shoulder and motions for me to lower the earmuffs.
“That was good. Lean into the shot more. Keep your grip tight to minimize muzzle flip.”
“Okay. Can I go again?”
He nods and slips the muffs back over my ears.
I face forward and allow my mind to clear of everything but the gun in my hand and the target in front of me. This time, I’m not even worrying about where Liam is or what he thinks of me.
I shoot again and again, until the gun’s empty.
I set the gun down on the table and take the earmuffs off.
“You went through all the bullets,” Liam says.
“I’m sorry… Was that okay?”
He steps in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “It’s fine. How did it feel?”
“Good.”
“Let’s go see your target.”
My shooting isn’t impressive, but I did hit the paper all six times.
Liam’s gaze roams over the holes I punched through the outer circles. “Not bad, Bree. I think if we work on your breathing and trigger control, you’ll be damn good.”
“It’s harder than I thought.”
“But you felt comfortable?”
My shoulders lift. “It might take me a while to get used to.”
“You weren’t afraid though, right?”
“No.” The only thing I’m afraid of is the sick, helpless fear that paralyzed me when Chad attacked. I never want to be that vulnerable again.
The proud nod he gives encourages me. “Eventually when you’re more comfortable, we’ll work on shooting in different situations and conditions.”
I glance out at the target. “I guess in real life, the bad guy isn’t going to stand still and let you shoot at him, is he?”
His gaze travels over the back yard before he answers. “No.”
For a minute he’s so quiet and serious. I’m not sure what changed, but I step a little closer, wrapping my arms around his waist, tucking my hands into his back pockets, and leaning against him. “Thank you. For everything today.”
His arms band around me, hugging me tight for a few seconds before he speaks. “You don’t have to thank me. I love spending time with you again.”
My nose stings and my foolish heart pitter-pats. “I like spending time with you, too,” I say as I step back and look up at him.
This time, he puts some distance between us and reaches out to give my cheek a soft, brotherly pinch. “Ready for éclairs?”
“Yes.”
I follow him back to the table where I laid out all our supplies. Together we work out a system for prepping everything. When we’re finished, he hands me a foil-covered stick and I spray it down with cooking spray before wrapping dough around the end and thrusting it over the fire.
“Remember to turn it,” Liam instructs. “Otherwise you’ll have a burned side and a doughy side.”
“I thought you were done giving lessons for the night?” I give him a gentle push away. “Worry about your own stick.”
He huffs out a laugh and squats down next to me. I’m not sure what to say, but that’s what was always nice about being with Liam. The easy silence. So far it’s the best thing about coming home.
Stuffed full of campfire éclairs, I sit and watch the fire with Bree. I’m not sure where my parents went off to. I suspect my mother was up to something earlier, but haven’t had a chance to question her.
“Are you cold?” I ask Bree, because she’s standing closer to the fire than I’d like.
She half-turns, the flickering fire creating a soft halo of light around her. “My front’s warm and toasty, but my back’s cold.”
“Come here.” I sit up and reach for her and she takes my hand, allowing me to pull her down into the Adirondack chair with me.
I wrap my arm around her and she snuggles closer. “Better?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Did you have fun tonight?”
“I did. Thank you for being so patient with me.” She slips her hand out of my hold and gestures toward the targets.
“Anytime.” I rest my chin on the top of her head and watch the flames licking and darting around. Relishing the feel of Bree so close to me. “Want another éclair?” I ask after a few minutes.
She blinks up at me as if she’d been falling asleep. “Oh no.” She rubs her hand over her stomach. “I’m ready to explode as it is.”
“Want to go for a walk?
“No, this is nice,” she answers in a dreamy voice.
After that we’re quiet again. Nothing but the crackling fire and a whole lot of crickets fill the air. She rests her head on my chest. My nose ends up in her hair, inhaling her scent.
“Are you sniffing me?” she asks.
“Yeah, you smell like bonfires and vanilla, two of my favorite things.”
She chuckles and presses her hand against my chest. “I’ll have to remember that.”
My heart rate kicks up and I wonder if she can feel it under her hand.
“If Vince were here, this would be just like old times,” she says.
Moment killed.
Vince hadn’t crossed my mind once tonight. Instead, I seem to be treating this night as some weird bringing-a-girl-home-to-meet-the-parents date night, when that’s the last thing this is.
She already fits in with my family perfectly.
Yet, she’s nowhere near ready for another relationship. Having her in my lap like this is just playing with fire.
I sit up, shifting her body. “We should probably get going.”
“Wait, Liam, I didn’t—”
“It’s late. I have to work in the morning,” I explain. It’s not nice playing on her guilt, but this cozy cuddling we’re doing needs to end. Even if I don’t want it to.