Page 81 of Drop the Mitts

“Then why haven’t we been spending time together?”

Grace laughed. André sounded so sappy, it was comical. “You haven’t texted.”

“Neither have you.” His voice wasn’t playful anymore. “Don’t think that night doesn’t run through my head every damn second.”

Grace’s ribs cinched. André tugged at her waist, turning her around to face him. He slid his hands into the hollow of her back and leaned in, exhaling near her temple. “I’m trying, Grace. To be what you want.”

She pulled back to look at him, but he kept her pinned to his chest. “I don’t want you to be something different?—”

“Bullshit. You want me to be everything different. You want me to be like you.” Grace opened her mouth, then closed it. André wasn’t finished. “Country found out he was a dad overnight. One minute, the most important thing in his life was hockey and his ranch, the next minute a baby lay in a bassinet with his name on her paperwork.”

She blinked, her throat thick as something clicked in her chest, and everything else in the room fell away. A name. A detail. A line from a case file she hadn’t thought about in days.

He found out he was a dad overnight.

Holy shit. Amey never told the birth father.

Grace’s eyes widened. There’d been a note from the adoption agency. A letter that was sent. But no follow-up. And a text from Amey weeks later—something vague about her husband being overseas. It had been nothing then, but hadn’t there been a date?

“He grew up fast,” André concluded. “Maybe that’s all it takes. Someone in your life that makes you want to be something more. And then you’re not just looking for fun anymore.”

What if he hadn’t seen the letter? What if he got back and?—

Grace gasped, reaching for André’s arm like she needed it to stay upright. “I have to go,” she whispered.

He pulled back, his expression annoyed. “What?”

She turned, her fingers gripping his shirt. “I’m so sorry, I have to go. Now.”

And then she was gone—racing toward her bag, digging out her phone, fingers flying as her brain tore through timelines and conversations.

She had a call to make. And if she was right? Everything in this case could change.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

André

André shovedopen the back door of The Dusty Rose with more force than necessary. The hinges groaned in protest, but he didn’t stop. He just needed air. Space.

The gravel crunched under his boots as he stomped toward his truck, the cold night air snapping against his neck. Alberta spring was elusive as always. Still snowbanks in the ditches, still a bite in the wind.

Grace.

She’d looked like sin in that halter, all legs and long lines. He’d taken a leap by dancing with her, by saying what he had, and then she bailed. No explanation. No goodbye. Just disappeared like she hadn’t heard a damn word he said.

Hadn’t Country suggested he make a move? Tell her the truth? Well, he did, and look where it got him.

He was still fuming when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He swiped it out, already halfway to hitting ignore, when the name on the screen stopped him cold. It was Luc.

His chest tightened. He hit accept and held the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

There was a pause. Then Luc’s voice came through, soft and shaky. “Can’t sleep.”

André’s jaw clenched. “It’s one in the morning.”

“I know what time it is.” A pause. A shuddering breath. “It’s all loud again. My head’s loud.”

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