Carter smiled brightly. “Hey LB.” His voice changed noticeably when he spoke to Miles—it softened, wrapped its arms around Miles like a hug. What Carter lacked in personality, he made up for in affection toward his siblings.
Frankie pushed her chair back and walked over to Miles. “Okay. I’ve tried to figure it out all week. What does LB stand for?”
His dark skin remained pallid, but the shadows below his eyes were fading. Miles giggled and leaned into her touch when she put a hand on his forehead.
“Little Brother,” Miles answered, his giggle turning into a cough. Travis passed him some orange juice and set his breakfast on the table.
“Take this bud.” Travis handed Miles some ibuprofen Frankie had picked up. Miles took it obediently, perfectly unfazed by his brother’s contrasting personalities.
They made it through breakfast with a minimum of talking or coughing. The boys communicated with odd facial expressions, grunts, and, Carter’s favorite, shrugs. Growing up with only one brother, Frankie found this fascinating. She liked watching them, her eyes darting between all three, trying to figure out what messages they were sending. Meals at her family’s house in the Hamptons had included classical music and proper forks, straight-back chairs and delicate bites. Even when they didn’t have company.
Frankie loved her family but growing up in her parents’ house had been an exhausting exercise in pretending. When she’d finally made the decision to come to Minnesota, it was like shedding her skin. She’d intended to find her real self. So far, she’d found three boys, a too-hot-for-his-own-good neighbor with an attitude, and a long to-do list. But sitting with the boys as they shoveled food in their mouths with appreciative gusto, she realized, she was happy. Which made what she was about to do that much harder.
Frankie waited until they’d all finished and they seemed more awake and receptive.
Miles took his plate to the sink. “Can I watch TV?” He looked at Frankie and wiped his hands on his worn-through jeans.
“Sure.”
Carter gave her a dark look, his brows narrowing over his dark eyes. “You’re not his mama.”
“Nope. But I’m the only adult in the house. Sit down both of you,” she said, before they could follow behind Miles.
They sat, as she knew they would. Frankie had set ground rules the first morning after sampling Travis’s cooking. Stay in the house, take care of your brother, and she was the boss. She’d woken every day, checked Miles’s symptoms, if she hadn’t been up with him herself through the night, and they went from there. They’d been fine with it and generally stayed out of her way while she organized herself, figuring out where to start with the renovations. She’d called a few local contractors, but hoped to do a lot of the work herself. The boys were used to staying in the one room and being as quiet as possible since Beth had died. They hadn’t intruded in any way. In fact, they went out of their way to make their presence almost unnoticeable. Frankie actually enjoyed their company, but she knew she couldn’t give them everything they needed. Not indefinitely. Faced with their wary expressions, her lungs felt too tight to breathe in and out. She ran her finger over the speckled kitchen table. This was for the best, for all of them.
The look on Travis’s face told Frankie he knew why she wanted to talk. Carter pulled on his I-don’t-give-a-crap mask and boosted himself onto the counter. The sound of cartoons on the television rang loudly from the living room. Frankie refilled her coffee cup, assembling the words in her head. When she turned, Travis was standing by the patio door that led to the back porch. With the daylight shining through the freshly cleaned glass, the massive yard looked like a frightening chore. Yet, she preferred it to the one in front of her. Frankie’s stomach tilted with uneasiness.
“I’m going to go into town today and talk to someone about a more permanent situation for you three.”
She quelled Carter’s immediate huffing with a pointed look. “You can’t keep living here and there, squatting in empty houses. You should all be in school, have curfews or…” She trailed off. Or whatever it was kids their ages needed to be safe and happy. “You have to consider Miles. He needs a stable home. All of you do.”
She gripped her mug, letting the warmth seep into both hands. Travis leaned his head against the glass doors. Frankie’s heart twisted. Unsurprisingly, Carter spoke first.
“You don’t know shit about what we need, Goldilocks. We take care of ourselves and Miles. And this ain’t no damn fairy tale. You go talk to someone about us and they’ll split us up. We’ll grab our stuff and split,” he said.
He pushed off the counter, coming to stand in front of her. She cast her eyes to the ceiling, and pulled in a steadying breath before meeting his gaze, hoping she could get through to him.
She took a sip, hoping her voice wouldn’t waver when she spoke. “I don’t want you to split. I don’t want you dragging him, or yourselves, around from one temporary place to another. I want to know you guys are safe and cared for.”
Carter leaned in and lowered his already-deep voice. “That’s the thing—it don’t matter what you want. We know how to take care of ourselves and we don’t need some goody-two-shoes-white—”
“Shut up, C.” Travis’s ragtag braids swung when he turned to speak.
“Travis.” Frankie didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s a’ight, Frankie. You did good by us letting us stay this long. We’ll be a’ight. We always are. But Carter’s right. You go talking to anybody about us and they’ll break us up faster than C strikes out with a girl,” Travis said, a slight smile tilting his full, dark lips. Carter gave him the finger.
“Up yours,” Carter said, his eyes still burning into Frankie.
Travis smiled and Frankie’s heartstrings tangled painfully. Her aunt had tried to help these boys and she wanted to do right by them. Needed to. For them. For her aunt. And, she was big enough to admit it—for her own guilty conscience.
When she’d sat up with Miles again on the second night, he’d mumbled softly about their mama dying and living on the street. Keeping him upright seemed to lessen the coughing but when his eyelids got heavy, he leaned all his weight on Frankie. She’d held onto him, his fever keeping her warm, and thought about those boys sticking together no matter what.
A familiar commercial jingle came from the living room. Her shoulders felt strained and the sound of the TV was like a drum in her ears. A headache was working its way up to her temples.
“You’re pretty cool, Frankie,” Travis said, moving close to her.
She put her mug down on the table. “Travis, I don’t want you guys out there alone.”
Carter grumbled something and walked out of the room. She let him go and turned back to Travis. He ran the water in the sink and squirted in some soap. She knew he was taking the moment to gather himself. He was younger than Carter by two years, but he was definitely the levelheaded one, the one who hurt the most and showed it the least. The part of Frankie that had spent her life doing things to make other people happy recognized Travis’s stoic desire to be strong because the people in his life needed him to be. He allowed what he wanted to matter less. Frankie understood him completely.
Despite that connection, she needed to make Travis hear her so he’d do what was best for his brothers.
“I cannot let you just go,” she said.
Grabbing a dishtowel and drying his hands, he gave her a smile so mature she wondered which of them was in charge.
“Frankie, we ain’t alone. We got each other. We always have. Doesn’t matter if we’re in here or out there. We’ll be a’ight. You don’t gotta worry,” he said.
“Oh sure. Just head out and I’ll go back to my life wondering if you’re dying in a ditch somewhere,” she whisper-shouted.
Travis smirked. He’d noticed her overuse of clichés a few times now. But this time, she didn’t care. His voice shifted, suggesting the-boy-who-didn’t-laugh was close to laughing.
“When was the last tim
e you heard of someone actually dying in a ditch?” He was smart. They all were. She hadn’t even asked them about school, which proved she wasn’t equipped to take care of them. What did she know about raising kids? They were not her responsibility. She had to get her own life together so one day, she wouldn’t leave behind nothing more than a rundown shack and some cat pictures.
Frankie pushed her fingers into her hair, getting them stuck in the ponytail she’d forgotten about. She was still sticky from her workout and needed a shower. There was painting to be done, appliances needed ordering, and some of the furniture she’d purchased online would be arriving any day now. If she wanted to pay for any of those things, she needed to start the several freelance writing jobs she’d accepted. She did not have time for this.
She squared her shoulders and looked over at Travis. “Fine. I’ve tried to help you guys. If you won’t let me make arrangements for you, I’ve done all I can.”
She couldn’t figure out why it physically hurt to say or to see the look of acceptance, no surprise at all, on his face.
“Frankie—” Travis’s words were cut off by Carter stomping into the kitchen.
This sixteen year old, who for seven days had pretended nothing phased him, had a wild haze of uncertainty in his eyes. For the first time since Frankie had met him, Carter looked his age. His voice broke when he spoke. “Miles ain’t in the living room or the bedrooms. His shoes and coat are gone.”
Chapter 6
“Shit. He ran off,” Travis stated flatly. Frankie almost chastised his language but her voice got stuck in her throat, right next to her heart.
Thankfully, when she spoke her voice was far calmer than the stampede waging in her chest. “Has he done anything like this before?”
“He lit out for a bit when Aunt Beth died,” Carter answered. They called her Aunt Beth every time they spoke of her. It was stupid, but it made her feel connected to them. And more connected to Aunt Beth. Less…alone.
“He can’t be far. We’ll split up and meet back here,” Travis said, walking to the living room. He yanked on his battered high tops and picked up a sweater, pulling it over his head and mushrooming his braids in the collar.
“One of us should stay here,” Frankie said, adding, “If he comes back, someone should be here.”
“You stay,” Carter snapped.
“No. One of you should stay. You’re his brothers. Travis?”
His fists clenched as he and his brother eyed each other. Unspoken words brought them to a decision and Travis opened the door, gesturing for Frankie to follow Carter. The morning was taking a major detour from her plans. Par for the course since she’d arrived in Minnesota. Her heart hammered quickly in her ears, drowning out the sound of the TV.
Carter didn’t speak as they trailed through the tall grass in the back of her house. Hacking it down was on her list. As the leaves and brush crackled under their feet, Carter kept his eyes forward and his stride long. If it were just him, she’d suffer no guilt tossing him on his ass. Miles being gone was not her fault, but Carter’s disgruntled silence pushed at her, making doubt dig its way into her brain. Nausea roiled in her stomach. Could she be in trouble, legally speaking, if she lost a child who wasn’t supposed to be living in her home? Talk about blurred lines.
Gusts of wind swayed the trees, making their leaves rustle. The smell of rain made Frankie think of getting her house ready for a hard winter. That’s what she should have been doing all week. Unease roiled in her stomach. What had she gotten herself into?
“Carter. Carter,” she called. The wind roared between them, but she knew he heard her. “Carter! For goodness’ sake! Stop.”
He whirled, glaring—his default look where she was concerned. His dark hoodie was too large for him like the rest of his clothes. She couldn’t tell if it was by choice or necessity.
He shook his head and Frankie was leveled by the amount of disgust in his tone. “Are you for real? Did you actually just say, ‘for goodness’ sake?’?”
Temper drowned her guilt when he walked away heading toward the thickening tree line. Frankie grabbed the sleeve of his sweater to stop him. Carter swung around so quickly, she lost what little balance she possessed. She landed with a thud on the cold, hard ground. Air burst from her lungs along with a few words she usually tried not to say. She was too busy wondering if she’d cracked her tailbone to notice the look of fear on Carter’s face. Just as he started to talk, Ryan shoved him aside with a look that said he saw Carter’s moodiness and could raise him plenty.
“What the hell, man?” Ryan raged.
Carter unintentionally joined Frankie on the ground when he tripped backwards over a tree root. Ryan kept his eyes on Carter, but dropped to Frankie’s side and began running his hands over her body as if checking to see where she was hurt. She shivered involuntarily and told herself it was from the cold or shock, not because his firm hands were gliding over places that hadn’t been touched in far too long. Carter said nothing, but Frankie didn’t blame him. The look on Ryan’s face would keep most people silent.
His voice was hard and low. “Where are you hurt?”
With his eyes locked on Carter’s now-blank face, Ryan wasn’t paying close attention to where he was letting his hands graze. Frankie put her hands over his to stop their path before she did something embarrassing like sigh in pleasure.
She smiled, hoping to break the tension swirling around the three of them. “If I tell you and you check, it’ll seem inappropriate, given how long we’ve known each other.”
Carter’s eyebrow arched. Ryan turned his head, his brows scrunched in concern. His thick lashes lowered as he passed his eyes over all of her, still sprawled on the ground.
His tone held no recognition of her sarcasm. “Can you move?”
Carter shifted and Ryan pointed a finger at him. “You don’t move at all.”
“Ryan, I’m okay.” Frankie tried to sit up to prove it but before she could, Ryan pushed his hands under her armpits and lifted her like she was a five year old, plopping her on her feet and checking her over again.
“I saw him throw you,” Ryan growled. Those hands. Good lord. If he wanted her to talk coherently, he’d have to keep them still.
She grabbed one of his wrists and held it still. “He didn’t throw me.”
Carter still showed no emotion. It was like he’d let all expression leave his body—it had risen out of him, leaving a blank shell, or a boy who was used to shouldering the blame without dispute.
Ryan pointed at him with his free hand. “Damn right he did. I watched from my yard. Saw you yelling at him. We need to call the cops. Do you have your cell phone?”
His eyes scanned her again, like maybe he’d missed something. He’d caught her several times when she was less than her best now, but pride didn’t show on the outside, right? Carter adjusted his body and leaned back on his hands. He stared straight ahead at the grove of trees marking the back end of her land. Ryan’s hand came to her back and brushed downward and back up, like he was wiping off grass and debris.
“We do not need to call the cops. This is turning into something it’s not. Would you please stop touching me? It is freaking impossible to think while you are,” she nearly shouted. She let go of his wrist and raised her hands as she stepped back. Both looked at her then. She didn’t miss the amusement in either of their eyes. Ryan held his hands up in a back-off gesture.
“At least I didn’t make her yell, dude,” Carter mumbled.
“Did you just call me dude?”
Carter shrugged, insolence dripping off of him. “Seemed better than—”.
“Carter!”
“You know him?” Ryan’s eyes widened.
Carter moved to his knees, swiping dirt from his pants. Ryan stepped closer to Frankie. His body heat felt good, almost as good as his hands. Frankie groaned inwardly at the thought of his hands. What was wrong with her? They were wasting time; Miles was missing, and she was thinking about how good her neighbor sm
elled and how if she leaned in, just a little, she wouldn’t be cold anymore.
“I do,” Frankie said. She gestured to Carter to get up, and with additional sulkiness, he did.
Ryan’s genuine concern surprised her even as it showed a completely different side of him. With the veil of grumpiness lifted, he was even more attractive, which probably wasn’t a good thing, considering she had a few more pressing concerns than her next-door neighbor.
Frankie put her hand on his bicep, trying not to think about the feel of it under her fingers. “We don’t need to call the cops. He didn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t. We’re looking for his little brother and we’re just on edge.”
Ryan shifted his gaze to Carter, whose head hung down as if he was counting blades of grass then to Frankie’s hand resting on his arm. His eyes moved up to hers.
“So, it’s not freaking impossible to think when you touch me? Just the other way around,” he said matter-of-fact. Frankie pulled her hand back like she’d touched a hot burner. He arched an eyebrow and nodded as if he’d proved a point. After holding her gaze for a few more seconds, both brows came together. “Why are you looking for his brother?”
“Cause he’s missing, genius,” Carter replied. Carter started back toward the house.
Frankie followed, glaring at his back. “Do everyone a favor and be quiet, Carter.”
Weaving through the long, thick grass was like walking against a current. Another chill wracked her body. They needed to find Miles. Seeing no other option, she released a pent-up breath and told Ryan the boys had been staying with her, that Miles had been sick and had taken off after he’d overheard them arguing.
“Why are they staying with you? Clearly you’re not related,” Ryan said.
Looking over his shoulder, Carter arched his eyebrow and Frankie made a mental note to practice that move. It spoke volumes.
Caught Looking Page 4