Page 16 of Rescued Hearts

Carson nodded in agreement.

Willow mopped the fresh tears flowing down her cheeks. “I wasn’t…theone!”

“Thank Christ,” Oaks mumbled again.

Gray watched Willow for a moment. Understanding spread through him—the feeling of being left behind in the dust. How many times had he felt the same over the course of the winter? While his brothers found love and entered into committed relationships, he had a spreadsheet full of the ghosts that haunted him day and night.

He stepped into the hallway and took Willow in his arms. Her height enabled her to rest her head on his shoulder, her shoulders heaving with emotion.

“It’s going to be all right, sis. Johnny was never the right guy for you. When the right guy crosses paths with you, you’ll know it.”

“How will I know?” she sniffled.

“We won’t want to kill him.”

A watery laugh burst from her, and suddenly the mood was lighter.

“See?” Carson clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re already the best negotiator in the family. Black Heart Security needs you.”

Willow jerked her head up and pierced Gray in her stare. “Are you joining the team?”

“I need some time to think.” He sliced a look at his brothers.

“Maybe we all need a new mission.” Willow straightened her shoulders.

He was starting to think Carson was right—hewaswandering through life just getting by instead of truly living. He needed to move forward. This could be the first step.

Chapter Five

Honor pulled into the small parking lot and killed the engine, fingers lingering on the wheel as she glanced across the street. There it was—the storefront her sister mentioned. It was right on the corner, next to a store with faded awnings that featured sundresses in the big window.

The corner spot had a wide display window as well, streaked with what seemed to be years of dust. A hand-painted FOR LEASE sign hung at a crooked angle.

She slipped out of the van, the packages she needed to mail forgotten as she stood on the pavement, staring at the storefront. She locked her van, stepped up to the crosswalk and looked both ways. The streets of Willowbrook were busy at this time of day, but not what she considered busy compared to the last place she lived.

When she crossed the street and approached the vacant building, her steps stalled. The midday sun warmed her bare shoulders as she moved forward to peer inside the dirty window. The space was empty inside, besides a wooden counter pushed against the back wall. Scuffed floors had seen better days.

But she bet with a little—maybe a lot—of elbow grease and a spit shine, the place had a lot of life left in it.

She could see it now—displays of jewelry on flat tables arranged in rows around the space and on the walls. A little bouquet of flowers on the wood counter and soft lighting to highlight her jewelry.

In the corner, she could set up a workbench to design new jewelry while customers browsed.

Her heart fluttered with excitement, and she pulled out her phone to jot down the phone number. Even if she didn’t think her bank account could handle a lease, a phone call was free.

A horn blast on the street behind her broke her out of her dream.Right. Post office.She had packages to send out.

She quickly returned to her van and scooped the packages off the seat. Juggling them, she managed to open the post office door. As soon as she looked up, a sigh slipped out before she could stop it.

There was a line. Of course. The small post office only had one window, and judging by the slow-moving conversation taking place, Honor was in for a wait.

One of the padded envelopes slipped out of the stack she held. She quickly clamped the bunch more tightly in her arms.

After several minutes, the customer at the front of the line said her farewell to the worker and slipped out of line, but she stopped to talk to the man behind her. The line shuffled forward.

The older lady at the window started chatting with the next person in line about her granddaughter’s upcoming wedding. The man in line after them droned on with another customer about the good weather they were having, but his pessimistic view was that it wouldn’t hold out for long.

Honor glanced at the window, bright with sunshine. She shifted from foot to foot, her arms starting to ache from holding the packages. Stifling the urge to groan, she reminded herself that small-town post offices were a place for community gatherings as much as conducting business.

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