Page 231 of Lost Then Found
“If I had to guess,” she says, “Tate saw an opportunity. She’s been at the Bluebell forever. She knows the place like the back of her hand—what systems are outdated, which corners might not hold up under scrutiny. He probably went to her, waved some money in her face, and told her she’d never have to work another breakfast rush again. She helps him shut it down, collects the payout, disappears to California to be with her family. She starts over.”
My hand drags down my face. I remember her talking about her kids—usually in passing, usually with that half-smile that never quite reached her eyes. One was an actress or trying to be, I think. Another worked in tech. I never paid it much attention, because Dawn never acted like she was trying to get out. She belonged to this place—boots rooted behind the counter, hands always busy, voice loud, always laughing at something.
But maybe I missed it. Maybe the whole time she was folding napkins and wiping down tables, she was dreaming of being somewhere else.
I don’t know what to do with that. I’ve spent my whole life looking at her a certain way—mouthy, dependable, sharp as hell but solid as bedrock underneath. The person you trusted, because she never pretended to be anything she wasn’t.
Now, that foundation shifts under me. My view of her tilts, warps. Not completely—she’s still the woman who taught me how to shoot darts, who slipped me free pie—but she’s also someone who, maybe, let Tate ruin Lark’s livelihood just to buy herself a new one.
I glance at my watch—4:45 PM. Lark should be back at the main house by now.
Turning to Miller, I say, “We need to tell Lark.”
She nods, her expression unreadable.
“Guys,” I call out to the crew, “keep at it. I’ll be back soon.”
Ridge, leaning against a post, raises an eyebrow.
“Ridge, keep an eye on Hudson, yeah?”
Hudson, sitting on the porch steps, mutters, “I’m twelve, not a toddler.”
I suppress a grin. “Noted.”
Turning to Duke, I ask, “Mind tossing me the keys to one of the ATVs? I’ll bring it back in one piece.”
Duke fishes the keys from his pocket and tosses them over. “Take the Gator. It’s fueled up.”
“Thanks.” I nod toward Miller. “Hop in, let’s go.”
She follows me to where the John Deere Gator is parked. I climb in, slotting the key into the ignition.
Miller stands beside the ATV, arms crossed, eyeing it like it’s a wild animal. “In this thing?”
“Yes, in this thing.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Why can’t I just drive my car up there?”
“The main house is across the property,” I explain, trying to suppress a grin. It’s fun seeing Miller squirm sometimes. Sue me. “The ATV’s faster. Now, get in.”
Miller hesitates. Then, with obvious reluctance and a dramatic sigh, climbs into the passenger seat. She fumbles with the seatbelt before securing it, her movements stiff and awkward.
“Comfortable?” I ask, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
She shoots me a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. “Just drive.”
I start the engine with a laugh and the Gator rumbles to life beneath us.
I barely give the engine a chance to warm before slamming my foot on the gas. The Gator jerks forward with a growl, tires spitting gravel as we shoot down the dirt path.
Out of the corner of my eye, Miller lurches back into the seat, one hand clutching the side rail, the other flying to her skirt to keep it from riding up. Her blazer flaps behind her like it’s trying to abandon ship.
She turns to me, eyes wide, wind whipping her hair across her mouth. “Fucking hell, Boone! Are you trying to kill me or impress me? Because both attempts are sloppy.”
I bark out a laugh, louder than I mean to, the sound bouncing off the trees as we race past them. “Relax. I’ve done this a million times.”
“Fantastic,” she snaps, yanking at the hem of her skirt again. “Just what I’ve always dreamed of—dying in a glorified lawnmower while flashing half the county.”
