Chapter Eleven
She was driving like a bat out of hell, speeding along at twenty miles an hour above the posted limit, probably breaking every conceivable traffic law that existed.
And, she didn’t care.
All she cared about was getting to Heavenly.
It’s an emergency. She’s blue. We don’t know what to do.
That’s what Moisey had said, her call an unexpected interruption in an otherwise quiet morning. A very quiet morning. Rumer had been alone, mucking the stalls, listening to her own thoughts. Most of which had to do with Sullivan or the Bradshaw kids. She had no idea what she was going to do about them, and that was weighing on her.
Quitting the job seemed like the easiest and least painful solution. She’d just have to come up with an excuse, give her resignation, walk away before Sullivan had the chance to walk away from her. She would have already made the call and given her notice, except for the kids. They needed her. Even if they hadn’t, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to do it.
She’d grown up a lot the last few years.
She’d matured.
She didn’t want to let herself be the person she’d been when she’d met Jake—a little childish, a little nervous, content to have a mediocre relationship because she hadn’t wanted to be alone.
She enjoyed being alone now.
She liked her own company.
But, it had been nice to have Sullivan enter that empty space in her heart, the one that no other man had ever been able to fill.
It had been nice, but it wouldn’t last. If she didn’t walk away from him, he’d walk away from her.
She believed that with every fiber of her being, and she still hadn’t made the call.
So, maybe she didn’t believe it.
Not the way she’d believed in sunrises or second chances.
That’s what she’d been thinking about while she mucked stalls.
She’d been so deep in her head, she’d nearly jumped out of her skin when her cell phone rang. She’d pulled it out, seen the Bradshaws’ number, and answered immediately, certain there was something wrong.
She’d been right.
She’d made all the kids memorize her cell phone number. Just in case. Now, she wished she’d had them practice emergency protocol. The information Moisey had given had been limited. Something about Heavenly being blue and crying and the uncles not knowing what to do. When Rumer had asked if anyone had called 911, Moisey had insisted that the uncles were taking care of things, but that they needed her help. Now.
That had been Moisey’s last word before she’d disconnected.
Rumer had called back, letting the phone ring a dozen times before she’d given up. Obviously, something was going on, and obviously, she needed to be there.
Now.
Not when Minnie’s sluggish vintage Cadillac decided to get her there.
“Dang it!” she growled, stomping on the accelerator and getting a lukewarm response from the transmission. “This car is slow as molasses.”
“Not quite,” Lu said calmly, her purple dress tucked neatly around her legs, her black leather purse in her lap. She’d been getting ready for church when Rumer had barreled into the house, and she’d insisted on coming along.
So had Minnie. She was sitting in the back seat, going through her medical kit. Just in case she needed it.
Rumer was hoping and praying she wouldn’t. But a blue kid? That didn’t sound good.
“Better floor it,” Lu said conversationally, her gaze on the side mirror. “The cops are on our tail.”
“What?” She glanced in the rearview mirror, saw lights flashing and a squad car closing in. She was on the country road that led to Pleasant Valley Farm. There was no one else around, so she had to be their target.
She’d be happy to stop and give them her information. She’d be happy to accept a ticket and own up to her mistakes.
After she reached the house.
“He’s getting close. Hopefully, he’s called in our location and blocked the road leading in and out of here. I’d hate for anyone to get in the middle of this. At these speeds, someone could get hurt,” Lu said, a note of warning in her voice.
“This isn’t Cops, Ma. We’re not involved in a high-speed chase,” Minnie responded. “Rumer’s going fifty.”
“The speed limit is thirty,” Lu reminded her. “And, she’s got a cop behind her, so it’s a chase. Things could get dicey if we don’t pull over. Then again, if we do, we’ll probably get arrested for fleeing an officer of the law.”
“We’re not going to get arrested, so don’t get yourself all excited. Your heart can’t take it.”
“My heart checked out just fine when I went to the doctor last week. All the blockages are gone, so I’ll get as excited as I want.”
“Suit yourself, but we’re not going to get arrested.” Rumer put on the hazard lights, acknowledging the officer and hoping that would satisfy him until they reached the house.
She glanced in the rearview mirror again. The officer was right on her tail, edging in close enough that he could have rammed her if he’d wanted to.
He?
The driver had shoulder-length blond hair, so a woman seemed more likely. Maybe she’d be more sympathetic. Or not.
“Here,” Lu said, digging into her purse and pulling out a white cotton cloth. “Let’s hang handkerchiefs out the window, so he knows we’re friendly.”
She had her window unrolled, the cloth waving like a surrender flag before Rumer could tell her not to.
“You do the same, Minnie.” She tossed another cloth in the back, and Minnie—right-brained, analytical, book-smart, people-savvy Minnie—did the same.
So, now they were speeding down the middle of a country road, cops chasing them, surrender flags waving from the windows, plumes of dirt and exhaust streaming out from behind them.
Dear God!
Could things get any crazier?
Could her life be any more nuts?
Maybe. Probably. But Rumer didn’t know how.
She turned onto the gravel driveway, tires spitting out dirt and pebble, Cadillac bouncing over ruts and into divots.
The house was just ahead, the yellow siding cheerful in the sunlight. No ambulance in view. No emergency crews. The place looked quiet.
Maybe too quiet.
Usually something was happening there—kid running around in the yard, someone sitting on the porch swing.
She parked the car and jumped out, waving at the cop as she ran up the stairs. The door was locked, so she fished the spare key out from under a loose floorboard, shoving it into the lock as the officer pounded up the stairs behind her.
“Ma’am,” she said. “I’m really going to need you to stop.”
“I will. I just have to check on the kids. There’s been an emergency.”
“We haven’t had one called in,” the officer said, stepping into the house behind Rumer.
“Rumer!” Moisey cried from the top of the stairs. “I knew you’d come.”
She ran down as fast as her legs could carry her, throwing herself into Rumer’s arms with so much force she almost knocked her off her feet.
“Honey! What’s wrong? Where’s Heavenly?”
“She’s in the mudroom. The uncles are scrubbing her down.”
“Scrubbing her down? What does that mean, doll?” The officer frowned. She looked to be in her mid-forties, blond hair a little brassy, blue eyes a little tired.
“Well, we were going to church, and she had blue on her, and the uncles weren’t happy about it, so they’re trying to get her back to her normal color, Deputy Reynolds.”
“You can call me Deputy Susan,” the officer said.
Obviously, they knew each other.
That was good. Great, even. Deputy Susan could try to get the information out of Moisey. Rumer was going to the mudroom.
She ran down the hall, ignoring Lu and Minnie, who’d just walked in the front door. The kitchen was empty, but she could hear water running and see Maddox and Milo standing in the mudroom doorway.
They must have heard her approaching. They turned, relief and pleasure washing over their faces.
“Rumer!” Maddox said, rushing toward her. “Wait until you see this!?” He sounded both intrigued and horrified.
“See what?”
“Heavenly cut off all her hair, and she put colors in it, and now they can’t get it out. Uncle Sullivan’s already washed it like a bazillion times, and it’s still poop brown,” he whispered, his gaze darting to the mudroom doorway.
“No, it’s not,” Milo argued. “It’s poop green.”
“Her hair?” Rumer asked, hurrying across the room, desperately hoping they were exaggerating.
The mudroom was filled with kids and men. Porter over near the back door, Oya in his arms, his gaze focused on the sink. Twila was beside him, nervously raveling and unraveling her braid. Flynn stood closest to the kitchen, his broad shoulders partially blocking Rumer’s view.
She could see enough to know the boys hadn’t been exaggerating. As a matter of fact, they might have understated the gravity of the situation.
A chair had been pulled over to the sink, and Heavenly was sitting in it, her head tilted back, a bottle of water in her hand. Sullivan was bent over her, his back to Rumer, squirting a few drops of shampoo onto her hair.
Or, what was left of it.
She had chopped it off and dyed it, the color a mixture of puce and purple and blue. Her scalp had stains from whatever she’d used. So did her cheek, which was also smeared with mascara and eyeliner.
She’d been crying.
There was no doubt about that.
“I don’t suppose someone wants to explain what’s going on,” she said, and Heavenly jerked upright, water dripping down her pale face.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “It’s your day off.”
“Moisey called me,” she responded.
“I was wondering what she was up to. If I’d known what she was doing, I’d have stopped her,” Sullivan said, turning to face her. So, of course, her heart did its funny little pause, her mouth went dry, and, for about two seconds, all she could think of was the way his lips had felt against hers.
“I don’t mind,” she finally managed to say. “I was mucking stalls. This looks like a lot more fun.”
“That depends on what side of the shampoo bottle you’re on. I don’t think Heavenly is having all that much fun. Which is a shame since it’s her birthday.” He emphasized the last part, and she didn’t miss that. She also didn’t miss the two red splotches on Heavenly’s normally pale cheeks.
Was she embarrassed that he’d mentioned her birthday, or that she’d chopped off her hair?
Butchered her hair?
It looked like she might have taken a hacksaw to it, but far be it from Rumer to point that out. She’d done her own stupid things when she was that age.
“Your birthday, Heavenly? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, keeping her voice light and cheerful.
“I hate birthdays,” the teen responded, her cheeks still pink.
“Happy birthday anyway,” she said, sidling past Flynn and moving closer to the sink. The floor and walls were splattered with grayish water and cut hair. His shirt was splattered, too, the white button-up dress shirt now multicolored. He’d rolled his sleeves up, and she could see the muscles beneath his tan skin.
He looked way too good, and she was noticing way too much, so she turned her attention to Heavenly. “So, was this a birthday hairdo gone wrong?” she asked.
“Kind of,” Heavenly responded, closing her eyes as Sullivan rinsed soap and color from her hair.
“Sunday said she could have it done on her thirteenth birthday. But, Sunday wasn’t around today.” Sullivan took a towel from a stack someone had set on a chair nearby and rubbed Heavenly’s hair.
“Did I hear it’s someone’s birthday?” Lu squeezed into the room, forcing everyone to shift position to accommodate her.
When Rumer shifted, she bumped into Sullivan.
“Careful,” he said, his breath tickling the hair at her temple. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady even though she hadn’t been falling. She could have stepped away, but his arm was warm, his muscles firm against her abdomen. His hand splayed against her upper lip, and her heart started to beat a happy rhythm that she really wanted to ignore but couldn’t.
Lu’s gaze dropped to Sullivan’s hand, lifted to Rumer’s face, and then shifted to Heavenly. To her credit, she didn’t blink an eye at any of it.
“I see you got your hair done for your birthday,” she said.
“I did it myself.”
“You don’t say?” Lu responded, and Heavenly grinned, obviously catching on to the sarcasm and appreciating it. Not surprising since sarcasm seemed to be her second language.
“I do say, and I’d be saying a lot more, but Uncle Sullivan hasn’t cussed in a couple of days, and I told him I’d quit when he did. So, I’ve got to keep things clean.”
“Rumer?” Susan called. “Did you figure out what the emergency was? Because, I’m not getting much info from Moisey.”
She peered into the room, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Heavenly. Unlike Lu, she didn’t hold back on her judgment. “Heavenly Melody Bradshaw, what in God’s name did you do to yourself?”
“My middle name isn’t Melody,” Heavenly retorted, her fingers inching up to touch her hair, then dropping away again.
“Well, what is it? Because if I’m going to lecture you like I do my daughters, I’ll need to know.” She strode in, squeezing between the Bradshaw men, stopping an inch from where Heavenly was sitting.
“I don’t have a middle name.”
“Well you do now. Just like I said: Melody, and not because it sounds catchy with the first name. Because, my daughter said you have a beautiful voice. You know Tess Reynolds?”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe? She’s in the school choir. Sings soprano. Stands right next to you?”
“I guess I do.”
“Right. You guess. Typical teenager response.” Susan stepped closer, running her hands through the wet strands.
“This,” she announced, “can be fixed.”
“It can?” Heavenly said at the same time Sullivan responded with, “I’ve been telling her that for a half hour.”
“To answer your question, Heavenly—yes, it can. But, not by you, Mr. Bradshaw.”
“Really? You’re really sure you can fix it?” Heavenly touched her hair, this time letting her fingers linger on the jagged edges near her nape.
“Hun, my older daughter, Micah, bleached her hair when she was your age. With real bleach. She let it soak in for so long, her hair burned off. If I can fix that, I can fix this. But, not with shampoo. What’d you use to color it?”
“Some dye I found in Sunday’s closet.”
“You were snooping through your mother’s things?”
“I was packing clothes for her to have at the hospital, and I saw the dye while I was doing it,” Heavenly huffed, her arms crossing over her chest.
“Funny,” Sullivan murmured. “I can’t see Sunday using blue hair dye.”
“It wasn’t hair dye. It was fabric dye.”
“Geez,” Susan muttered. “This is going to take a while. I’m going to call in and let the sheriff know what I’m up to, Heavenly, and then I’m going to put this mess to right. On one condition.”
“What condition?” She scowled, but she looked more relieved than angry.
“You sing in the festival this Friday.”
Heavenly’s scowl deepened, and if she’d had room to do it, she probably would have stomped away. “I can’t.”
“Of course you can. Not only can you, but you have to. The choir is counting on you.”
“I missed five rehearsals. If you miss three, you’re out.”
“You had extenuating circumstances,” Sullivan cut in, offering the same argument he and Rumer had been using for the past few days. They’d both spoken to the choir director. They’d cleared everything with her, but for some reason, Heavenly still refused to participate. “Mrs. Myers understands that, and she’s more than happy to let you come to rehearsal tomorrow. She’ll even schedule some extra practice just for you.”
“I said, I can’t,” Heavenly snapped.
“Right,” Sullivan responded. “You keep saying that, but you’re not telling any of us why.”
“Because I don’t have a dress, okay? Sunday promised to take me out to buy one. We were going to the bridal boutique in Spokane, because she wanted it to be really special. She said it was a big deal, and she wanted my dress to be as beautiful as my voice is.” Her chin wobbled, her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t cry, she just glared at them all like they’d caused the problem.
“You need a dress? That’s the reason you won’t go to rehearsals?” Sullivan shook his head, raked a hand through his hair, looked like a guy who had no clue why someone would worry about having the right outfit for the occasion. “I’ll take you to get one tomorrow after school.”
“Have you seen the way you dress?” Heavenly asked.
Porter chuckled.
Sullivan didn’t seem amused. “I dress like a guy who’s been hanging around six kids for a few weeks. That doesn’t mean I don’t know a pretty dress when I see it.”
“Hold on,” Minnie said as she poked her head in the room. “Just hold on one minute.”
“No,” Rumer said.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“You’re going to offer one of your outfits.”
“So what if I do? She’d look lovely in anything, and I have more than enough clothes to share.”
“Really, Minnie, I know you mean well—” Rumer began.
“That suit Rumer was wearing when we met, the one with flowers on the buttons? That was yours, right?” Heavenly interrupted, leaning forward and looking more excited than Rumer had ever seen her.
“Right.”
“Do you have something else cool like that?”
“Honey, I have more cool clothes than any one person needs. You get your hair fixed, and I’ll go pick out a few things and bring them back here. I guarantee, you’ll have something stunning for the festival, and I guarantee it’ll be one of a kind. Just like you.” She flounced away, and Susan nodded.
“That’s settled then. You’re singing in the festival, and I’m fixing this mess. Sullivan, you’d better call April and let her know. She might want to stop by and do a little extra coaching today.”
“It’s Sunday. I’m sure she’s busy.”
“Have you not heard a word I’ve said? Heavenly is the star of the show, the reason the Benevolence Middle School choir is going to win the regional trophy and go on to the state championship. April is going to be thrilled to hear that she’s going to participate.”
April might be thrilled, but Heavenly didn’t look it. She’d sunk back into the chair, her expression closed, her fists clenched.
“Is everything okay?” Rumer asked, touching her bony shoulder.
“Dandy,” she replied.
“You’ll be even better once you get that damn stud out of your ear,” Susan said, shoving in next to Rumer and poking at Heavenly’s ear.
“Ouch!”
“Exactly. You can’t do cartilage piercings at home. You’ll get an infection. Can someone get me alcohol and cotton balls? Scissors. We’ll need hair dye, too. Let’s go with honey blond. That’ll be closest to her natural color.”
“I want it blue,” Heavenly muttered.
Susan ignored her.
“I’ll get the dye and bring back the clothes,” Minnie offered.
“I’ll make a cake, because it’s her birthday,” Lu added, and then everyone was moving, walking out of the room, going off to do whatever it was they needed to. Except for Sullivan. He stayed where he was, watching as Susan removed the stud.
“It looks like you’ve got things under control,” he said, and Susan nodded. “I’ve got some errands to run. I shouldn’t be long.”
He walked past, and Rumer was telling her just how relieved she was that he was going, when he grabbed her hand, dragged her along with him.
“Hey!” she said as they stepped into the kitchen. “What’re you doing?”
“I need help,” he said, clutching her hand like it was a life preserver and he was a drowning man. “I need to buy her a present, and I have no idea what to get her.”
“Nothing is going to be open, Sullivan. It’s Sunday.”
“Things will be open in Spokane, and that’s where I’m going, because I’m not going to be that parent—the one who always has an excuse for not making his kid feel special.”
That parent . . .
His kid.
She wondered if he’d realized the way he’d phrased it; if he realized how attached he was getting, how quickly his nieces and nephews were becoming more than just a job he had to do.
She sure as heck knew how attached she was getting to the kids.
And, to him.
She knew it, and she seemed helpless to change it, to put on the brakes and stop herself from slamming full-speed into disaster.
“You didn’t know it was her birthday, Sullivan,” she began, because she needed to stop. Just stop.
“How does that matter? She’s a child. She’s got no present. Her hair looks like she stuck her finger in a light socket, her mother’s in the hospital, and she’s living with a bunch of kids and three men she barely knows. It’s her thirteenth birthday. Thirteen. That’s a big deal for a kid, right? It’s the difference between being a child and being a teen, and that little girl deserves something to commemorate it,” he whispered.
“I’m sure—” You can find something. That’s what she planned to say. It’s what she should have said. But, he looked desperate, and she was staring into his beautiful eyes, thinking about how it would feel to be a thirty-something guy buying a gift for a teenage girl he barely knew.
“We can find something,” she finished.
Just one word of difference, but it was every difference that mattered; the difference between going and staying, spending time together or alone, building more connections or breaking the ones that had already formed.
She knew she’d made the wrong choice. Again. Said the wrong thing by one damn word, but when he smiled, when he leaned down and whispered “thank you” against her lips, it felt like the rightest thing she’d ever done.
* * *
They found the gift in a tiny antique shop in the seediest area of downtown Spokane. Sullivan had planned to go to an electronic store, hoping that he’d gain inspiration once he’d arrived. Rumer had had other ideas. She’d given him directions to the shop, one she’d said she visited every summer during school break.
She’d led him through the narrow aisles, stopping at a dusty display case filled with broken jewelry and broken beaded handbags, and then she’d told him to choose something that he thought Heavenly would like.
The challenge had scared the crap out of him. He’d brought Rumer so he wouldn’t have to make a wild guess about what a newly thirteen-year-old would like.
He stood there staring at what looked like old junk, thinking that there was nothing a goth-ish girl like Heavenly would like. And then he’d noticed a small box filled with what looked like tiny charms. He’d asked to see it, and had been surprised when the clerk pulled out an old charm bracelet. A cat, a bird, a flower, a heart, two musical notes, a grand piano, a book, and a feather all dangled from a tarnished silver bracelet.
He’d bought it, because it reminded him of Heavenly—scraped and wounded and tarnished from years of neglect, but somehow still unique and lovely.
Rumer had chosen a small beaded handbag and a stack of old sheet music that had been lying in a heap next to a bookshelf filled with old books. She was standing there now, thumbing through an old version of Dick and Jane, her hair deep brown in the dim light, her skin flawless. She wore faded overalls that were three sizes too big, the cuffs dragging the floor and nearly hiding the old leather work boots she wore. A thermal shirt clung to her chest and rode up her waist. He could see hints of creamy skin between it and faded denim, hidden and then revealed as her old wool coat flapped open and closed again. He didn’t think she’d brushed her hair that morning, and he was pretty damn sure she had a couple of pieces of straw lost in the wild curls. There were shadows beneath her eyes, a smudge of dirt on her left cheek, and she was still the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.
She met his eyes. “You’re staring.”
“Am I?”
“You know you are,” she said, setting the book back on the shelf and grabbing a small stack of old Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries.
“Sorry, it’s a bad habit. Something I do when I want to memorize something,” he said, but he wasn’t sorry at all.
“Why in the world would you want to memorize me?” she asked with a shaky laugh. She was nervous. He’d noticed that on the car ride into Spokane, and it had surprised him. The first day they’d met—when she’d been heading into the unknown, applying for a job she’d seen advertised in a small-town newspaper—she’d been confident and self-assured and hadn’t shown even a hint of caution or anxiety.
Now, she seemed jumpy and skittish, her muscles taut and tense.
“I like to get the details right when I sketch something,” he responded.
“I don’t think I gave you permission to sketch me.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“If I say yes, will you?” She paid for the books, dropping them into her purse.
“No,” he answered honestly. “Probably not.”
That made her smile. “Sullivan, what are we doing?”
“Shopping for gifts for Heavenly,” he replied, opening the door and holding it so she could step outside. He caught a whiff of fresh hay and sunshine, of wildflowers and soap, and he thought that if he spent the rest of his life walking beside her, it wouldn’t be enough.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
“Are we back to discussing the kiss?” He thought they probably were.
“There was more than one,” she reminded him as if he might have forgotten, as if that would ever be possible.
“If there were more than a million, I don’t think it would be enough,” he said, and she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, turning so she could face him.
“Don’t say things like that, okay?”
“I always tell the truth, Rumer. It’s a habit I’ve cultivated for years. I’m not going to stop now because the truth makes you uncomfortable.”
She frowned. “I’m not asking you to be dishonest.”
“Sure you are. You want me to hide the way I feel and pretend something that isn’t true. If that’s not dishonest, I don’t know what is.”
“I’m not asking you to pretend, either. I just . . .” She shrugged and started walking again.
“Just what?”
“Truehart women can do a lot of things, Sullivan. They can run businesses and corral kids and organize chaos, but there are a couple of things none of them have ever been able to figure out.” She raked a hand through her hair, tugged a small piece of straw from the curls, and scowled, watching as it floated to the ground.
“Are you going to tell me what they are?” he finally asked, because it seemed like she was done talking, but he wasn’t done listening.
He thought she planned to ignore the question, to keep her silence, but they’d reached his SUV, and she stopped there, lifting the cuff of her overalls. “We can’t sew a straight hem. Not one of us.”
“Sounds like a fatal flaw,” he said solemnly, and she offered a quick, sad smile.
“That’s not the real problem. The real problem is that we also can’t figure out how to choose a good man.”
“What?” he asked, certain he must have heard her wrong.
“Haven’t you noticed that there are three generations of Truehart women, and not one of them has a man in her life?” They’d reached his SUV, and she’d turned to face him again, her eyes the color of summer skies and silvery rivers. If he’d had his sketch pad, he would have drawn just that part of her. The windows to the soul, but hers were shuttered, whatever she was feeling hidden beneath a veil of indifference that he found both annoying and frustrating.
He believed in honesty. He gave it without holding back.
He expected the same from the people in his life.
“One of them does,” he pointed out, and she scowled.
“You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t, because what you’re saying is that three obviously intelligent women can’t figure out the difference between a decent human being and an asshole.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Yeah. You are.” He opened her door, and she scrambled in, her eyes flashing with annoyance.
“We know the difference. We just tend to attract—”
“Stop,” he said, more irritated then he should be. Maybe more offended, too. “Because the more you talk, the more I’m hearing that because you’re attracted to me, I must be one of the assholes the women in your family are trying to avoid.”
“Who said I’m attracted?” she asked, and then sighed. “That was probably the stupidest question I’ve asked in a while.”
“Probably.” He closed her door. Gently. Because he’d never be the man his father was, rounded the SUV and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“You’re angry,” she said.
“And?”
“I didn’t mean to insult you, Sullivan. Or to imply that you’re the one with the problem. You aren’t. I am. I’ve got baggage. Sometimes it weighs me down.”
“So, stop carrying it.”
“That’s an easy thing to say when you’re not the one who’s been carting it from place to place and relationship to relationship your entire life.” There was no heat in her voice. She sounded more resigned than angry.
“So, you’re just going to quit traveling because you’ve filled up your suitcases with other people’s junk?” he asked, pulling onto the road, the soft hum of the engine drowning out her sudden silence.
He waited, not speaking into the moment, because he didn’t want to fill it with useless platitudes. He had his baggage, too. He knew what a burden it could be.
“It’s not other people’s junk. It’s mine. I don’t want to be hurt, Sullivan. I’d rather have nothing than have everything and lose it.”
“That’s a piss-poor reason to walk away every time you have a chance at something good.”
“You wanted honesty. I gave it to you.”
“Here’s a little honesty for you, Rumer. My father was a bastard. When I was a kid, I watched him beat my mother. I listened to him torture her verbally. She didn’t leave him, and she didn’t live long enough for me to ask why not. I spent the next few years planning my escape. I left when I was eighteen, and I had no intention of ever returning. I sure as hell didn’t plan on returning and becoming a surrogate parent to six kids, because I was damn certain I was going to be as shitty of a father as my dad was. But, here I am, out on a Sunday morning buying old jewelry for a little girl, because I want her to be happy.”
“Heavenly is lucky to—”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments.” He cut her off. “I was stating facts. I wanted to walk away, because I didn’t want to hurt the kids any more than they’d already been hurt. I stayed because I was all they had. Somewhere in between those two things, I realized the kids didn’t care about my baggage or my bastard father or my inability to make a damn birthday cake. All they cared about was having someone around.”
“You’re making it really hard for me to keep my distance,” she whispered, her face turned away, her eyes focused on the landscape that was zipping by.
“Maybe you need to figure out why you want to.”
“I already told you why.”
“You gave me an excuse,” he said gently. “You don’t want to be hurt, and I’m not planning to hurt you, but the truth is, relationships are about risks, they’re about wanting something so badly you’re willing to get your heart broken to have it.”
That was it. All he was going to say, because he was a straight shooter, he didn’t believe in games, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to beg for something she didn’t want to give.
“I know,” she finally said so quietly he almost didn’t hear the brokenness in her voice.
Almost.
But, he did, and he couldn’t ignore it any more than he would ever be able to ignore her.
“Do you think Heavenly will like the bracelet?” he asked, giving her an easy out, a change in subject, letting her have the space she obviously wanted.
“I think she’ll love it,” she responded.
“I hope so.”
“I know so. Did you notice how excited she got when Minnie offered to bring her a vintage dress?”
“It was the first time I’d ever seen her really excited about something.”
“I was thinking the same,” she said.
“Great minds?”
She glanced at him then, offering a quick smile. “We’re definitely getting the hang of this parenting thing.”
“Getting the hang of it? I’d say we make a damn fine parenting team, Rumer Truehart.”
She laughed, and he reached for her hand, planning to give it a friendly squeeze, but she held on, her fingers weaving through his as he merged onto the highway and headed back toward home.