Page 11 of Moonlit Hideaway
“You’re going to be late,” he scolded. “What are you doing bothering Jane?”
“It was my fault,” Jane said before offering to drive Emma to school.
“Emma knows if she misses the bus, she has to walk,” Hank said, trying to maintain discipline.
“It’s wet and muddy after the storm,” Jane said. “It’s okay. I need to go into town anyway to get groceries. Am I allowed to use the kitchen?”
Jane’s change of subject had him scratching his head. He was already flustered that she’d caught him yelling at his daughter, and he’d had difficulty sleeping the night before—worried about the family issue that caused Jane to run. His imagination had run wild, imagining unwanted pregnancy, drugs, domestic violence, and the usual reasons women had for going incognito.
Case in point. Jane had no cell phone or smartwatch like most young people who were tethered to their electronic devices.
“Uh, it’s getting late,” he recovered. “Emma, I’ll make a one-time exception and drive you to school.”
“Can Jane come with us?” Emma asked, clearly excited to stick to the new guest like a burr. “She needs to do groceries, right?”
“Uh, yes, and you have free run of the kitchen. Can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
“I might even invite you guys for dinner,” Jane said, to Emma’s complete delight.
“I can’t wait. I can help peel potatoes,” his daughter rambled on as they filed down the stairs toward his extended cab pickup.
“You never help Gran peel potatoes,” he remarked, only half joking with Emma, who preferred to spend her time mooning over social media and rocking out to the latest dance moves.
“No offense, but Jane’s more my age.” Emma took one earbud out of her ear and plugged it into Jane’s ear without asking permission. “I bet you like Sierra Rayne. I wish I could go to her Crystal Coliseum debut.”
“I would, too,” Jane replied as she bobbed her head to a beat only the two of them could hear. “But I heard tickets are astronomical.”
“Yeah, way out of reach for us peons,” Emma sighed as the two of them squeezed into the back of the extended cab, making Hank feel like a cab driver.
Nothing was far in Moonlit Harbor, and the school appeared a few blocks later with Jane and Emma bouncing in the backseat. From the rearview mirror, his guest looked younger and more vulnerable than ever. For the first time, Hank wondered if she weren’t a runaway.
“Here we are,” he said in an overly cheerful voice. “Now, Emma, don’t let this be a habit. You owe Jane a favor.”
“Oh, I know what I can do.” Emma plucked her other earbud from Jane’s ear—the kid had no sense of boundaries—and opened the back door. “Jane and I can pick through Mom’s hair dyes, and I can fix her streaks.”
Hank had his face turned toward them, and he noticed Jane’s eyes widen with panic as she turned her head and fingered her hair.
“It’s in the back,” Emma supplied helpfully. “But my dad’s too polite to point it out.”
“Okay, young lady, the warning bell just rang,” Hank advised. “Jane might want to visit a hair salon.”
“Is there one in town?” Jane asked once she switched to the passenger seat. “I’m trying to conserve cash, so maybe I’ll let Emma do me a favor. Looks like my girlfriend did a number on me already. That’s what happens when you get plastered at your going away party.”
Her chuckle sounded forced, but he let it go. Whatever secrets Jane had, they weren’t his business unless she was a bad influence on Emma, and so far, she looked to be a decent person.
And the fact she hadn’t shown her identification cards? His dad brain reminded him to be wary. It meant no credit checks and not even a check in the crime database to make sure she wasn’t an escaped convict.
“Okay, then, let’s take you on a tour,” he said, putting on a tour guide voice. “The main tourist drag comes through the handle of the ladle and curves around the harbor. We’re at the southern point underneath the lighthouse, but you’ll see that the rest of the businesses are between the highway and the harbor.”
Sierra tried not to let on that sitting beside Hank was affecting her. She had no business glancing at him in that way, but his rugged profile and downhome ways were different from the types of men she’d dated. He was still wearing a wedding ring, and she wasn’t looking for any complications.
She’d dated casually, putting priority on her music and how her fans perceived her. With social media, she was practically on stage twenty-four-seven, and rumors would swirl about her being seen with this rocker or that football player. Her well-publicized dates were nothing more than photo ops carefully planned to coincide with a new single drop or tour announcement. The viral rumors, dramatic love triangles, ordate-swapping with rival singers were served up to enhance her brand—that of a rising star in hot demand.
Hank, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to the tension inside the cab now that Emma was gone. He drove through the narrow lanes of Moonlit Harbor, pointing out the art galleries that were little more than regular houses, abandoned houses with boarded-up windows that had historical markers, and rows of colorful vacation rentals—all empty for the month of October. He didn’t comment on the tiny cemeteries that seemed to replace backyards or community gardens with their assortment of leaning headstones and weathered monuments.
“That’s where most of the oldest families live,” he pointed down a dirt lane, which was still muddy after the rain. “They refuse to get their street paved because they don’t want the traffic. I can’t get this dually truck down in there.”
She had no clue what a dually truck was but guessed he was referring to his two rear wheels on each side combination.
