“Hey? Where is everybody?”
Zane.
The voice of her brother interrupted the meal.
He walked around the side of the inn, his footsteps less than steady. He smiled and waved. “Am I late?”
“Only by an hour,” Luke said.
The second Zane tripped on the first step, Zoe knew he was drunk. Or something else. If the table were filled with people from her life in Dallas, she’d want to hide. There wasn’t one person at Miss Gina’s table who didn’t know her brother.
“Can’t blame a man for not wanting to break bread with a cop.”
Zoe exchanged glances with Jo. “Knock it off, Zane.”
Zane was the spitting image of their dad. All dark hair, dark skin, muscle, and attitude. When he drank too much his temper wasn’t easily controlled and his mouth ran like a faucet stuck on high.
“Sit down before you fall down,” their mom told him as she pulled out the empty seat beside her.
“Who’s that?” Zoe overheard Hope asking Mel.
“That’s Zoe’s brother.” Mel ruffled her daughter’s hair.
“Oh.”
Zane must have heard the question from the other end of the table. “I’m the black sheep. You know what a black sheep is?”
“Zane!” Zoe yelled.
“Knock it off!” Zanya shook a finger in her brother’s direction.
“Mommy?”
“I’ll talk about it later,” Mel whispered.
“Sheryl says you have a job up in Waterville,” Mr. Miller changed the subject.
Zane glanced at their mom. “Yeah. Part-time.”
Several people started back on their plates while Zane reached around to fill his up.
“What do you do?” Wyatt asked.
“A little of this, a little of that.”
Zoe found Jo’s concerned gaze again.
“I’ve had jobs like that,” Mel said.
Zane muttered something under his breath that only their mother heard. She elbowed him in the ribs.
The last thing she wanted on her last day in town was a scene. The itch on the back of her neck told her that no amount of hoping was going to do a damn bit of good.
“So, Zoe . . . are we going to see you on the TV this year?” Mrs. Miller asked.
“There is some talk about a holiday special. I should know by August if it’s going to happen.”
“Did you film the last holiday gig in September?”
“Yes. It was awful. They had me dressed in sweaters for the promotional stuff when it was ninety degrees and dripping with humidity.”
“The price of fame,” Jo teased.
“Could be worse.”
Zane snorted and once again their mom elbowed him.
“Knock it off.” He jerked away from her with a glare. “She’s bitching about cooking.” He stood and searched out a cooler that held chilled beer.
Like he needed another drink.
“You know, Zane, I’m glad you saw it fit to come here to say good-bye before I leave. Would it be too much to ask for you to bring it down a notch?”
“What’s the matter, sis? I don’t fit in your world?” He twisted off the top of the beer and tilted it back.
“You’re being an asshole,” Luke put it the way it was.
Zane glared. “Who the fuck asked you?”
“Hey!” Wyatt pushed his plate aside. “Language.”
Zane’s gaze moved to Hope.
“I’m sure she’s heard worse.”
Sheryl pushed away from the table and tossed her napkin from her lap. “C’mon, Zane, I’m taking you home.”
“The hell you are. I just got here.”
“Mom’s right. You’re in a mood and no one wants to hear it.” Zanya rested a hand on her belly.
As if to add an exclamation point, Zane flopped in his chair and grabbed a fork.
When their mom placed a hand on his shoulder he shoved it away, knocking her off balance.
Every man at the table was up in a heartbeat.
Jo practically flew across the table.
“I’m okay,” Sheryl said once she balanced herself.
“Time for you to go.” Luke loomed over him.
Zane glared at him, then moved that pointed anger to Jo, who pinned his hand holding his steak knife to the table.
“Get off me!”
“You drive here, Zane?” Jo asked in the coldest voice Zoe had ever heard coming from her friend.
Her brother let a slow smile spread over his face. “Sure did, Sheriff. Drank half a fifth in the driveway before walking back here.”
There wasn’t one person who believed him, but if there was one thing every criminal understood, it was the law.
Zoe pulled in a shallow breath and swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. “Please leave, Zane.”
Mr. Miller rounded the table and flanked her brother. “I’ll take you, son. Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.”
Zane shoved from his chair, leaving it to tumble behind him. “I can manage.”
“The hell you can,” Jo said. “Don’t make me arrest you.”
The line in Zane’s jaw started to pulse. “I’d like to see you try.”
Miss Gina slapped her hand on the table, making everything within a foot of her plate shake. “Enough! This is my home and we will not do this here!”
Zoe was on her feet.
Mel had taken Hope from her chair and moved away from the men.
Mrs. Miller placed an arm over Zanya’s shoulder.
A voice from inside the inn drew everyone’s attention from the table.
“Uhm, excuse me . . . but do you have a room for the night?”
Several faces swiveled to the stranger in the door.
Zane attempted to break free of Jo’s hold with a buck while Mr. Miller and Luke took him by the shoulders and walked him down the back steps.
Zoe’s mom slumped in her chair. “Son of a bitch.”
Hope clung to Mel’s side and Zanya was in tears.
“About that room?”
Miss Gina marched back into the inn, past the stranger, and barked, “Follow me.”
“Our guest is settled,” Miss Gina said when she returned.
Mr. Miller and Luke had forced Zane into a car and left.
Mel busied herself around the table, putting to rights the mess caused by Zane’s outburst. Her attention kept traveling to Zoe. The steam coming from her eyes said it all. She’d pushed her food aside and sat drinking Miss Gina’s lemonade in silence.
Sheryl kept apologizing to Mrs. Miller, who shook her head and reminded Sheryl that Zane was a grown man who was no longer someone she needed to apologize for. Mel wasn’t sure Sheryl heard her.
“You okay, Zoe?” Jo asked from the other side of the table.
Zoe attempted a half smile and pushed her hair behind her back.
“I’m all right. Ticked . . . but Mrs. Miller is right. Zane’s a grown man and is making his own choices.”
“Even if they’re bad ones,” Zanya added.
“Jo, I need you to know . . . if you ever have to put Zane in his place, do it. Our friendship will never come into question. Isn’t that right, Mama?”
Sheryl offered a single nod and looked down at her plate.
“I never thought it would.”
Melanie really hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but from the way Zane reacted to Jo, she couldn’t help but wonder how many times Jo had let him slide away when she shouldn’t have.
Wyatt interrupted her thoughts with a tap on the shoulder. “How about a walk?”
Hope still sat in Melanie’s lap, her tiny arms still wrapped around her waist. “I should probably help with the dishes.”
Miss Gina picked up a f
ew plates. “You go. There will be plenty to do after all that pie.”
“C’mon, Mommy.” Hope slid from her knees and tugged on her hand.
Wyatt nodded toward the back of the house.
It wasn’t until they’d walked far enough away from the inn, and out of earshot of those still sitting on the porch, when Melanie released a deep breath.
“That was intense.” Wyatt kept pace beside her while Hope ran ahead.
“Is he always like that?”
Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t really know the guy. Luke might be a better one to ask.”
“He was just Zoe’s kid brother . . . annoying, but not crazed like he was today.”
“He reminds me of a kid searching for himself.”
They followed Hope on a path that led through a patch of trees. “I really hope he isn’t violent with Sheryl. I don’t think she’d do much about it if he was.”
“Have you ever met Zoe’s dad?”
“No. I know Sheryl used to drag them all to visit him in prison a couple times a year. When Zoe started high school, she always gave an excuse as to why she couldn’t join them.”
They were silent for a while before Wyatt said, “It must have been hard for them to grow up without a father.”
Melanie couldn’t help but look at Hope with Wyatt. “According to Zoe, he used to hit Sheryl all the time. I’m guessing it’s better the man was locked up than teaching his children that behavior.”
“True. I just can’t imagine not having a dad. Mine has always been there.”
“Hope doesn’t seem to miss it at all.”
“She’s a girl,” he said as if estrogen explained everything. “It would probably be harder for her without a mom.”
Now it was time for Melanie to think about Jo. She’d grown up without her mom, bucking her father . . . “Yeah, I guess.”
“Mommy! Uncle Wyatt . . . c’mere.”
“Uncle?” Wyatt asked with a grin.
“She’s been calling Zoe ‘Aunt Zoe’ and Jo ‘Auntie Jo.’ I told her it was okay.” Melanie took his smile as acceptance and didn’t correct her daughter when she met up with her a few yards later.
Hope had climbed five feet up into a pine tree. “Look what I found.”
Wyatt stood at the base of the tree and looked up. “What is it with you and climbing a tree?”
“Mommy told me she used to climb them all the time when she was my age.” Hope took another branch up with a firm grip.
Melanie felt herself cringe but didn’t say a thing.
“You climbed trees?”
She narrowed her gaze to Wyatt. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
He shook his head. “I can’t see it.”
She placed a hand to his chest and pushed him aside before reaching for the first branch.
Within three feet, Melanie knew the sap wouldn’t come off her hands for a week. But as she closed the gap between her and Hope a familiar sense of awesome washed over her.
Hope sat perched on a sturdy branch with a silly grin. “This is so cool.”
“Be sure and hold on tight,” Melanie instructed. “And don’t get freaked out by bugs or flying insects.”
Hope wiggled her nose and did a little search of her personal space as if she were being swarmed.
“Even bees?”
“A bee sting is better than a broken arm.”
Hope shrugged and reached for a higher branch. The two of them climbed in tandem for a few more feet.
“Hey, ladies . . . how high are you planning on climbing?”
Melanie glanced down to find Wyatt standing with his hands on his hips, his neck stretched to keep an eye on them.
“You’ll learn not to challenge the Bartlett girls.”
Hope giggled. “Yeah, Uncle Wyatt . . . are you coming?”
Apparently, all he needed was an invitation.
He looked a little like Spider-Man without the red costume and mask. He was less careful of where he placed his hands and didn’t pay attention to the branches brushing against his face. Wyatt hung on to a sturdy branch at the base of the tree, near their feet.
“Why are we climbing a tree again?” he asked.
“Because it’s fun!” Melanie said.
Hope pointed to a tree across from them. “Look at that.”
A nest the size of a grown man’s fist held a single bird that intently watched them.
Melanie was about to tell Hope to hold on when her daughter used her free hand to brush off a few ants that were walking along her arm. “This is awesome.” Hope went ahead and pushed farther up.
Melanie followed, Wyatt trailing behind until the branches started to thin. “That’s far enough,” she told her daughter.
They were in the thick of the trees, a good thirty feet off the forest floor. The smell of pine would probably stay in her hair for as long as the sap stuck to her palms . . . but Melanie didn’t care. “You can’t do this in Bakersfield.”
“I don’t wanna go back there again ever. I like it here.”
Melanie glanced down at Wyatt, who had heard her daughter’s words. “I like it here, too.”
They listened to the wind in the treetops for a few minutes, and pointed out things they couldn’t see from the ground. “We should probably get back and help with the dishes.”
Hope offered a small protest but didn’t whine for long.
Climbing down from the tree was a little harder for Hope than ascending.
Wyatt guided her from under, and Melanie stayed a foot above.
Wyatt reached the ground first and lifted Hope from the last few branches before setting her on her feet.
With her daughter safe, Melanie stopped watching the activity on the ground and concentrated on her own descent. The feel of Wyatt’s hand on her ankle made her grin and look.
Watching the mischief behind his eyes, she took another step and felt his other hand reach her thigh. “I think I have—”
“Gotta keep the Bartlett girls safe,” he said.
And then both his hands were on her ass and sliding to her waist, where he plucked her off the tree as if she were a fly.
“There you are.” Only he didn’t let go.
When Melanie turned around, he was snug inside her personal space, reminding her how lonely it was without him there.
For a minute, she thought maybe he’d lean in a little closer. His eyes were already traveling to her lips.
A small voice stole the moment. “We should climb trees every day.”
Wyatt lifted one eyebrow without breaking eye contact with her.
“Mommy?”
Melanie had to turn away from the tractor beams of Wyatt’s gaze. “Yeah?”
Hope was studying the two of them . . . her eyes shifting back and forth.
Melanie took a tiny step back and Wyatt let go.
Hope pushed in between them and grasped one of their hands in each of hers. “Can we climb another one?”
“Sure, sweetie. But not today.”
Melanie noticed the shadow of the three of them once they left the crush of trees. The song in Hope’s voice as she talked Wyatt’s ear off about tree climbing and sticky fingers followed them all the way back to the inn.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wyatt opened his refrigerator door, took one sniff, and shut it. He really should do something about the smell in the icebox, but not tonight.
Exhaustion wasn’t going to allow him the chore of cleaning out the fuzz growing in the vegetable drawer or the unmentionables tucked in rubber containers.
Hunger drove him to his pantry, which wasn’t better than an oversize cupboard with canned and boxed food. The standby go-to box of mac and cheese sat beside a jar of peanut butter.
He reached for the peanut butter and made sure there wasn’t any gr
een growing on the bread sitting on the counter before making himself a quick sandwich. He wasn’t halfway through the first one and he was making a second.
He leaned against the kitchen counter and hummed.
Nothing better than a PB&J.
The past week had been a blur. Between the drama at Miss Gina’s and the week of reunion chaos . . . and Melanie, Wyatt was beat.
It didn’t help that when he finally closed his eyes at night, his thoughts of Melanie kept him tossing and turning. And if he was honest with himself, he’d acknowledge the soreness in his shoulders after climbing up after her and Hope in the tree.
He might climb on a house a couple of times a week, but tree climbing used a few muscles his body forgot he had.
Wyatt took his second half-eaten sandwich into his living room and sank into his couch.
The coffee table was nothing more than two milk crates holding up a piece of glass, but it worked to suit his needs. He’d started the remodel on his own house the minute he’d moved into the place five years before. Once each room was completely redone he would go through the effort of furnishing it before moving on to the next. To date he had his bedroom and master bathroom along with the kitchen completed. The living room was still a shell that needed masonry work around the fireplace, completed flooring—hardwood was his preference—and new lighting throughout. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a big screen hung on a half-finished wall and a couch . . . but he drew the line at tables and occasional chairs. The only real visitors he had were friends like Luke, and they couldn’t give two shits about the decor in his home. They would continue to crack jokes about the plumber’s faucet leaking . . . or in his case, his half-finished house when he could fix just about anything.
Problem was, he’d been working continually since he moved to River Bend. Between the odd-end jobs and handyman needs of the widowed and divorced . . . and the full-time needs of the businesses in town, Gibson Construction was booming. On occasion he would hire a few men to help with bigger jobs, like the one Miss Gina wanted him to do. There was no way he was going to be able to do that solo with the timeline she’d measured out. Why the woman wanted a guest house when the inn sat half full at best most of the year was the question. He wondered if Melanie had given her the excuse to go into an early retirement. The woman had always been eccentric and outspoken, but she was like a comet lighting up the northern sky since the reunion.
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