Page 70 of The Roads We Follow

“Wait.” She lifts her head, and I don’t miss the way her gaze snaps from my bare chest to my face. Or the blush that creeps up her neck. “You should probably prepare yourself, too.”

“Okay.” I quirk an eyebrow in interest. “Enlighten me.”

“A hundred bucks says Hattie will complain the entire way. Even when she’s not recovering from an epic hangover, shehatesall forms of exercise and always finds excuses out of it.”

I laugh. “Noted.”

“And Adele always has to be in front. Mark my words, she’ll take the lead within the first two minutes.”

“Also noted.”

“And Cheyenne won’t leave her guitar behind—nor should she. The heat will warp the body and hurt the sound. She has a backpack case with her, but maybe we can volunteer to share the load if it gets too heavy. Five miles will be long in this heat.”

I nod. “Agreed. Good plan.”

“And then there’s Mama...” Raegan gives a little shake of her head. “She’s off today. I think the tiff between her and Adele is bothering her a lot more than she’ll admit.”

“I think so, too.” I stand and offer Raegan my hand. I pull her to her feet but can’t quite get myself to release the hold. The feel of her delicate fingers in mine is almost reward enough to make a walk down a hot Kansas highway in hundred-degree weather worthit. I swipe my thumb across her soft skin. “You should know, I’m planning to talk to your mom about Dorian as soon as I can get a free moment with her.”

Raegan’s curious gaze trails my face, and it takes every bit of willpower in me to recall my reasons for not kissing her. “Are you prepared for what you might find out?”

“No, but I’d rather know one way or the other.”

She’s just about to respond to that when the bus door flies open and four more Farrows burst out.

Raegan and I drop hands before we round the corner to find mother, daughters, and granddaughter all outfitted in appropriate walking gear and whatever personal belongings they’ve deemed worthy for the trek to Scarecrow.

“Are we walking?” Adele asks in her no-nonsense tone. “If we’re going to be hot, we might as well be getting our steps in for the day. I’m guessing if we’re needing a tow to a service station, we’ll be looking for overnight accommodations. Let’s hope Scarecrow has something decent.”

“I can help search as soon as we’re back in coverage,” Cheyenne says. “I’m guessing we’re not going to make my flight.”

“At this point,” I say, looking around at the farmlands, “I’d say it’s not looking good.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Luella chimes in, looking from her daughter to her granddaughter. “I appreciate your flexibility. I’m sure Micah will see to it that Old Goldie gets patched up in no time.”

I slide my gaze to Raegan, hoping my earlier point about hope building resilience has been proven when Hattie harrumphs and shuffles to the front bumper, holding out her thumb to the dead highway.

“You put that thumb down right now, Harriet Josephine,” Luella scolds. “No child of mine is going to hitchhike.”

“Then I hope you’re fine with me stealing a cow.”

19

Raegan

Despite Cheyenne’s offer to search for “decent accommodations” in Scarecrow, Kansas, after 4.6 miles of walking in the blistering heat, none of our cell phones show even a single bar of signal strength. At the risk of sounding like a completely ignorant American, I didn’t even realize there were still places in the US without cell coverage. Or people who would voluntarily choose to live in those places. But as we stand at the entrance to a gravel driveway arched by a wooden sign with the wordsNo Place Like Home Inncarved into it ... it looks like we’re about to introduce ourselves to some such people.

Outside of a silo and two equipment barns, this is literally the first sign of civilization we’ve seen. And we’re all too tired, thirsty, and hot to debate the poor manners of knocking on a stranger’s door. Even Mama, who under normal circumstances would throw a fit about dropping by unannounced, is far too flushed to care. Micah expressed his concern over her exertion level several times in thelast hour, but without shade or alternative transportation, there’s been little choice for us but to keep walking. At one point, he soaked his T-shirt with water from his water bottle and draped it around her neck. Naturally, she protested him fussing over her so much, but she didn’t take it off. Unfortunately, his selfless act didn’t come without a cost. His shoulders and upper back are going to remind him of his sacrifice for at least a day until the redness fades into his established tan.

“I’ll do the talking for us,” Adele says as soon as we approach theinn. “It will be less overwhelming if only one of us explains our situation to the owner.”

Micah gives me the side-eye I’ve come to expect, and I raise him an eye roll. Just like I’d warned earlier, Adele had commanded our troop of six like we were a military operation. I study the older two-story farmhouse, which from the outside looks to be at least a hundred years old, though well-loved and equally well-maintained. The closer we get to the front door, the larger the dwelling becomes. Even the charming wrap-around front porch, which looked tiny from the road, now seems anything but as I count six empty rocking chairs. I sweep my gaze over the interesting choice of emerald-green shutters surrounded by dusty white shiplap siding. Even if this isn’t an actual inn that houses traveling strangers like us, I’m hoping whoever lives here can spare a few glasses of sweet tea and will be able to point us in the right direction. Or be a mechanic who can work magic on Old Goldie.

“You should probably take this back,” Mama says, handing the damp, wrinkled shirt back to Micah. “I’m not sure I’d open the door if I saw a shirtless man standing on the other side of it.”

“I would. Especially if he looked like that,” Hattie says under her breath, and I elbow her in the ribs as Micah pulls the shirt back over his head. And though I’d never admit it to my older sister, I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’d answer that door, too.

Adele reaches for the ornate bronze knocker in the middle of the door, and it’s only then I recognize it’s shaped in the face of thecowardly lion ... fromThe Wizard of Oz. She pulls back the bottom half of his beard and knocks it against the wood.

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