“Of course, I came,” she says simply. “You needed my help.”
That right there tells me so much about who my daughter is now and the woman she’s becoming. When someone needs help, she gives it. She’s generous and kind. The very opposite of her father. And I know right then that she’s escaped any reach he may have had.
The two of them clamber into the back seat, and I make a quick three-point turn before heading out in the direction we came.
“Thank you, Mrs. Proctor,” Florida says. “It’s a madhouse back at the compound. I don’t know what started it, but a fire broke out in one of the outbuildings, and Daddy and them tried puttin’ it out on their own but it was too much. Some of the trees caught, and then the Fire Department came. Feds were right on their tail. Everyone ran, and I got scared.”
I glance in the rearview mirror and note how tightly the two hold each other’s hands.
“Do your parents know where you are?”
She chews her lower lip. “No, ma’am. Not exactly.”
“Don’t you think they might be worried about you?”
She lets out a small laugh. “They’d probably be more worried to know I was with you, honestly. They’re not big fans of yours.”
“I gathered,” I say dryly.
“I overheard one of my cousins saying he thinks you might have been the one to set the fire and call in the raid.”
Awesome. Another reason for the Belldenes to hate me even more. That’s just what I need: another target on our backs. “Do we need to be worried?”
“Were you the ones to call the feds?”
“No. But when has the truth ever mattered?”
She shakes her head, her strawberry-blond ponytail falling over her shoulder. “They won’t do anything to hurt you so long as I’m around. They know better.”
I hope she’s right.
Sam calls shortly before dinner. “I got your message, what’s up?”
I’ve spent the day irritated as hell and I don’t do much to hide it. “Where have you been? I sent that text hours ago.”
“I’m at Joe’s house—he’s that veteran out on the other side of the mountain. I told you I’d be out of pocket with this job. The cell reception is shitty out here.”
I run a hand down my face. I vaguely remember him telling me that, but still, it doesn’t do much to lessen my frustration. “Are you on your way home?”
“That’s why I was calling. Some of the bolts I picked up for the toilet don’t fit, so I have to swing by a neighbor’s to root through his barn and see if he has something that might work. I promised Joe I’d have this thing installed tonight, and I reallydon’t want to have to come all the way out here tomorrow if I can avoid it.”
I let out a sigh. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you when you get home.”
I try to spend the evening focused on the kids. After dinner, the three of us watch a movie together on the couch, and as much as I try to enjoy the quiet calmness of the evening and pay attention to the plot, I can’t. Every sense is trained on the door, waiting for the sound of Sam’s tires crunching up the driveway.
It isn’t until the kids have gone to bed, and I’ve tried picking up a book only to reread the same page over and over again, that he returns. I check the time. It’s after midnight. I go to greet him and pull up short at the sight of him.
He’s covered in mud. His pants are soaked up to the knees, and flecks of dirt are splattered up his jacket and across his cheeks. They blend with the faded bruises that still ring one eye from his encounter with the police.
“What the hell happened?” I ask.
He startles at the question as if surprised to see me. He glances past me, noting that the kids aren’t around. “Gwen, I figured you’d be in bed.”
“I stayed up to wait for you. I was worried.”
He wipes at his face with the back of his arm, only managing to smear the mud more. I notice how exhausted he looks—the bags under his eyes, the shadowed hollows of his cheeks. “Sorry. You didn’t need to do that. Everything’s fine.”
I cross my arms and crook an eyebrow at the obvious understatement. “It doesn’t look fine.”