“I believe you.” She offered me her arm. “Now come and walk with me. It is so beautiful out.”
I hooked my arm through hers and, chatting about her new job, we walked slowly down the street, bypassing the playground where my parents used to bring me. I told her stories of Dad, whom she’d never gotten to meet, and life in Boulder before I was uprooted. August came up in many of my stories, which earned me repeated chary glances.
“He was a big part of my life,” I said as we took a seat on a bench shaded by a glossy-leafed magnolia.
“Did he . . . ever behave indecently?”
Horror had me gasping, “No! Never.”
She folded one leg over the other and massaged her bad calf-the one her ex-husband had put a bullet through.
Just as I thought of Aidan Michaels, a yellow Hummer drove down the street. I didn’t have to squint through the tinted window at the boy sitting behind the wheel to grasp whom the car belonged to: Alex Morgan. Another detestable Creek.
A violent desire to slash his tires, and his chest while I was at it, animated me. I balled my fingers into fists.
As though he sensed my glare, Alex turned his face toward me. He had the audacity to toss me a wink before taking off, tires screeching.
“Who was that, querida?”
Evelyn’s voice zapped me out of my violent musings. “A Creek.”
She wrapped her fingers around my fists, easing my hands open. “And what has he done to make you abhor him so? Besides being a Creek.”
“He’s the reason Everest is dead.”
A long beat of silence passed between us.
Then, “Have many Creeks remained in Boulder?”
“Yes.””Why?”
“Because of the-” I smacked my lips shut. Had I really been about to tell her about the duel? She absolutely couldn’t know about it. She’d kidnap me and fly me out of Colorado. “Because of the inn. Because Aidan bought it, and Aidan’s a Creek. So they feel at home here.”
Nothing worked quite as well as burying a big truth under a smaller one.
She tapped my knuckles with her fingers. “El diablo.”
Another reason I needed to help Liam win this duel . . . so that nothing and no one stood in my way to send the devil to Hell.
After dropping Evelyn off at Frank’s, I drove over to the warehouse. I called Sarah on the way. I preluded my invitation to dine with a bunch of Boulders with a, “Are you busy tomorrow night?”
“You mean, am I deejaying at The Den?”
Right. It was Thursday night. “I meant earlier, for dinner.”
“I’m free for dinner, and even afterward. I’m taking some time off deejaying.”
I didn’t ask why, but I suspected it was because she was still grieving for her uncle and for her pack’s annexation.
“Meet me at Tracy’s at eight?”
“Is it just the two of us?”
“Um. No.”
“Who else will be there?”
“Some people.”
“Which people?”
“Um. Liam, Lucas, Matt and his girlfriend.”
Would Tamara come? If she did, the guys would surely pick up on her pregnancy . . . How would Liam react?
“Why are you having dinner with all these people?” Sarah asked.
“We. You said you were free.”
“Not sure if I am anymore.”
“Please.”
“What about August? Is he coming?”
I sighed. “What are you doing tonight, actually?”
“Hanging out with you to find out what the heck’s going on in your life. Plus, I’m dying to know how your weekend went.”
As I made plans to head to her place later, the warehouse materialized like an oasis, which made my pulse skip. I parked the van next to August’s pickup, then made my way toward the wide-open loading dock. As I approached, the tether solidified like concrete. Standing beside Uncle Tom at one of the worktables, August looked up at me.
I tried to smile, but I was so jittery the simple process proved tremendously arduous. When I was close enough, I said, “Hi, Uncle Tom.”
“Ness!” Tom grinned wide, which made his purplish-red cheeks rise and round, and the faint scent of cold whiskey clout my nose.
It was just after lunch, and yet he was hitting the bottle? I knew he needed the job, but I hoped August was monitoring him so he didn’t hurt himself-or anyone else for that matter.
“We miss you around here!” Uncle Tom’s strident voice made me glance worriedly at August.
“I miss it here too.” And I did, even though the warehouse brought me equal parts pain and pleasure.
Pain, because it reminded me of Dad.
Pleasure, because it reminded me of Dad.
I could almost hear my five-year-old self squeal with delight when Dad would suggest a game of hide-and-seek in the stacks.
“Ness?” August tipped his head toward one of the aisles.