CHAPTER SEVEN

 

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JORDYN OPENED HER eyes to a darkened room and lay for several seconds asking herself why she wasn't still dead to the world.

The bed didn't feel strange. Not anymore. After all the time she'd spent here. After all the sexy, toe-curling, orgasm-inducing things she and Murphy had done on this very mattress, she felt completely at home.

She hadn't awakened because she was in a strange bed. Jordyn spent so much time away from home she could conk out almost anywhere—for hours on end. No, her problem wasn't where she was, but the fact she found herself alone.

"Murphy?"

Nothing. Complete silence. Then she remembered the puppy. Murphy probably took her outside. Close your eyes, Jordyn urged herself. He'll wake you when he returns. She snuggled into the covers, smiling when she imagined how. Kisses to start. Then? The sky was the limit. Murphy was a talented and creative lover. Lucky her.

With a groan, Jordyn rolled onto her back. She could try, but she knew her efforts were futile. She slept alone often enough. With the time flying by, while she had the chance, she wanted to slumber resting in Murphy's safe, strong arms.

"Does wanting his body next to mine make me needy?" she asked herself as she rolled out of bed. Then gone ahead to answer. "No. I'd be crazy not to take advantage of the situation."

Jordyn slipped on her robe before she left in search of her wayward host. On the way by, she grabbed her clip from the dresser, scooping her hair into a topknot.

In the hallway, she stopped, frowning when the faint sound of music caught her ear. Intrigued, she followed the audio trail down the stairs and to her right.

Murphy had never volunteered to give her a tour of this side of the house. And she had been too occupied to ask. Next to a bank of windows stood a single door. No wonder her curiosity hadn't been piqued. Off to the side, the entrance to the room was almost invisible, blending in so well with the oak-covered wall.

The music—unmistakably Sweet Child of Mine—blasted through the thick wood. Unless a burglar with a penchant for Guns N' Roses—and the desire to get caught—had broken in, Murphy was doing something behind the door.

The polite, well-mannered thing to do would be to retrace her steps, crawl under the rapidly cooling covers, and wait for him to return when he was finished doing whatever. However, when Murphy's deep, wonderfully true baritone joined in just as Axel Rose hit the chorus, Jordyn laughed, knowing nothing short of a wrecking ball would move her.

Again, knowing she was wrong to do so, Jordyn turned the knob. Just a quick peek. Holding her breath, she opened the door a small crack. What she saw was such a shock, her eyes widened, and she forgot everything else. Including the fact that she was supposed to remain invisible.

Jordyn didn't burst into the room. She walked. Turning in a circle so she wouldn't miss a thing.

"Holy crap."

Paintings. Big. Small. And every size in between. Row after row leaned against the walls. From the colorful to the somber. Abstract to portraits so lifelike, Jordyn felt at any second the subject might walk off the canvas.

Wanting—needing—a closer look, she moved into the room. Even when the music stopped, Jordyn's attention didn't waver.

"I don't recall hearing you knock."

Jordyn didn't turn as Murphy's voice broke the silence. Her back to him, she smiled. His tone was laced with irony, not anger. Though if the price of admission to his personal gallery were his outright fury, she would have paid. Gladly.

"If you wanted privacy, you should have locked the door," Jordyn responded as she bent to look at a breathtakingly vivid sunset. "Or kept the music to a dull roar."

"The noise woke you?"

"The empty bed woke me."

Jordyn turned her head, ready with a teasing quip. Something about his big, bearlike body and the heat he generated. But one look at Murphy and the inside of her mouth turned to dust.

Murphy wore a pair of light gray sweats that rode low on his hips—and nothing else. His hair was pulled back, fastened at the back of his head haphazardly as if his only concern was to get the mass out of his way. Bare chest slightly damp with perspiration—glistening. Bare, muscled arms. Bare feet.

Jordyn stared at Murphy, licking her lips. Oh, my, oh, my. The man was a sight for any pair of sore eyes.

"A bit hot in here." She tugged the collar of her robe, surprised when steam didn't rise from her body.

Murphy nodded toward the stone fireplace where blazing flames danced. Wild. Free. Much like the man who stood before her.

"I guess time got away from me." He opened one of the many windows, letting in a bit of fresh, pre-dawn air. "Inspiration can hit at the strangest moments."

"I'm sorry I interrupted," Jordyn said with all sincerity. "I was drawn by the music. But I never expected to find…"

"A crazy painter?" Murphy let out a self-deprecating laugh, rubbing at a bit of paint on the back of his hand.

"You aren't a painter." Slowly, Jordyn circled the room. "You're an artist."

"Come on. Artist is a bit of a highfalutin word for what I do."

Despite Murphy's words, Jordyn could see he was pleased by her response to his work.

"How long have you painted?"

"When I was a kid, I used to draw all the time. Then, other things got in the way. I lost interest. And the inclination. About two years ago, I suddenly had some time on my hands."

"And all these paintings are the result?"

Murphy shrugged. "As I said, I had the time."

"Has anybody but me seen your work?"

"I paint for my own pleasure."

"But you should have a show. I know some people," Jordyn said with growing enthusiasm, the scene of Murphy's triumph already forming in her mind. "I could—"

"No."

"But—"

"Jordyn?" Emphatic, Murphy shook his head. "No. Painting is a sort of therapy if you will."

"Not really." However, Jordyn knew how to take no for an answer. Yet, she couldn't help but ask, hoping he would expound. "Therapy?"

Something shuttered behind his eyes.

"What I do in here is private. Only for me."

"Until tonight." Jordyn teased.

Murphy's lips curved—almost reaching smile status.

"If I'd wanted company, I would have left the door open."

With a wave of her hand, Jordyn dismissed his statement as ridiculous.

"I grew up with three siblings. One of the first lessons I learned? If you want privacy? Lock. The. Door."

"Where I grew up, we knocked before entering a room."

Jordyn snorted. Not the most attractive sound, but she couldn't help herself.

"Were you an only child?"

"Yes."

Nodding, Jordyn tried not to laugh. And failed. Miserably.

"You think my parents spoiled me?" Murphy asked, eyebrow raised.

"Do you deny they did?"

"No." When Jordyn laughed, crowing with victory, Murphy held up a finger. "Let's get something straight. My parents were—are—loving and supportive. They are also two of the best people I've ever known. I don't think they were any more indulgent than most mothers and fathers. They set ground rules. Established boundaries."

"I'm sure they're wonderful, Murphy." As she placed a hand on his arm, a twinkle in her eyes. "I'll bet you were a beautiful baby."

"Beautiful?" Murphy laughed at the idea.

His blue eyes? His smile? Jordyn stood by her assessment.

"Parents dote. I'm sure yours weren't any different.

"Perhaps they did spoil me—a bit," Murphy conceded. "However, I turned rotten all on my own."

Jordyn frowned. Suddenly, their teasing banter had taken a serious turn. Rotten? Murphy? She couldn't reconcile the notion to coincide with the man standing before her. Memories—deep, dark, and personal—clouded Murphy's clear-blue eyes.

To get to the point where he would share his secrets would require time. And a level of trust they couldn't forge in two short days. So, Jordyn didn't ask. She simply smiled, determined to pull Murphy from his somber thoughts.

"Will you show me what you're working on?" Taking his hand, she tugged him toward the easel. "What could be more appealing than your bed—filled with a warm, willing woman?"

Jordyn pointed at herself. And winked. Broadly. Murphy chuckled. Exactly the response she'd hoped for.

What she hadn't expected was for him to show her his work in progress. Jordyn knew several artists. They were fanatical about never letting anybody get the slightest glimpse until the project was completed to their satisfaction.

To her delight, Murphy had no such hangups.

"Leaving you alone in bed wasn't easy. Except, you with me the entire time." He turned the canvas. "My inspiration."

Delight turned to surprise. Then wonder.

"Me?"

Murphy stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Leaning close, he whispered, "You. What do you think?"

Jordyn didn't know what to say. The woman in the painting bore a striking resemblance to her, lying with her hair tousled, a sheet draped over her breasts, legs bare. Toes tipped with her current favorite color—a bold, bright scarlet. Yet, Murphy had given her a quality—a light from within—she didn't think she possessed. Artistic license? Or was this how he really saw her?

"You flatter me," Jordyn breathed.

"The line of your jaw? The curve of your shoulder?" Murphy placed a kiss on both. Jaw, then shoulder. "Not quite right. However, now that my model is here in the flesh so to speak, I can remedy the problem. What do you have on under your robe?"

"What do you have on under here?" she countered as she reached back, her hand encountering the warm, firm skin of his stomach before her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Question answered." Murphy let out a low moan. He peeled the material from her shoulder, his hand cupping her bared breast. "For us both. Take off your robe. Let me paint you. Please?"

"I will, if you will."

Murphy chuckled. A happy sound void of darkness, Jordyn noted with satisfaction.

"Historically, the model is nude, not the artist," he pointed out.

"Can't we write our own rules?" Jordyn asked as she turned. The heat in Murphy's gaze made her heartbeat quicken.

"I like the way you think."

In a flash, Jordyn was naked. Murphy dropped to his knees, his mouth bringing a gasp to her lips.

"I thought you wanted to paint me." She threaded her fingers through his hair. Holding him close.

"I will." Murphy looked up as he licked his smiling lips. "Later."

 

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MURPHY HUMMED A random, upbeat tune as he raised a sharply honed axe above his head. Thwack. In one fluid motion, he cleaved the piece of wood in two. He stooped, picking up the pieces, tossing them into a growing pile near the back door.

"Don't look at me with those big, sad eyes," he told the puppy. "I told you to stay away, but you wouldn't listen. What happened? Bonked on the head by a chunk of firewood. You could have stayed with Jordyn in the warm kitchen. Instead, you'll remain locked behind the screen door until I finish."

The puppy—he really had to think of a name for her—let out a huge 'poor me' sigh before settling down, her nose pressed to the screen. The dog adored Jordyn. However, when given a choice, she chose to tag along after Murphy every time. Through no effort of his own, he'd acquired a pet. And to his surprise, he found that he didn't mind a bit.

Murphy resumed chopping, his muscles loose. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so… Pausing, he searched for the right word. Relaxed? Carefree? Dare he say, happy? Hell, why not? What was wrong with admitting to a little happiness?

Deciding he had enough wood to last him until the weather changed, he stowed his axe in the tool shed near the garage, setting the anxious puppy loose from her confinement.

Murphy watched as the dog raced around the driveway in complete abandon as if she hadn't tasted freedom in years instead of a mere thirty minutes. The scene brought a grin to his lips, making him pause. The puppy's antics were part of the reason for the change in his mood. He found himself smiling with an ease he thought was lost forever.

For most of his life, Murphy had been a social creature. A man who needed—craved—the company of others. When he moved here—to his little slice of self-imposed solitude—he'd been a mess. Inside and out. Little by little, he'd found his peace. But the longer he spent alone, the less he felt the need for other people.

In two years, Murphy could count on one hand the hours he'd spent away from his cabin. Though he made a point of keeping in touch with his parents. Letters. The occasional phone call. They had visited from New York exactly twice. His choice, not theirs.

Murphy loved his parents. Still, they—his mother especially—didn't understand why he had sequestered himself so far from civilization. So far from them. No matter how many times he told her, his mother still believed he would eventually come home. She couldn't understand. Would never understand. He was home.

Yet, as he looked around. At his lake. His house. His land. Something felt different. He felt different. For the first time since the day he arrived, Murphy could imagine more. Something away from here. The image was foggy. A blur in the distance. A seed planted. Whether anything would grow, only time would tell.

One thing Murphy knew for certain? The cause and subsequent effect of his murky vision.

The cause? Jordyn. The effect? A renewed spring in Murphy's step.

A familiar sound broke through Murphy's reverie. The sound of an engine getting closer by the second. Something he rarely heard way out here in the middle of nowhere.

A red truck broke into view. Splattered with mud from grill to taillights, the new model Ford sported a double cab and a full-sized bed. And inside, three equally full-sized men.

"Well, what have we here?" the driver, grinning, said as he exited the vehicle.

Murphy's visitors were rare. Partly because of his location. Mostly because he didn't encourage the practice. However, there were always exceptions to a rule. Spencer Kraig's father was one of them.

"Mr. Kraig." Returning the man's smile, Murphy held out his hand. "Welcome."

"Thank you, son. And you know better. The name is Byron."

Murphy's parents had taught him to address his elders with respect—one of the few lessons he always heeded. He'd only met Byron Kraig a handful of times. Enough to know he liked the man, but not enough for an automatic feeling of familiarity.

"Yes, sir." Murphy laughed when Byron raised an eyebrow. "Byron."

"You've met my oldest boys?" Byron said as the other occupants of the truck joined them.

As tall as their father, Rick and Reid Kraig were a year apart in age, but they often were mistaken for twins. Sandy-blond hair like their mother, worn in the same short cut, they even sported the same relaxed stance as they flanked Byron.

"Of course. Rick. Reid." Murphy exchanged handshakes. "Good to see you again. Are you on a fishing trip?"

Officially, the season wasn't open, but on private lakes, there were no restrictions.

Byron frowned, his expression puzzled. "Fishing? No. I'm here to pick up my daughter."

The word, and the implication, took a few seconds to sink in. When they did, one thought popped into Murphy's head.

Well, shit.

Fate, as Murphy already knew, could be a motherfucking bitch. But to discover the woman who had shared his bed for the past two days was the sister of one his oldest, closest friends went beyond fate's normal crappy parameters. Evil was a good word.

The coincidence was too much. And though he would have dearly loved to pass the blame, he, and he alone, had dug the hole where he currently resided.

"Jordyn is your daughter?" Stupid and unnecessary, Murphy had to ask. Just in case he misheard.

"You didn't know?" Byron seemed to find the idea amusing. Rick chuckled. Reid, eyes narrowed, seemed to catch on to the implications a little quicker. Every inch the big brother, he crossed his arms and waited.

Great. The last thing Murphy wanted was a fight. Especially one that involved a member of Jordyn's family.

"The subject never came up."

With the proverbial cat out of the bag, Murphy had no problem recognizing the resemblance between father and daughter. The dark hair. Bright-green eyes. The shape of the face. Tall. Slim. Like her older brother Spencer, Jordyn had Byron's genetic stamp all over her.

"You didn't recognize her name?" Byron shrugged. "Fair enough. But she must have recognized yours."

Normally, Murphy wouldn't have explained. He lived his life and the hell with what anybody else thought. However, Byron wasn't anybody. He was an admirable man. A man Murphy liked and respected. Most of all, he was Jordyn's father. Reason enough right there.

"I… we…" Murphy cursed. Stuttering and stammering made him sound like he had something to hide. Which he did. But he didn't want the Kraig men to know. "I'd never met Jordyn before."

"Obviously." Rick's affable smile slipped as he mimicked his brother's crossed arms.

"We didn't get around to exchanging last names."

"Mmm." Byron didn't look pleased as his glance shifted over Murphy's shoulder, toward the house. "Where's Jordyn?"

"Baking cookies."

"Very homey. What else have you asked my sister to do for you?"

"Rick!" Byron chastised Reid. "Don't talk about Jordyn that way."

"But, Dad—" Rick jumped in.

"You heard me."

"Yes, sir," the brothers muttered. Effectively muzzled, they glared at Murphy.

Byron's green eyes held a steely glint, but he seemed willing to listen before he jumped to conclusions.

"I've known you a long time, Murphy. Watched your highs with pride and your lows with sympathy and concern. I was there if you needed me."

"Yes, sir." Murphy nodded.

"Good." Byron sighed. "Now, you want to explain what's going on?

Murphy had gathered his thoughts. Whether what he had to say would ease the rising tensions he would soon find out.

"Two years," he began. "Seems like a long time. And it is. Most people have moved on to more interesting, timely stories. But my name still gets recognized. I hear the whispers. Feel the looks."

"You didn't kill anybody," Reid scoffed.

"However, I did flame out. In spectacular fashion. Have you seen the YouTube video?"

"Once or twice," Rick admitted sheepishly.

"Don't feel bad. I understand the thing has several million views."

"More like twenty."

"Million?"

When Reid nodded, Murphy let out a low whistle. He was past anything close to embarrassment. But damn! Didn't people have anything better to do with their time?"

"As an excuse, I know my reasoning is lame. Jordyn didn't meet me with any preconceived notions. She didn't recognize me. Or ask my last name. So, I didn't volunteer the information. In her eyes, I wasn't famous. Or infamous."

"Jordyn doesn't judge," Byron stated, but his expression had softened.

"Everybody judges to some degree." Murphy found out the hard way. "Jordyn is a wonderful, bright, friendly woman. She's also human."

"But—"

"We judge each other, Byron. At least to some degree."

A fact Murphy knew all too well.

"For a day or two, you wanted to forget your past?" Rick asked.

He who forgets history is doomed to repeat it. Words to live by. Besides, Murphy didn't want to forget. What he did in his younger days was a big part of the man he was now. However, he couldn't expect the men standing before him to understand. So, he simply nodded.

"The chances that Jordyn and I will ever see each other again are slim to none." Murphy turned to Byron, hoping he would understand. "Does she have to know?"

"You want me to lie to my daughter?"

Murphy winced. An actual pain shot through when he saw the look of disappointment in Byron's eyes. He remembered Jordyn's stance on false truths. He had to assume she got her moral code from her parents.

"Absolutely not," he rushed to assure the older man. "However, if Jordyn doesn’t ask…?"

The chance he took was a big one. Murphy could lose Byron's respect. And Jordyn would find out the truth anyway. Yet, he had to try. He didn't want his last memory of her to be the way she pulled back—even the slightest bit. Right now, in her eyes, he was a good man. He refused to feel guilty because he wanted to keep her opinion of him untarnished.

"I can't—"

Before Byron could finish his thought, the subject of their conversation walked from the house.

"The last batch of cookies are out of the oven. Eight dozen chocolate chip specials should hold you until your next foray at the farmer's market."

Laughing, Jordyn paused at the top of the steps, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. Her eyes widened, as did her smile, when she saw the men standing with Murphy.

"Dad?" Jordyn bypassed the steps, jumping to the ground running. Her long legs ate up the ground in a few strides. Without hesitation, she threw herself into her father's waiting arms. "I didn't expect you."

"After your last phone call, your mother decided there was safety in numbers. Just in case."

"In case what?" Jordyn pulled back, her expression incredulous.

"Mom worried your host might not be… hospitable," Reid explained.

"She heard my voice. I gave her my location. And directions how to get here." She looked at Murphy. "Have you met my host? He's nothing but a big old teddy bear."

"He's hairy," Byron said, his tone neutral. "I'll have to take your word for the rest."

"Well, you can. Murphy graciously opened his home. Fed me. Treated me with complete respect and kindness."

Jordyn didn't have to pour the praise in such a thick layer. Though he appreciated her efforts on his behalf.

Speculatively, Byron looked Jordyn over from head to toe.

"You look healthy. How do you feel? No major injuries?"

"A bruise or two. I've had worse playing tag football in the backyard with these two."

"We plead the fifth."

Reid said the words with a straight face. But his wink and Jordyn's smile told another tale. After only a few minutes of observation, Murphy could tell the Kraig family was a solid, loving unit.

"And who do we have here?" Byron asked as the shoelace on his work boot was assaulted by a roly-poly body and a set of sharp teeth.

"At the moment, she's known as the puppy to be named later."

Picking up the dog, Byron laughed heartily at Murphy's Bull Durham reference. His sons joined in. As did Jordyn. Her gaze met his.

"You look surprised," she said. "Bull Durham is a damn good movie. Romantic."

"Please," Rick groaned. "The movie is about baseball. Then friendship. Then learning to adjust your dreams. Romance falls way down the list."

"Bull Durham is the holy grail of movies in the Kraig household," Jordyn explained. "My brother—as much as I love the jerk—has watched the thing dozens of times and he still hasn't figured out the central theme."

"The theme, little sister, is baseball, baseball, and more baseball. Just look at—"

"Enough," Byron sighed. "You can pick up the argument on the way home. By the way, your brother is right."

"Dad!" Jordyn exclaimed. Her eyes narrowed. "Mom doesn't agree."

"And your mother is always right. Unless she isn't."

"Fair enough," Jordyn said. Then, she gently sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I haven't introduced you to Murphy."

Murphy opened his mouth, not certain what would come out. But Byron beat him to the punch.

"We did the honors as soon as we arrived. Honey, I need to speak with you for a second."

Byron shot Murphy an unfathomable look, taking Jordyn by the arm. Her expression puzzled, she didn't argue.

When Byron set the puppy down, she scampered over to Murphy. He bent, scratching her behind the ear. Though he couldn't hear the conversation, he watched Jordyn's expressive face carefully.

Byron did all the talking. On and on—at least in Murphy's estimation. His stomach clenched as he wondered and waited. Slowly, Jordyn's puzzlement turned to a frown. She shook her head, listening intently, but remained silent. Suddenly, she laughed as though her father had told the funniest joke ever.

"They're like actors in a silent movie," Reid commented.

"Without the title cards so we can follow along," Rick agreed.

Tuning out her brother's running commentary, Murphy waited. Briefly, Jordyn's gaze met his. Perhaps he was guilty of wishful thinking. But to him, nothing in her deep-green eyes had changed. He didn't see a hint of anger or condemnation.

"Rick. Go with your sister and collect her bags," Byron called out. Apparently, the father/daughter conference was finally over.

Murphy glanced at his watch. Only a few minutes had passed. To him, more like hours.

"I lug my stuff around all the time. Poor, weak little me doesn't need a man to do the heavy work, Dad."

Byron didn't acknowledge Jordyn's sarcastic statement. He simply stared at his son. And Rick did as he asked.

"Fine," Jordyn chuckled as her brother jogged up the steps, holding the door for her to go first. "Rick the Pack Mule. You've finally found your calling in life."

As Jordyn passed, Rick gave her a kick in the butt. Not too hard. Just firm enough to let her know he wouldn't let her teasing insult go unpunished.

"Jerk," she muttered.

"Brat," Rick countered.

Neither Byron nor Reid paid the two any attention, obviously used to sparring siblings. Murphy, with his only-child status, found the exchange extremely entertaining.

"I asked Jordyn how you treated her."

Murphy knew Jordyn wouldn't throw him under the bus. However, Byron had the prerogative to interpret her words any way he chose.

"She didn't have a bad word to say about you. Effusive in her praise would be the best description. I've never seen my daughter glow when she spoke about a man." Byron frowned as if he didn't like the idea. "Whatever happened between the two of you, I don't want to know."

Good, Murphy thought.

"Jordyn's well-being is all I'm concerned about. I can't see any reason to enlighten her about your past."

Murphy let out a sigh of relief.

"Today is the last time I'll ever see Jordyn."

"Hmm." Byron didn't sound convinced.

"You have my word." Murphy straightened his shoulders. "If you still think it's worth anything."

"I do." Byron's gaze didn't waver. "I know who you are, Murphy. The man you were and the man you are today."

"But you wouldn't want me to date your daughter."

"Wrong."

Surprised, Murphy frowned.

"Then I don't understand."

"You believe you'll never see Jordyn again. Maybe. Maybe not. Life has a way of surprising us—no matter how long we're here on earth. My point is simple. A relationship can't be built on lies."

"But—"

"Lies of omission are still lies, son."

Jordyn had told him the same thing. Byron nodded when he saw understanding dawn in Murphy's eyes.

"If the day comes when you and Jordyn meet again, you'll have to tell her. You can't leave out anything or gloss over the ugly bits. Everything, Murphy. Or I will."

As much as Murphy might wish they could have more, he knew Jordyn wasn't for him. Knowing today was goodbye, he had no problem giving his word to her father.

"If we ever meet again."

Murphy shook Byron's hand, a seal of a promise made.

"What do you have in here?" Rick asked as he stowed Jordyn's one suitcase in the back of the Ford.

"Don't be such a wimp. Murphy carried the thing a couple of miles. Through the woods. He didn't complain."

"Murphy is built like a Mac truck. I, on the other hand, am a mere mortal."

"Ready to go?" Byron asked.

"I need to say goodbye," Jordyn said, her eyes on Murphy.

"Take your time." Suddenly affable—perhaps because he was about to get his daughter far away from Murphy—Byron motioned for Rick and Reid to follow. "We'll be waiting when you're ready.

The three men piled into the cab, shutting the doors.

"I don't know what to say." Jordyn's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, the irises a cloudy green. "I wanted to act all cool. Thanks for the great sex and a jaunty wave before I rode into the sunset."

Afraid he might embarrass himself, Murphy tried for a light tone.

"Everything you do is cool." He almost reached for her, but just in time, remembered their audience. "The way you talk. The way you move. The chocolate chip cookies waiting in my kitchen? Coolest ever."

"Such a sweet man." Jordyn didn't worry about her father or brothers, she moved in, her arms going around his waist as she rested her cheek just above his heart. "I won't come back."

The hell with prying eyes, Murphy brushed his lips across Jordyn's forehead.

"I know."

"Not because I don't want to." Stepping back, she took Murphy's hand. "But because I do. So very much."

Jordyn didn't give Murphy a chance to answer. If she had, what would he have said? I'm here anytime you want me? For her sake—and the promise he'd made her father—they were words he could never speak. Instead, he watched as she walked to the truck, and pulled herself into the front seat. Without a backward glance.

Slowly—almost tauntingly—the truck rolled down the road and finally, out of sight.

"All alone again." Murphy lifted the puppy with one hand. "I have you to keep me company, don't I? Jordyn's gone. But at least she left me you."