Page 219 of Lost Then Found
He leans in, presses another kiss to the top of my head like it’s just instinct at this point. “Never.”
Hudson perks up, already sensing the shift. “One more night?Please?Grandma’s leaving the fort up for me.”He adds a pout for good measure, eyes wide and ridiculous.
Before I can respond, Wren scoots in beside him on the couch, mimicking his expression with her chin tilted and bottom lip stuck out. “Yeah,please, Lark.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Oh my god, you’re both exhausting. Fine. But only because of the chili.”
Hudson leaps off the couch like he’s just won the lottery. “Yes!” He bolts toward the stairs, voice echoing through the house. “Ridge, I’m staying! You can teach me Texas Hold ‘Em!”
We all laugh before Boone leans in close, his voice barely cutting through Hudson’s footsteps thundering upstairs. “Can we talk for a sec? Out on the deck.”
I nod, curious now, and Wren glances at the clock before stretching her arms overhead. “I’ve got one more training session before dinner,” she says, already moving toward the door. “Don’t eat all the chili before I get back, Lark.”
“No promises. You know how I feel about that chili,” I call after her, grinning as she disappears down the hall.
Boone threads his fingers through mine, his grip easy but firm, and leads me toward the back door. The screen squeaks a little on the hinge, then clicks shut behind us, muting the sounds of the house.
I’ve always loved it out here. The deck stretches wide across the back of the house, solid beneath our boots, worn smooth by years of people standing just like this, looking out at the land. Molly insisted on string lights a while back—warm white bulbs that glow soft against the sky—and now they hang above us, swaying in the faint breeze, casting the whole space in this gentle, golden haze. Out past the railing, the land stretches for miles—fields rolling into the tree line, the horizon blurred with the last of the sun.
We drop into the chairs near the railing, and Boone reaches into the old metal cooler beside him. He pulls out two crisp Diet Cokes, the cans slick with condensation, and tosses me one.
I take it, cracking it open. “Well, aren’t you chivalrous.”
He gives me that lopsided grin, the one that never fails to do something to my chest. “Don’t start spreading that around.”
I take a sip, letting the cold bite of it cut through the heat still clinging to me. Boone glances over, his face a little more serious now.
“I stopped by the Harts’ place earlier,” he says, not bothering to ease into it.
I blink. “That’s random.”
“Not really.” He shifts in his seat, turns toward me more. “Riley told me at the bar that Vaughn’s been asking around about some permits. Onestied to the Bluebell. Figured I’d go find out for myself if it’s bullshit.”
My stomach drops, the cold drink suddenly sharp in my throat. I lower the can. “And?”
There’s no way. Vaughn wouldn’t dare come for the Bluebell, too. If he does, I’m screwed. People love him around here. They love me too, sure, but him? He’s got a name that carries weight. I’d be fucked.
Boone shifts in his chair, that familiar crease forming between his brows like he’s weighing each word before he speaks. “Vaughn’s not coming for the Bluebell.”
I give him a look, unconvinced. “How do you actually know?”
“He’s looking into building something on that corner lot near you. Said it’s high-traffic, good for the community—talked about a feed store or tack shop.”
I take a slow sip of my drink, eyeing him over the rim. “Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”
Boone exhales through his nose, nodding once. “The zoning’s a mess. That whole block, including the Bluebell, is still tied up in old permits—stuff from twenty or thirty years ago that should’ve expired, but no one dealt with it. Vaughn said he started digging to figure out if buying the lot was even worth the hassle, and your name came up in the paperwork.”
My stomach knots, fingers tightening around the cold can. “So he’s not trying to take it, just wants to figure out how to untangle it?”
Boone’s quiet a beat. Then, “Mostly. Until I told him about Tate.”
That makes me freeze. I look at him fully now, heart thudding. “Youtoldhim?”
He nods slowly. “Figured we needed another ally—or at least someone who might know anything that could help us. I told him about the oil under the Bluebell, about what Tate’s trying to do.”
I stare out at the land, barely seeing it, mind racing. “What’d he say?”
Boone shifts again, leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Didn’t even blink. Said if there’s oil under your place, it might run under his lot, too. Then he made an offer—he wants first rights to lease drilling on his land, legally, clean. In exchange, he’ll help us. Said he’s got contactson the health board, people who can make Tate’s shutdown disappear. If we say yes, he’ll push the original inspection report through, get you re-opened fast, no red tape.”
