Chapter 12

I call out Rocket's name again, feeling a familiar tightness in my chest. Dammit. I've been home less than twenty-four hours, and I've already lost him. Maybe I'm still not cut out for pet ownership. Could be I'm not cut out for much of anything anymore.

I don't like the way I left Claire yesterday. My mother always told me that even though women can take care of themselves, men should still be gentlemen. It wasn't a very gentlemanly thing to do, sucking her tits and then handing her off to Rex to bring her home, especially after she got me through the flight from hell. Thinking about my screwup kept me up half the night, and the other half was spent dreaming about her soft skin and sunshine hair, kissing that little mole next to her mouth and sucking on her hard pink nipples while she made little sounds of pleasure she didn't even seem aware of…

I'd wanted more.

I'd abandoned control entirely when we were out on the side of the road, and so had she, rocking against me. And sure, I'd been with women—a lot of women, if I'm being honest—but I'd never felt so lost to it. The only explanation that made sense was that our experience on the plane had created a bond, and the desire to fuck like two people who'd been given a temporary reprieve from death.

But the loss of control had made me uncomfortable, and then more uncomfortable after I found out she's my next door neighbor. So I'd forced some distance—space in which I could breathe and remember why I'd come here to hide. It wasn't so I could make friends or find a girlfriend, and it could be argued that I didn't deserve those things. Didn't deserve the dog, either, or the peace I get from growing things. From sitting out on the deck with a beer, the mountains spread out before me.

Maybe the things I deserved would come for me, the same way they'd come for Dick.

By the time I'd left them at Asheville Airport, my head felt like it had been stuffed with barbed wire and cotton fluff. The kid at the desk at the car rental agency looked about ready to shit his pants when I complained about the flat and the irresponsible and unforgivable lack of a spare. They'd issued a refund, not that I gave a shit, and then I'd driven back to Marshall, my mind full of Claire. What were she and Rex talking about? Was she asking him about me?

That was another thing about Claire. She was too curious. Leave her alone with anyone in town for half an hour, especially Rex, and she'd probably know more local gossip than I did. It was dangerous to get to know someone else like that.

I knew I should just let it be, but as soon as I got done picking Rocket up from the dog sitter, I'd called Rex to make sure she'd gotten home okay.

"Yeah," he said, "I'm just pulling back into the auto shop right now. Thanks for the introduction, man. We're going out to dinner tomorrow night."

"No, you're not," I'd all but growled while Rocket pawed my shoulder in the seat next to mine.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't?" he asked pointedly—and it hit me like a brick to the gut that I'd let Rex become a friend too. A friend who knew me well enough to call me out on being full of shit. Then again, he knew Claire and I had stripped down together in the back of that van. Maybe it was only logical to assume that a man who'd seen her half naked would be feral for her.

"She's only in town for a little while," I told him, my voice choked.

"Doesn't matter to me, friend. We'll have some fun while she's here."

"You're fucking with me," I said flatly.

"Sure," he admitted. "But the real question is why you got me to drop her off at her house—next door to yours—if you're into her. I don't think Dick would mind, if that's your holdup."

I had a feeling he was wrong about that, but I didn't say so. Dick was gone, and what he would and wouldn't have minded can only be guessed. Besides, it wasn't really Dick I was worried about. My brother and sister have made new lives for themselves, and I'm not going to fuck with that by making stupid decisions. Because if I let myself get attached to Claire, I'll let things slip without meaning to—and it'll keep happening until she knows everything.

She's a good person. A law-abiding person. If she finds out what we ran from, she might feel inclined to do something about it. She'd certainly have opinions.

Or judgements, a thought that puts a knot in my throat.

I can't take that risk.

My sister found a job at a bakery, and Seamus works for a mechanic. It's honest work—the kinds of jobs where you do your thing, you get paid, and then you get the fuck out. Safe.

Sure, Shay doesn't much like that he works for a body shop instead of running one, and Rosie doesn't exactly seem happy, but they're fine. No one's going to come for them, and they're not in a position where they're likely to piss off anyone with the power to do something about it.

I'm the one who's not okay, but the struggle should fall heaviest on me.

When I let Rocket out to take a piss this morning, it took me half an hour to realize he hadn't scratched on the door to come in yet.

I'm supposed to bring a bed of plants to a shop downtown, but I can't leave my dog out here, wandering around in the heat. Totally alone, because Damien and Nicole's car is gone. He could get nabbed by a hawk, hit by a car. Hit with heatstroke.

"Rocket?" I call, feeling the worry pounding a steady beat inside of me, the sensation as familiar as my own heartbeat.

But the only thing I hear is a rustling sound behind me that prickles the hairs on the back of my neck. Most of my jumpiness faded a few weeks after I got here. In the beginning, every cricket chirp, every broken twig was someone who'd come for me. But no one did come, and eventually that particular worry faded into the background, but right now, my skin feels oversensitized, my brain strangled and wrong. My vigilance, higher than normal. It's probably just a squirrel. Or maybe even Rocket, but it could be someone else. Someone who's bided their time.

I don't have a weapon, other than my fists, and if it's someone who came here with a vendetta, they didn't show up for a fistfight.

I turn around quickly, because if this is the end, I'd rather see it coming.

But it's not a big sweaty guy behind me. It's Claire, holding Rocket to her chest, a T-shirt plastered around her. My T-shirt. For a split second, my mind goes to a strange place, because it hits me that this is the way she'd look on a Sunday morning if she stayed over, rumpled and sweet, having just risen from my bed. But the thought leaves me shaken, because no one's ever stayed over at my house.

"I have your dog." She holds him out, and relief radiates through me, because he's unharmed.

I take Rocket from her, and he licks my face, his tail wagging so hard he nearly falls on his ass. "You scared the shit out of me, buddy," I tell him, then look up at Claire. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, spilling around her face, and her eyes are the same magnet they were yesterday, daring me to look. Commanding me to at the same time.

She lifts a hand to her hair. "I must look terrible. I literally just rolled out of bed."

I should tell her the truth—she looks like the first ray of daylight sneaking around the curtains in the morning and smells like apples and rosemary. I should thank her. I should apologize for ducking out on her yesterday. But I hear myself saying, "You're wearing my shirt."

She plucks at it. "Yeah, I still don't have my suitcase, and it was comfortable to sleep in."

"It's yours," I say, immediately feeling like an idiot. I'm not granting her anything of worth—it's a freebie T-shirt I got for plucking weeds at town hall.

"Thanks," she replies.

For a second, I think that's going to be it—this awkward run-in will end, and I'll have to watch the woman I spent all night thinking about walk away, but she blurts, "I didn't kidnap your dog."

I nearly drop him. "The possibility hadn't occurred to me."

She bites her bottom lip, then says, "But I think my sister did."

"Your sister?" I ask in disbelief. "Are you talking about Nicole?" My mind trips over that unexpected detail before faceplanting over the accusation. Why the hell would Nicole kidnap Rocket after giving me Rocket?

Claire glances back at Dick's cabin, then says in an undertone, "Yeah, I guess Dick was her father, and he left her and her mom when she was seven. She's my half-sister. I didn't know any of this until last night." She tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. "Look, I know you want to keep your distance. You've made that perfectly clear, but I need help getting down to Main Street to meet Nicole, and I'd really like to talk things over with someone who's familiar with this situation and isn't crazy. I feel like my whole life is spiraling out of control."

"How do you know I'm not crazy?" I ask, my blood pumping faster, because I want to give myself this. I want to talk to her. To sit with her. To soak her in. To feel something good and normal. Rocket bats a paw against my beard to reclaim my attention, and I scratch his ears.

"I don't, I guess," she says. "But you're definitely less crazy than my sister. She sets a low bar. I mean…I really think she kidnapped your dog so I'd be forced to talk to you."

"Why would she give a shit if we talk?"

She rubs a hand over her mouth, drawing my gaze back to her lips. I'm remembering what they feel like against mine, fucking bliss, when she says, "I get the feeling she just does things to see what happens next. Like rolling the dice. Do you really grow weed?"

I feel like I did that time I went ice-fishing with my dad and got a dunk in the frozen lake. How does she know? Did Dick leave something lying around the house? A smoking blunt instead of a smoking gun? I looked around before the cops showed up, but I didn't find anything damning.

My brows lift. "I don't think I should answer that."

"I know all about evasions and passive aggression," she says with a sigh, "and I have to say that sounds an awful lot like a yes."

I catch the look of disappointment on her face, and fuck, if she thinks growing a few weed plants in my greenhouse is bad, she'll really take issue with what I used to do for my uncle. Even though I should want her to think the worst of me, I find myself saying, "It's not like I hide behind trees on school grounds to sell it to kids. I did it as a favor for Dick. I've got a green thumb. I've always been able to grow anything."

Her lips part in a look of surprise. "But why risk it? Nicole says it's still illegal here."

More so than in Pennsylvania, but it was illegal to grow there, too. Definitely illegal to grow in large quantities.

I shift on my feet, still holding Rocket. I make a split-second decision. Staying away from Claire was the right call—she and her sister know too much about me—but now I have to convince her not to tell anyone else about the weed. I also have to find out what else this crazy sister knows.

"You said you need someone to bring you to Main Street. I'll do it. I have to head there anyway to make a drop-off."

"Of weed?" she asks, her eyes wide.

"Plant starters."

"Oh," she says, blushing.

I swallow, trying not to notice the way her chest flushes too, and say, "But you should change out of the shirt. If you wear it downtown, people will notice. They'll talk."

"And you don't want me to mess with your rep as a player?" she asks pointedly.

"I don't want them talking about me at all if I can help it. I like to keep to myself." In all honesty, I don't like the thought of them talking about her either, and they will. The thought makes me bristle. But I'm not going to be the one to tell her she's too much of an open book, too trusting. She's beautiful the way she is—and I'll be damned if I'm going to be the one to change that.

"Good luck," she mutters. "I've been here for less than a day, and I can already tell the people here gossip about everything."

She's right about that. But there's an art to avoiding gossip—to fitting into the mold the town's made for you. Shut-in. Loner. Something tells me that Claire and her sister are going to mess with the status quo around here.

And that means this life I've carved out for myself might be over just after it finally got started again. The thought makes my chest burn.

"Be out front in ten minutes," I say, my voice coming out gruff. This situation isn't her fault, but she's still part of it.

"We need to work on your people skills."

"No thanks. You get people skills, suddenly people want to talk to you."

"God forbid," she says, but the corners of her mouth are twitching with laughter—and I find my own mouth wanting to smile back.

"I'll see you in ten minutes." I head back to the house, Rocket licking my ear, since I've still got him up over my shoulder, and I don't let myself glance back at her. I stick to the self-imposed rule all the way to the back door, when I feel an itching between my shoulder blades that has me turning around. It's not her watching, though. Not anyone watching. It's just her presence, behind me, that commands me to get a final glance of her in the green shirt—engulfed in something that's mine. I watch as she makes her way inside the house, then I step through my own back door and lower Rocket to the ground.

He wags his tail tentatively.

"Well, buddy," I tell him. "I'm fucked."

He barks once in agreement.

Ten minutes later,my truck is parked in front of Dick's house, and Claire emerges in a black shirt and black pants with a tote bag over her shoulder.

"You sure you want to wear that?" I ask as she gets in. "It's a high of eighty-five today."

"You really take an interest in what I'm wearing, don't you?"

"Sorry," I mutter, my gaze roaming out the window and landing on Dick's Jeep. "You don't have the keys to the Jeep?"

She secures her belt, her mouth scrunching to the side. "I do, actually, but I don't know how to drive stick shift. Honestly, it's a miracle that I know how to drive anything considering how I learned."

"In your friend's parents' little car," I comment.

"You remember that?" she asks in surprise.

"Nothing wrong with my memory." I don't know what possesses me—insanity, must be—but I find myself offering, "I can teach you if you like. It'd be easy to learn out here. Not many cars coming by."

"Thank you," she says, clearly surprised, and why shouldn't she be? I keep saying we can't spend time together, and here I am, offering to spend hours in a car with her. Idiot. But I don't like the thought of her being stuck at the house, and I like it even less to think of her taking that tank out without being able to maneuver it, so I don't try to take the words back. If she accepts, I'll find a way to fulfill my end of the bargain.

She pulls a wrapped baked good out of the tote bag and hands it to me.

"Do I look like I can't feed myself?" I ask with a half-smile.

Her gaze travels to my arms. "You must manage somehow. But I figured I'd share. There's no way I'm going to eat twelve muffins before they go stale. Since you live next door, I might as well warn you—I like to bake way more than I can eat, and you're probably going to get plenty of leftovers."

"I'll have to try the muffin before I agree to that," I tease, although I don't doubt it tastes better than anything I'd put together.

I steer the car out onto the road, then unwrap the muffin with one hand and take a bite.

Fuck, it's good. So good, I probably shouldn't be trying to steer a car while trying to eat it, because it's the kind of food that makes you think about what you're eating instead of just shoveling calories into your mouth.

"This is the best muffin I've ever had," I say, glancing at her as I balance the rest of the pastry in my lap. She's watching me, eyes sparkling, and I know I've pleased her.

"You've got something there," she says, pointing to the little pinprick mole at the corner of her mouth. I lift one hand from the wheel and try to wipe my mouth, but I must do a half-assed job of it, because her hand reaches out and swipes away the crumb, her touch brushing millimeters from my lips. For a second, my control slips. For a second, all I can think about is yesterday afternoon—Claire in the rain, Claire rocking against me, Claire with her chest bared to me. Claire.

I hear a creaking sound from the wheel and abruptly loosen my grip, which I'd unintentionally tightened.

Claire's looking at me, her eyes dilated, but she clears her throat and says, "What's your frame of reference?"

"My sister likes to bake," I say. "Don't tell her I said yours are better."

She smiles wider, and I feel a puncture wound in my chest, because she's never going to meet Rosie. Of course she won't. The surprising thing is that I actually want her to.

"Thanks," I say between bites, because I can't stop eating the damn thing. "I'll accept your reject baked goods anytime."

"Glad to hear it."

We sit there in silence for a second as I finish the muffin and maneuver down the road. Then I ask, "So, are you going to turn me in?"

"For what?" she asks, giving me a sharp look.

"Growing. You strike me as a rule follower."

Her expression turns contemptuous. "I know you don't mean that as a compliment. No one ever means that as a compliment. Even people who want you to follow the rules."

"There's nothing wrong with following the rules when they make sense."

She makes an amused sound. "And who gets to decide if they do? You?"

I give her a sidelong glance, taking in the curve of her cheek, her soft golden hair. "Sure. I guess we each have to make that call on our own and hope we're not caught by someone who disagrees with us and has the power to do something about it."

She's watching me again, and her gaze sends a hot shiver through me. I shouldn't be enjoying this—shouldn't be doing it—but at least this time I'm only breaking my own rule, I guess.

"You know, I think you're the kind of guy my dad used to warn me about. Tattoos. Drugs. Your own set of rules."

This gets a laugh from me. "I wish I could tell you he'd be wrong."

"Why'd you grow weed for Dick?"

I pause for a second, thinking of giving her a non-answer, but he was her biological father. She deserves to know something about him, and maybe it would help her to know that life hadn't treated him easily. "Dick had bad dreams and chronic pain, and CBD wasn't strong enough to help."

"You sure he didn't just con you into doing something illegal for him?" she asks, watching me again. "If he and Nicole were anything alike, I wouldn't put it past him."

"No way of knowing. But I get what it's like to carry around hard memories. I felt for him. So he got me the seeds, and I grew it for him. He couldn't keep a succulent alive."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe you don't sell to anyone else?" she asks hotly. "I'm guessing you could make more with the homegrown stuff than you could landscaping."

I don't blame her for thinking so. It's what I would assume if I were in her shoes. But it still burns, and I find myself saying, "I've never sold the stuff I grow here to anyone, him either. I wouldn't." It's true, although not for the reasons she's probably thinking. She's full-on staring at me while I drive, and I hurry to say, "I didn't do it to be a nice guy, Claire. He was doing favors for me too."

"Like what?" she asks, much too interested. This was a mistake. I should have let her believe what she wanted to about the weed. I couldn't have left her stranded at the house, obviously, but I could have ordered her an Uber.

Except Rex is the only Uber driver in town, and even though he admitted he was joking about asking her out to dinner, I still feel a little…territorial. I don't want him driving her around, doing her favors. I'd rather be the one to do that.

She's still looking at me, still waiting for an answer, so I say, "Doesn't matter anymore. Is Nicole really your sister?"

"I guess," she says with a sigh. "She told me it was in the will. Dick got a DNA test and everything."

"Did you see the will?" I ask. Because that's not the kind of shit you take for granted. I don't want this sister taking advantage of her. Claire's the kind of woman who believes what people tell her. There's something beautiful about that—something pure—but it's the kind of beautiful that can bite you in the ass.

"No," she says. "Shit. I should have asked. But how do I know she didn't mess with it?"

"Find out which attorney he filed with. There are only a few of them in town, unless he went somewhere in Asheville. If you find his lawyer, you can ask to see a copy of it since you're named in the will. At least I think that's how it works."

I'd been the executor of my parents' will, so I'd been the first to find out how deep of a grave my father had dug himself before my parents' car accident. He'd probably told himself there would be time to adjust course—he'd always believed he could turn things around in his favor. My parents' favorite story, repeated so many times we all knew it by heart, was about how their first date had been a total disaster. Dad had spilled an entire beer on Mom, but somehow he'd convinced her to go out on a second date. If he could achieve that, then what was recouping thousands or even hundreds of thousands of dollars in debts?

But we all run out of time eventually.

"Thanks," she says. "I'll do that." Giving me a sidelong look, her lips tipped up slightly, she adds, "You know I never thought I'd be taking legal advice from someone who grows pot."

"Here's the rest of my legal knowledge. I'm only someone who allegedly grows pot. Speaking of allegations, do you really think your sister kidnapped Rocket? She seemed happy enough to hand him over the other day."

Her mouth forms an apologetic line. "Maybe kidnapped was a strong word, but she definitely put him in our house and shut the door. She guessed something happened between us because of the—" She plucks at the shirt she's wearing, my head following the movement, and I need to force myself to look away. "You know, the shirt."

I swear under my breath. "So you think she's trying to play matchmaker or something?"

"Maybe? I told her I wasn't interested, but clearly that didn't stop her."

Well, shit. That shouldn't sting, but it burns like whiskey on a bullet wound. Then again, I don't know why Claire would be interested in me for any reason other than what usually draws women in. The only solid things she knows about me are that I'm afraid of flying—soft, I hear my uncle saying—and that I allegedly grew pot for her biological father.

"I honestly think Nicole's a bit unhinged," Claire continues, shaking her head slightly. "Or maybe what happened to Dick messed with her head." She pauses, watching me. "She told me you were the person who found him?"

The memory digs in its claws. Hearing Rocket barking. Letting myself in with my key. Feeling the echoing of emptiness of something wrong and then finding him sprawled at the bottom of those steps, still warm but gone.

"Yeah," I say, my voice ragged.

She presses her palm to my upper arm, wrapping it around in a squeeze. "I'm sorry, Declan. I shouldn't have asked about it. That must've been so awful. I can't even imagine…"

I pull onto Main Street and park in front of the flower shop. "You know where you're supposed to go?"

"Nicole told me to find her," she says, her gaze on the road. "It can't be too hard. There are only, like, five businesses here, and she has neon hair."

Still, I can practically hear my mother telling me it's never too late to do the right thing. It'll take me half a minute to get the plant starters where they need to go, and after that I don't have anything going on today other than grabbing a beer with Rex later.

"I'll take you around," I say.

She stares at me again, her hand still wrapped around my arm, sending heat pulsing through me. Maybe I'm not the only one who feels it, because she glances at her hand on my arm and releases it self-consciously.

"Why?" she asks. "You just said you don't want people talking about you."

"My mother wouldn't have liked it if I'd left you to fend for yourself. You've never been here before."

"It's about two blocks long, from what I can tell. I've walked across Central Park in the dark. I'll be fine."

"If you have no survival instincts, I have even more of an obligation to save you from yourself," I insist.

"You really want to stroll down Main Street with me?"

I want to if it means I get to be around her a bit longer. But I don't want to admit that, either to myself or her, so I shrug. "People who hang out at the bluegrass bar in the middle of the day buy a lot of pot."

Her eyes widen, and I see the moment when she realizes I'm fucking with her. She shoves my arm, but her eyes are laughing, and I feel a warm glow inside.

"You are such an asshole."

"I told you your father would be right to worry."

Her eyes are sparkling, and I feel an urge to kiss her right here on Main Street, in front of anyone who's close enough to see through my windows, and that urge is unsettling enough that I close down again.

"Let's go," I say gruffly, and she salutes me before getting out of the truck.