Page 12 of Mountain Man's Redemption

“Then what was it?” I ask, more confused than ever.

“I felt guilty.” He shakes his head. “You assumed what Rita said about me was false…which was sweet as hell of you. But it was also a mistake.”

“You mean you did commit a crime?”

“Yes. It was years before I moved here, but people still found out somehow. I was nineteen.” He grimaces, almost like he’s in pain. “I don’t like to talk about it. I served my time…”

My mind races with possibilities: burglary, arson, drugs. But one thing rises above the noise in my brain.

Nineteen.

That must have been at least twenty years ago. Whatever crime Garrett committed, it happened decades ago, yet people like Rita are still making him suffer for it.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

He looks at me, brows raised. “What for?”

“People shouldn’t go around calling you a criminal for something you did when you were nineteen. It’s not fair.”

He makes a noise deep in his throat, and the way he looks at me makes me lightheaded. “Plainville didn’t deserve you, Daphne,” he says. “Hell, this town doesn’t deserve you, either. But I’m glad you’re here.”

I glow at his praise, beaming at him. “So am I.”

The awkwardness from last night has dissipated, and as we reach The Craft Corner, I’m so relieved I asked to come along with Garrett. There’s still so much I want to ask…so much I want to know. I wish he trusted me enough to tell me what happened all those years ago, but I can’t blame him for being cautious when people like Rita exist. I know how it feels to want to leave the past behind for good, and I don’t want to force him to relive his mistakes.

“I’ll only be a minute,” I tell him once we’re parked.

“I’m coming with you.”

He’s already climbing out of the truck, hurrying to open my door for me, and together we walk toward the art supply store and head inside. I don’t really need anything—I was only saying that as an excuse to come with Garrett—but I’m way too embarrassed to admit that. I grab the cheapest pack of brushes I can find, feeling Garrett’s eyes on me as I head for the counter.

“Hang on a sec,” he says, reaching out a hand to stop me. “Is that all you need? I thought you wanted some paints?”

“Oh…uh, no, these will be fine.”

Garrett gives me a meaningful look. “Daphne, you can get whatever you want. I’m paying.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He crosses his arms. “Seriously, I owe you. I was an asshole last night. Let me make it up to you.”

I protest once more, but Garrett is already steering me back toward the paints, encouraging me to pick things out. Every time I insist I have enough, he points to something else he wants to buy for me, and when we eventually reach the clerk, my basket is full of new paint colors and supplies.

“Honestly, Garrett, this is way too much.”

“No, it’s not.” He looks at me pointedly. “You deserve it.”

I thank him over and over as he pays for the stuff, then he carries it out of the store for me. His giant strides are twice the size of mine, and I rush to keep up as we cross the parking lot toward his truck.

“Hey!”

A voice cuts through the air, and I whip around to see an old woman marching toward us, looking triumphant. I hear Garrett stop too, and my stomach lurches as the woman gets closer. It’s Rita Danvers—the busybody from the bakery.

“What do you think you’re doing with that young lady’s possessions?” she snaps at Garrett, hands on her hips. Then she turns to me. “Is this criminal bothering you? Did he steal your bags?”

I gawk at her. This woman can’t be serious.

“He didn’t steal anything!” Indignation rises in my chest. “He very kindly bought these things for me, and now he’s carrying them for me too.”

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