Chapter 5

This mess hasmy brother's name written all over it. Leave it to him to send Hobo Joe and his kid to my house. It's no longer Grandma and Grandpa's place and open to the public. I should hang a No Vacancy sign.

This is my sanctuary. Our grandparents left Clancy their cottage on the lake because he and Grandpa used to go ice fishing and hunting on the sprawling property.

My brother is going to hear it from me. I'm about to slam the door to the glasses cabinet before remembering there is a child present. I need something cold to drink, stat.

"So, um, welcome to my home," I say, gritting my teeth and trying to even out my tone.

Redd says, "Whitney, I'd like to officially introduce you to Blue and her dog Baloo."

A laugh escapes because there's no end to his conceitedness. James Reddford, aka Redd, named his kid Blue? I'd tease him about it but not in front of her. I have some standards.

"Can we talk?" Redd mouths. Turning to his daughter, he says, "Be sure to eat your broccoli, then you can have dessert. We have plenty of Milk Mustache cookies left over. But please save one for me. I'll be right back."

Redd and I step through the cased opening into the dark dining room adjacent to the kitchen.

His stature is considerably larger since we last stood toe to toe. He's filled out and has broad shoulders. I don't dare look up and meet his gaze. But it's impossible not to inhale his familiar peppermint ice scent that reminds me of gritty, hard-working, hockey-playing men, er, a man. Specifically him. not that it should matter.

Then I remember we're not taking shelter and squished together under a tree during a freak hailstorm while on a high school camping trip.

"What are you doing here?" I whisper shout.

"Mi casa es su casa?" He stumbles through the pronunciation of My house is your house.

"That's not how it works and sounds exactly like something my brother would say." I clench my fists because Clancy is going to get an earful from me.

"I have whiplash. You were relatively nice when we were customers. Bubbly? Sunny? Now it looks like you want to drown me in milk and cookies."

I glare at him through my glasses. "It's not like when you make a purchase from Milk Mustache you get a complimentary overnight in my home."

"Clancy didn't mention that part, but he—" Redd shakes his head. "I got traded to the Knights, and we're waiting until the new place is remodeled before we can move in. He said we could stay here for the summer if—" He cuts himself off again.

Standing my ground, I say, "I inherited this house. It's mine. I live here. My brother doesn't have jurisdiction over who stays. But I can tell you exactly who has to go. Perhaps you didn't see the sign, but it's posted and lit. No Vacancy." I still have the paint from stenciling the logo on the Peugeot, maybe I can make one real quick.

I all but growl because I can practically hear Clancy now, teasing about how Grandma was teeing me up to become an old cat lady. Sure, I'm independent like a cat, but it's generally known that cats don't like cats. Nor do they like dogs. I'm not a pet person. Okay, sometimes I watch videos of puppies when I can't sleep, but that's where I draw the line. Though the little dog out there with Blue is adorable. So is she. Fine, I love dogs. Children too. But this was not the plan.

"Clancy didn't mention that. He just said that if I—" Redd cuts himself off again.

"You think there is some kind of open-door policy here? This is my house, James."

He leans in, and I hold my breath, not wanting to catch so much as another whiff of his peppermint ice scent.

"I'm sorry, Whitney." His low, rumbling voice causes that strange inner tug that's somehow tied to him and him alone. Well, ever since the time under the evergreens.

Lifting my chin, I make the mistake of meeting Redd's gaze. Even in the dim light, his eyes spark or maybe it's just the mutual rage we feel toward each other. Yeah, that must be it. Can't have anything to do with that time we were in this position and what happened as I lifted onto my toes and he leaned down.

Crossing my arms in front of my chest to create space between us, I ask, "Why do you call me by my full name?"

"Because." His lips play with a smile. "Why do you call me James? No one calls me James."

"Because," I retort with a sassy little spin to my tone.

The corners of Redd's lips lift. "Well, Whitney, what are we going to do about this?"

I stagger back slightly because those were the exact words he spoke to me after we kissed. Only, the last time, the subtext was we can never speak of it to Clancy or anyone else lest we both end up thrown off a cliff. After that, we avoided each other as if our lives depended on it because they probably did.

Even though it's an echo from that day on the mountain all those years ago, it somehow sounds different. Did I misunderstand what Redd meant? No. I'm being silly. He's luring me into his love ‘em leave ‘em lair with his charm.

Wait. No. This is my house.

"You and your family can't stay here." I picture his wife lounging in my bathtub upstairs. I'm really big on the bubbles. Then I imagine them—never mind. I can't let myself think about him kissing anyone.

In my mind, my grandmother practically scolds me, reminding me of hospitality. She routinely called Redd family—he even stayed here for a few months in high school and helped out after my grandfather passed. I hedge, my shoulders relaxing slightly.

Then with a glance over his shoulder at the little girl at the kitchen table, he says, "Okay, fine. I'll try to find us a place that accepts dogs on short notice. But if it's okay, can we stay the night? It was a long day of travel from Colorado. Honest, I didn't know you lived here and?—"

He doesn't finish, but I can fill in the blank. "If you'd known I was here, you wouldn't have come."

Redd's gaze snaps to mine and holds for a long moment. I shift uncomfortably as if he's now the one reprimanding me. But why? What did I say other than the truth?

We mutually decided that the kiss was a mistake and exited each other's lives until now.

But was it a mistake? Yes, of course. Except that no one else has ever compared. The world went up in a blaze that day when we kissed. However, ever since, it's been nothing but ice between us.

I'm about to tear into Redd as a way to refute and combat these thoughts, but the words get tangled up in that strange inner tug I've felt the few times I've been around him since the camping trip. "You're an unwelcome house guest, but you get kid clout, so I guess you can stay tonight."

Redd lets out a slow breath. "I understand. Thank you."

I'm about to march back into the kitchen and lay down the ground rules when I pause. He said, Thank you. The only people deserving of those words, as far as he was concerned were my parents and grandparents. He'd always hit me with, You're welcome as if I should be grateful to him for gracing me with his presence.

I catch Redd's gaze one more time, realizing that as much as I want to be recognized for changing since I was a teenager and last here, the same is true for him. Clancy? Not too much.

I sit down at the kitchen table where the little girl has polished off not one but two cookies, which is an accomplishment since they're jumbo-sized. She's fairly thin and the kind of kid Kathleen would probably call a ragamuffin. I take it Redd doesn't know how to do pigtails, but that begs the question, where's her mother?

I swipe a cold French fry from his plate. Expecting him to wrap his arm around the ceramic and guard it with his life as he used to when we were seated around this table, he slides it toward me.

The little girl tentatively looks up at her dad. "Redd, why do you have on your game face?"

"My game face?" he asks.

"Yeah, you said sometimes when you drive you put on your game face like when you're focused on hockey. It was when we were in Denver traffic."

Redd chuckles. "Oh, just catching up with an old—" He can't even bring himself to call me a friend.

I harrumph, then blurt, "Why do you call your dad Redd?"

They both stare at me as if I'm the one who said something weird.

The little girl's eyes dart around like she's trying to find a safe place. "My dad is in feederated, um, feder-something prison."

She must be tired because I am looking at her father with his square jaw and the eyes she inherited from him. Right now, caution and possibly disappointment shadow them.

Redd leans back in his chair, tipping it onto two legs and crossing his arms in front of his chest. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's wearing a smirk. "Whitney, this is my sister Blue. Our father is in federal prison and the rest of the story is for another time. I'm her custodian now, and we have an awesome life. Just took our first road trip. Stuffed ourselves silly with cookies."

My heart drops as realization dawns. Redd's backstory is spotty in my mind. All I know is that he had a tough home life, so he spent a lot of time with us. My mother never minded having him over for dinner, sleepovers—sometimes for multiple nights in a row—or another mouth to feed. She must've known more.

The fight in me retreats. In its place is compassion for a story I cannot imagine. Words form slowly. "My mistake. I'm sorry. This is a pet-friendly farmhouse. Blue, I'm glad you brought your dog and you're very lucky to have a big brother like this guy. He's an expert at climbing trees, scaring away rogue raccoons, and he once beat my brother at a cow milking contest, which was no small feat. And that's just here at this farm."

Appreciation flitters across Redd's face. "I forgot about having to go milk the cows."

"Speaking of that, I'd better head out to the barn. You two can get settled in upstairs."

"We already did, but I've never seen a cow before." Blue's voice is small.

I cannot imagine being a kid and not seeing a cow.

"It's getting late." Redd clears the table and starts doing the dishes at the sink.

"But you can help me in the morning if that's okay," I add, offering a warm smile.

Redd nods. "Sure. I bet Blue and Baloo would like that. Your grandfather's dog, Shep, loved milking time."

I chuckle. "That dog was a menace. Did you say this little guy's name is Blue too?" I ask, stroking the shaggy mutt's head. Like Blue, he has blue eyes.

"No, Baloo, like in the movie The Jungle Book because he looks kind of like a bear."

"I see what you mean. That was my favorite movie when I was your age."

Over his shoulder, Redd says, "That's no surprise. You were a wild child. Wild Whit." I suppose that's better than Whit the Witch.

"Ha ha. I was a bit of a tomboy, but that's because I always tried to keep up with you and my brother."

"Yeah, we had a no-girls-allowed rule."

I imagine that changed, not that I've kept track of Redd's life, especially not romantically. He's a professional hockey player, so it's safe to assume the only time he's cold is when he's on the ice.

"Well, this is my house and girls are definitely allowed," I say to Blue then hurry outside because if I get too comfortable, I might just let them stay longer than tonight.

After milking the cows, showering, and putting on my pajamas, I cannot get comfortable in bed. The sunny summer days still haven't pierced the night, so it's not that I'm hot.

It's probably because there are people in the rooms down the hall. My grandparents adored Redd. I never understood why. He was loud, annoying, and hogged Clancy's attention. They were practically brothers, meanwhile, my brother and I were twins.

But during the camping trip when we took shelter under those trees during the hail storm and it was just the two of us, something ignited. Our lips met. The kiss melted the animosity between us. It was an inferno. Unlike anything I'd ever experienced—not that I'd had much in that department. Before Redd, I'd only kissed two guys and have only kissed two since, despite my reputation as a bad girl rebel.

No one compared. Neither of them caused that inner tug of longing for more. I've never admitted it, but all I wanted was more of his lips on mine. More of his attention. More Redd.

Rewind: In high school, I was the brainy rebel to my twin's athletic Mr. Popularity. That also meant I avoided wading into the dating pool. Like a shark, it didn't help my protective brother probably scared away potential suitors—to borrow Kathleen's term.

Fast forward: He's engaged, but our parents won't let him tie the knot until I find a boyfriend. What about Redd?

Pause: Little does my brother know that he and I kissed during that year's camping trip. After that, I swore off smooching forever, mostly. But that moment between us earlier buzzed with the kind of anticipation that precedes a summer storm.

I bury my head under my pillow because I should not be thinking about kissing the guy down the hall. We decided the kiss was a mistake. Clancy would've gone crazy. Maybe I should tell him now as revenge—make it so he can't sleep either. Taking my phone off my bedside drawer, I open our text thread.

Me: You do realize this is grounds for retaliation.

My phone goes dark for a few long moments while I map my war plan.

Clancy: You can thank me later.

Me: Thank you for what? For telling my nemesis that he can stay at my house?

Clancy: It's a five-bedroom farmhouse. Figured it was time to fill it up. You'd mentioned renting it out.

Me: Not while I live here. Just know that revenge is coming, Clancy.

Clancy: You already got me good.

Me: How so?

Clancy: It's your fault Mom and Dad are putting the brakes on my wedding.

I leave a few rude emojis in response because I had nothing to do with that. Not only do I not need house guests, I don't need a boyfriend or to kiss anyone. Not even someone who could be a professional kisser—is that a thing? Whose lips work miracles, melting even the hardest-hearted teenage girls. That would've been me.

Before I was tossing and turning. Now I'm stewing.

This. Is. Not. Fair.

Unable to sleep, I pad downstairs for a cup of warm milk. When I get to the bottom, I hear the soft sound of someone crying and go still.