Never Let Go (Haven, Montana Book 2)

by Jill Sanders

  “Hey.” Someone ran over to her and started rubbing her back. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “I . . .” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her mouth on her jacket and looked up through blurry eyes at Gail McGowan.

  Trent had spent almost two hours locked away in a stuffy conference room at city hall with a group of people planning the landscaping for the new school. He was beginning to think he’d been swindled into doing a job that was much harder than first described to him.

  At his own company, he didn’t have to answer to anyone, just do what he pleased with the trees and bushes. Period. Simple.

  But for the school, every tree, bush, shrub, and piece of playground equipment was debated over. He had drawn a quick sketch of the layout, which was quickly shot down by the committee—a committee made up of school staff, a few concerned parents, and the mayor herself. He’d never had a more frustrating meeting in his life.

  At the end of the meeting, the mayor filled everyone in informally on the progress of the NewField fire investigation. The word was out: a pile of old rags and several gas cans were the origin. It appeared there had been some sort of timer, but the investigators weren’t saying much more. The authorities were still looking for clues as to why the fire was started.

  Since all he had were his own conspiracy theories, Trent kept quiet.

  By the end of the meeting, he was dog-tired and desperately wanted a cold beer and a burger.

  He made his way toward the diner, but then spotted his mother’s sedan in front of the grocery store and pulled in next to it in hopes she’d join him for a meal.

  Instead, he found his mother helping Addy toward her Jeep. He hurried forward, concern flooding him as he noticed her face was red and blotchy.

  “What happened?” He scoured the parking lot for an unseen assailant.

  “Nothing.” Addy shook her head. “Someone just said something to upset me.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes again. “Thank you, Mrs.—”

  “Gail, sweetie.” His mother gave Addy a pat on her back. “Just call me Gail.”

  “Thank you, Gail.”

  “Why don’t you let Trent drive you home? You’re too upset to drive yourself.”

  Addy started to object, but Gail gave her a look that said it hadn’t really been a request. Addy was smart enough to shut her mouth and nod.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Anytime, sweetie. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” Gail placed a hand on Addy’s shoulder.

  Trent watched his mother’s gaze move to the grocery store. When he looked, he saw Darla standing inside the large windows, smiling. His eyes narrowed with anger. As he helped Addy into his truck, he saw his mother march into the store right toward Darla.

  He shivered at the thought. He almost wished someone would get the entire incident on video. His mother would walk away the victor.

  “Do you want to tell me what has you so upset? Surely nothing Darla says or does can still get to you,” he said to Addy.

  She rested her head back against the seat and sighed. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but . . .” She shrugged and closed her eyes.

  He started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot but instead of turning right, Trent turned left. “I was just about to go grab some food.” Her eyes remained closed and she sighed. “Care to join me?”

  “Whatever,” she said. “I doubt I could eat.”

  “Then you can watch me eat.” He pointed the car out of town. He had been in the mood for burgers, but now that Addy was along for the ride, he decided Italian was better. There was only one place within a hundred miles that served Italian, and he headed there, knowing the longer drive would be worth it. Besides, it would give Addy some time to settle herself.

  “I’m sure my mother has put Darla in her place by now.” He chuckled. “I just wish I had stuck around to see it.” He looked over at Addy; she didn’t move. He turned back to the road. “I remember one time when Tyler and I got into it, we must have been about ten and eight. Anyway, we were fighting over the last cookie in the cookie jar. We rolled around the house for almost half an hour before we heard the crunch.” He glanced again in her direction.

  This time, her focus was on him, eager to hear the rest of his story. He wiggled the fingers on his left hand. “Broke three of them.” He glanced down at the row of perfectly straight digits. “Of course, being the dumb kids we were, we tried to hide it. Tyler tried to set the fingers by tying a rope around them and yanking real hard, which only made them turn a nasty shade of purple.” He laughed at the memory. “So that night at dinner, I wore a pair of Dad’s work gloves to hide my twisted and bruised fingers.”

  “What did your mother do?” she asked.

  “Well, first she whooped our butts, then she hauled me down to the ER and watched as they set each finger.” Addy frowned, and he smiled in response. “Then she took me out for the largest chocolate-chip milkshake I’d ever had and hugged me until I fell asleep that night.”

  Addy sighed and looked out the window. “It must have been nice.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Growing up with parents who loved you no matter what.”

  He frowned for a moment and was silent. “Your folks love you?” It came out more as a question than a statement.

  “No they don’t. That is, they don’t love the way I turned out. I’m a disappointment.” She closed her eyes. “Have been all my life.”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked.

  An odd burst of laughter escaped her. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the hundred or so times they have told me to my face.”

  “I’ve met your folks. They didn’t seem . . .”

  “What?” She shifted to look at him. “That bad? Do you realize that most people who know a psychopathic killer can be quoted as saying they seemed ‘so nice and normal’?”

  “You don’t think that your folks—”

  Her chuckle stopped him. “No, I’m pretty sure they haven’t chopped up any small children.” She took a deep breath and glanced out the window again. “But it didn’t stop them from breaking one’s spirit.” Her voice turned distant. “And now they have become the embarrassment they have always accused me of being.”

  “How? How have they done that?” he asked.

  She turned back to him, and he wished he wasn’t driving because he wanted to look deeper into her eyes.

  “I’m sure it will be all over town soon enough.” She took another deep breath. “It appears that my father is going to be a father again.”

  His eyebrows rose. “That’s not unheard of. After all, your folks are only in their mid-sixties—”

  “Not with my mother,” she interrupted him, causing him to almost jerk the truck off the road.

  “Oh?” he said slowly and felt his stomach twirl as he remembered Darla’s smirk.

  “Yeah.” She looked back out the window. “It’s as bad as you think.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The rest of the trip to the restaurant they remained silent. But when Trent parked and shut off the truck engine, he turned to Addy.

  “Listen, you know Darla will say anything to get at people. Maybe, hopefully, this is just one of her lies.”

  “I can always tell when she’s lying. Call it my superpower.” She rolled her eyes. “She wasn’t lying. She’s pregnant, and as far as she believes, my father is the father. Which means—” Addy shivered.

  “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Too late.” She sighed.

  “Yeah.” He made a funny face and she chuckled. “Me too.”

  “Okay, enough grossness, I’m actually hungry now.” She reached for the door handle. “By the way.” She stopped and looked over at him. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” he said, then rushed to help her out of the high truck.

  The fact that she’d lost her lunch earlier caused Addy to overorder. When her massive lasagna arrive
d, her eyes grew wide at the sheer size of the meal.

  “Don’t worry. If you can’t eat it all, I’ll finish it off for you,” Trent said, scooping up some of his spaghetti. “I love lasagna.”

  “You McGowans can sure pack the food away,” she joked.

  He laughed between bites. “My mother used to accuse us of having black holes for stomachs.”

  Addy nodded as she chewed, then took a sip of her wine. “I could totally see that. I bet Carl Sagan would have loved to discover the hidden wonders of the McGowan brothers’ stomachs.”

  He laughed. “The eighth wonder of the world.”

  “Someone could make a documentary.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I’d forgotten you were such a nerd,” he said, still smiling.

  Her smile faltered slightly. “Yes, one of the reasons I was never on a McGowan radar.”

  “Would you have wanted to be?” he asked.

  Addy thought about how she’d been back then. She shook her head and took another sip of her wine. “No, I suppose not. Still, it would have been a boost to the self-esteem. I always brushed it off that I was too smart for all that stuff.”

  “I don’t know.” He sat back and studied her. “Smart women are sexy as hell.”

  “Oh?” She leaned closer, enjoying what her second glass of wine was doing to her. Empowering her, making her feel like she could conquer the art of flirting. “Then why did you never try to put your moves on me?” she asked.

  His smile dropped away. “Because you were too . . .” He shook his head and avoided her eyes.

  “Too?” she teased and took another sip of her wine. “Too smart? Too nerdy? Too skinny? What?”

  His eyes met hers, and she felt her toes tingle at the heat radiating from those dark hazel-brown eyes of his.

  “Too fragile, too smart, too pretty. Too good for someone like me.” She watched him swallow and felt the entire room shrink from her view. Suddenly they were the only living creatures on the face of the planet. The cheesy Italian music playing in the background faded away, along with the voices and sounds from the busy restaurant.

  The only thing left was Trent.

  Then, slowly, everything came back to normal as she took several deep breaths. His hand reached out and touched hers. “I didn’t mean to . . .” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I’ve never . . . had to work this hard.”

  Her smile was instant and something shifted inside her chest. “I’m glad.”

  He closed his eyes. “Now I’m the one that feels . . .”

  “Stupid?” She leaned back and took her wine with her. “Don’t. I believe for the first time I’ve finally scratched the surface of Trent McGowan.”

  He glanced around and pushed his empty plate away. “So.” His eyes moved to her half-empty plate. “There was a mention of a shared lasagna?”

  She chuckled and pushed her plate toward him.

  “You owe me an ice cream,” she said, feeling a little more settled as he finished off her lasagna. “Actually Darla owes me a gallon of it, but I’ll settle for a shake at CC’s on the way back to town.”

  Trent looked at her and nodded. “Deal,” he said between bites.

  They enjoyed their shakes on an old park bench outside of CC’s, a small trailer that sat on the outskirts of town and had been selling ice cream for as long as either of them could remember.

  “Why is it the drive back always seems to take half the time?” he said when they pulled in next to her Jeep in the grocery store parking lot.

  Her entire body had relaxed under the spell of the lasagna, wine, and mint–chocolate chip shake. She felt like she could sleep for days. Of course, she always felt like that after a powerful cry and a lot of food.

  She turned slightly toward him. “I believe that’s a compliment,” she teased.

  His right hand came up and brushed a strand of her hair away from her eyes. She hadn’t bothered to braid it today and had worn it down instead.

  “It is.” He leaned closer, his eyes on hers. “Addy, I’d like to kiss you.”

  She watched the hunger and felt her own building. Hadn’t she dreamed of this for years? She’d wondered what it would be like to have his lips and hands on her.

  She moved closer as her body hummed with the possibility. “Okay.”

  His lips had just had a moment to touch hers when there was a loud knock on his door, making them both jump.

  He peered over and groaned. “Shit,” she heard him whisper and then chuckle. “It’s the fuzz.”

  He rolled his window down and looked over at Mike.

  “Sorry.” Mike waved at her. “I was just doing a drive-by and spotted Addy’s Jeep. Is everything okay?”

  “Peachy,” Trent said. “Other than a spoiled moment.” He noticed Addy’s cheeks heat.

  Mike smiled and took a step back. “I’ll let you go. Night.” He tipped the front of his hat and then disappeared.

  Trent leaned back in the seat and looked over at her again. “How about we try this again, say, Friday?”

  “What? Dinner or the kiss?”

  He chuckled. “Both. I’ll cook.”

  Her eyebrows shot up in question.

  “At your mother’s house?”

  He groaned. “Okay, you’ll cook.”

  She laughed. “How about I make a picnic and we do lunch on the mountain? I think we can find a good spot and enjoy some warm weather.” She reached for the door handle.

  “Perfect, I’ll pick you—”

  “No.” She stopped him. “I’ll meet you at the base of the trail.”

  Now it was his turn to raise his dark eyebrows. “Afraid of being seen with me?”

  She tilted her head and smiled. “You are the enemy.” She slid out of the truck, then leaned back in. “Eleven thirty sharp.”

  He nodded, then she felt him watch her unlock her Jeep and get in.

  The rest of the week seemed to crawl by. Maybe because Trent’s mind was focused on the lunch on Friday. Everything and everyone seemed to have only one purpose: to get in his way and slow him down.

  Bessy had blown a hose, which caused almost a day’s worth of work to be delayed. The second meeting about the school grounds had eaten up another two hours of his Wednesday evening, and then to top it off, his mother scheduled a family meeting on Friday night. A bad omen.

  Especially since he knew that she would ask him for an update. Which meant lunch with Addy would have to turn from pleasurable to fact-finding. How could he get information from her without making it look like that’s what he was doing?

  Trent knew he had to keep his family as far away from Addy as possible. It wouldn’t do to have his brothers trying to interfere or, worse, to have her interrogate and upset his brothers or mother.

  He woke Friday with a massive headache and a sour attitude. But when he walked into the kitchen, his mother stood at the stove, dressed in the long red robe that he’d bought her one Christmas, making banana-pecan pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. The smell was pure heaven, filling the house with memories of their childhood. He walked up behind her and kissed her cheek as he swiped a piece of bacon.

  “For me?” he asked.

  She smiled and slapped his hand away from a second piece. “Maybe, if you think you can set the table.”

  He rushed to set three places. He poured orange juice and coffee for his mother, then handed her the mug and took over scooping the eggs into the chipped bowl she always served them in.

  “We need a new bowl,” he said, frowning down at the massive chip.

  “No we don’t.” His mother frowned at him. “Your father gave me that bowl on our second anniversary.”

  Trent leaned against the counter. The place still felt empty without the old man. There were times he swore he could hear his father’s voice in the next room. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of the man who would have done anything for him and his brothers. Looking around the house at the small heirlooms around the place always brought up a floo
d of memories.

  “What’s all this?” Trisha walked in, freshly showered and dressed. The woman was an early riser just like his mother. He figured that was one of the reasons the two of them got along so well. It was nice knowing his mother had such a good friend after his father’s death. The pair had become close in the aftermath of Kristen’s kidnapping.

  “Something’s been bothering my son, so I figured I’d make his favorite breakfast and wiggle what it is out of him.” His mother smiled into her mug.

  “Oh?” Trisha turned from pouring herself a cup of coffee and looked at him. “Is it a girl?”

  Trent’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Oh, it is.” Trisha smiled. “Good, I could use a juicy story.” Gail and Trisha walked over and sat down at the table, obviously waiting for him to follow.

  “This”—he sat down—“is exactly why I’m trying to hurry up and get my own place.”

  His mother chuckled and patted his hand. “Now, now, don’t be cruel, and don’t leave out any details.” She leaned on her elbows and watched him.

  He gave in. While enjoying his mother’s delicious breakfast, Trent filled the ladies in on what Darla had told Addy.

  “No wonder she was sick,” his mother said. “That poor girl. To think that her father was . . .” She shook her head. “Of course, I don’t believe it for a moment. I’ve known Darla since she was this high.” His mother’s hand hovered just below the tabletop. “That girl’s words don’t add up because she’s never included the truth in her equations.”

  He rolled his eyes at his mother’s old joke. “Yeah, we all know she had it in for Addy after—”

  “She clocked her?” His mother’s eyes sparkled over her coffee mug.

  “You’re just full of spunk this morning.”

  His mother’s smile brightened. “Why don’t you go on, sweetie?” Trent filled them in on everything he knew.

  “So that’s all very touching and disturbing, but it doesn’t explain why you’ve been in a sour mood all week.” His mother pushed her empty plate away.

  “I’m having lunch with Addy today,” he said.