Chapter 22

Raegan

I'm on my way to the stairs in search of Micah when I hear movement in his room. The door is cracked, so I knock as I enter. I'm fully anticipating the jabs he'll make about me sleeping in past noon as soon as he sees me, but when I step inside the strange flying-monkey quarters, I barely recognize him. He's the same gorgeously handsome man I saw last night, yes, but his movements are uncharacteristically erratic.

And he's stuffing a sweatshirt into a backpack.

"Micah?" I say. "Hey, what are you—"

My question drops off when his gaze collides with mine. It's at that exact moment Cheyenne's words register in a totally new way. Micah was out back with Mama. Talking to her. About Dorian. Suddenly, that dizzy sensation I get when looking too far over a railing roils through me.

"You talked to Mama about Dorian?" I confirm gently.

"Yep." His short reply ratchets my nerves even higher. My nightmare this morning feels far too much like a bad premonition now. I fight every instinct I have not to think of him and Tav as half brothers and instead try to funnel my energy into the support he needs most.

He's reaching for his deodorant and toothbrush on his side table as I move toward him and touch his arm. His entire body goes rigid.

"It will be okay, Micah, you're not alone in this. You should take your time, there's no need to rush into anything."

I watch the constriction of his back muscles on his next inhale and exhale exchange and try not to imagine how to navigate the introductions between—

"Dorian's not my father."

His words release a pressure valve in the center of my chest that allows all my oxygen to whoosh out at once. I remove my hand from his arm and press my palm to my anxious heart. "Oh, thank God. How do you know for sure?"

But when he turns to face me, his expression is not one of gratitude at all. "He's unable to have biological children."

"Then what about Tav?"

He turns away again. "I'm sure your mom will fill you in on everything. But right now, I have to go."

"Go where? What are you talking about?" I try to get a better read on him even though my every internal alarm bell is ringing.

"To an auto-parts store in Denver with Billy. We'll be gone overnight." He drops his reading glasses into a case and zips it into the front pouch of his backpack before slinging the strap over his shoulder.

I reach for him and gently tug his arm. "Stop, please."

He drops his gaze to his feet.

"Were you really just going to leave without ... without even telling me what's going on with you?" My voice is dangerously close to slipping into a new octave.

This time when his eyes find mine, there's something new there. Hurt. "Well, you didn't bother to tell me you were engaged."

I rock back a step, mind reeling, but I manage to hold up my left hand and show him my empty ring finger. "I broke things off last fall, just like I told you I did. I'm not engaged to Tav."

The intensity of his hooded gaze makes it feel as if he's memorizing every line and curve of my face. He cycles a painfully slow breath before he says, "He seems to be confused about that, and honestly, Raegan..." He studies my mouth for three impossibly long heartbeats. "I wonder if you might be a little confused, too."

"No, Micah, that's not—"

He holds up his hand and drops his chin to his chest. "Look, I like you, Raegan, a lot, and I wanted to believe we were on the same page, but the whole reason I'm on this trip is because someone I cared about held back the truth from me. It's probably best we take a step back and give each other space to think things through."

"I don't need to think things through. I know what I want and it's not Tav."

"And yet you're still taking his calls."

His sharp words puncture through me as he moves to stand in the doorway without a backward glance. "I've gotta go. We'll be here for a couple more days. I hope you accomplish everything you need to with the extra time."

And then he's gone, leaving me to wonder if I've just ruined one of the best things to ever happen to me.

Two days in a big quiet house where all the inhabitants are occupied in various ways should have felt like an answer to prayer; after all, time was what I needed to finish these chapters before the festival. But time was also a reminder of the chasm that had opened up between Micah and me. Which made the hours move ever so slowly.

At least Hattie had filled the hours with one-on-one pie-making and life lessons with fellow divorcée, Dottie, while Adele took advantage of uninterrupted office time at the local coffee shop down the road. Cheyenne became Mama's accompanist in the family room, going over her song set for Watershed—per Adele's request—while I struggled to put words on the page. But try as I might, my mind continually drifted back to Micah standing in his bedroom, accusing me of lying to him by omission. The same way his mother had done to him.

And every time I replay it over in my mind, I wish I would have said something back—something to better explain myself. But then again, he'd probably dismiss any explanation I offered as an excuse. Micah had made his point clear many times over now. He doesn't agree with how I'm handling my family situation or with how I handled Tav. And maybe he's right. Maybe I have been stalling in more ways than one.

In the few hours he wasn't on the road with Billy or working alongside him at the shop, I'd offered him a wide berth, even though that's not what I want. But seeing how he hasn't sought me out, I'll continue to give him the space he's asked for.

As we sat down for a final dinner at Dottie's house last night, I could have sworn I felt his gaze on me as Billy told riveting tales about the unsolved mysteries of what car mechanics discover during routine services, but every time I looked up, Micah was looking down at his plate.

We opted to leave the morning after the bus was given a clean bill of health from Billy so we'd have a full day of drive time ahead of us. Dottie's tearful good-bye was bittersweet as she sent us away with more pies than our tiny RV fridge could hold. Apparently, Micah had saved Adele's premade meals from certain death when Old Goldie was without electricity for days by loading them into a cooler at the shop, which scored him points where my big sister was concerned.

Due to our extended stay in Kansas, Mama decided to skip the photo op she'd been hoping for at Four Corners Monument. As documented in the journals, she and Lynn stopped there on their original road trip. But it was too far south and ultimately not worth the delay.

I finished reading Lynn's journals on my own last night. Micah had left them in my room, and I needed to understand the rest of the story, unfinished as it was. I'd sat at my computer for nearly two hours afterward, riding a wave of creative inspiration. Her angst and emotion were palpable, stirring my own creative juices, but even still, her final entries haunted me.

I wonder if they'd haunted Micah the same way.

I wonder if they are still haunting him even now.

While Cheyenne plays Adele the new song she and Mama wrote yesterday at the house, I opt to sit at the dining table, facing forward, as it will be easier for me to work from here. The tug to go back to my book is strong, and in only a few minutes, I'm sucked in again. It writes like a novel, and yet the story is true—as real as the woman singing a duet with her granddaughter only a few feet away.

As soon as we cross back into cell range, I'm grateful to finally send off the updated proposal to Chip, documenting the new changes I'd made on the original file he'd sent me.

His reply email comes quickly.

Raegan,

The changes in your outline look great—thanks! Looks like I'm set to pitch this to the publishing team tomorrow. It's quicker than we normally do things, but it's not every day we have a project of this caliber on the table. On that note, if you happen to have a couple of finished chapters, I'd love to use them during my pitch.

If things go the way I suspect they will, I should have a contract worked up within seventy-two hours for negotiations. As I've mentioned previously, it's always a wise practice to have a trusted legal advisor look over the details for you. I want you to be as comfortable with the terms as we are. The author is our number-one priority.

Looking forward to the future,

Chip Stanton

Acquisition Editor

Fog Harbor Books

I write Chip back, relaying to him that the timeline sounds good so far and that I'm hoping to have something for him after the festival. If all goes well, there shouldn't be much lag time for either one of us. Despite the sour notes between Micah and me, I hope he'll love what I've written about his mother as much as I love what I've written about mine. I'm just not sure when to give it to him.

Purposed energy fuels me as I continue to write. I'm careful to keep the light on my screen set to dim and my font size small. The last thing I need is to get so absorbed I miss someone peeking over my shoulder. Only one more chapter to go before I meet my first deadline.

Just as I start, Hattie plops down opposite me at the table and bites into a juicy apple. "Do we get to know what you've been working on? I'm guessing it's something romantic." She waggles her eyebrows. "And possibly inspired by recent events?"

Obviously, Hattie hasn't paid much attention to the most recent events.

Cheyenne immediately stops strumming her guitar, which alerts the other passengers to our conversation, and since I'm facing the front of the bus, I can see that Micah has been alerted, as well, when our eyes connect in his interior mirror.

"Raegan's a fantastic writer." Cheyenne prematurely jumps to my defense, and I wish I knew Morse code so I could tell her to change the subject altogether. "I hope you all can read her novel one day. It's my favorite story of hers."

"Your favorite?" Hattie asks. "How many of her stories have you read?"

"All of them," Cheyenne says a bit slower, as if she's only just now realizing that this is dangerous territory.

"And how many is that?" Hattie persists, looking at me now.

"Six," I admit. "Though most of them would be considered short stories. Only one has been properly edited."

"Oooh, can I read it?" Hattie asks. "Is that what you're working on now—the novel?"

When Cheyenne looks my way this time, her expression is a mix of oh crap! and what do we do now?

"No, this one isn't finished. I don't have much written on it yet." I glance down at my keyboard, hoping that will be the end of the discussion. But soon Hattie's fingers do a tap dance at the back of my laptop screen.

"I vote you read us an excerpt. Come on, we could all use some fun entertainment. We've been driving for hours, and Micah said there are no more stops planned until we reach the RV park for the night." Hattie leans in close and whispers, "Also, I think we're headed to a nice mountain resort tomorrow. I heard Micah asking Mama if he could take us on a special twenty-four-hour detour. She agreed."

"The reason there are no more stops is because last time you took thirty minutes to pick out a single bag of mini Oreos," Adele replies loudly, to which Hattie rolls her eyes. "Mama said the park we're stopping at is first come, first served. We don't have time to waste on more of your junk-food scavenger-hunt games."

Hattie ignores her and smiles at me good-naturedly. "Then at least tell us what this one's about." She pulls up her knees and props her chin on her arms.

I can already feel the perspiration gathering on my lower back and under my arms. I don't dare look at the insides of my wrists where I can already feel an all-too-familiar rash starting to populate.

"Um ... well, let's see..." I glance up from my laptop and catch Micah's laser-focused eyes on me, as if he can hear every word. Or perhaps he's waiting for a told-you-so moment. Perhaps that's what he thinks a liar by omission like me deserves. "It's about a talented woman from a very small town up north who meets a generous businessman who promises to make her dreams come true."

"What's her talent in?" Hattie asks.

"Who?" I ask in a voice pitched so high my vocal chords strain.

"The woman—your main character, I presume? What does she do?"

"Music." The minute it's out, I want to retract it. Why couldn't I have said she was a local delicatessen who specializes in French pastries?

Adele looks up then, confused. "That sounds similar to our parents' story."

Sweat drips down my spine as I open my mouth like a caught fish. I feel Micah's gaze boring into me from the front of the bus as if he's expecting me to confess right here and now, but I can't.

Instead, I throw him the most pathetic, pleading look I've ever concocted in my life.

Micah flicks his gaze from the road to me one last time before he gives a final disappointed shake of his head. One I'm sure I deserve. But mercifully he announces, "Pit stop in two."

In a matter of seconds, he swerves the bus for the rest-stop exit while everybody does their best to remain in their seats.

"A little more warning next time would be nice!" Adele hollers before muttering, "So much for no more stops."

Cheyenne peers out the window. "Looks like it's just a scenic stop and some restrooms. No mini-mart to tempt Aunt Hattie." She turns back to me and mouths a silent apology in my direction, but this was in no way her fault. I'm the one writing in plain sight.

I try to catch Micah's eye once more so I can gauge where his head is at, but he doesn't glance into the mirror again after he parks the bus at an overlook at the base of the Rockies.

We all file out of Old Goldie. Some of my family head to the stone facility that resembles something that could be found in a life-size fairy garden, while others stop to take photos of the scenery at the lookout.

But I'm too busy watching Micah to notice.

He's resting against the stony overlook, his elbows firmly planted while he takes in the epic view of the mountains surrounding us at the base of the Rockies. I know he's asked for space, but how can I possibly ignore what he just did for me? I owe him a thank you. Truth is, I owe him more than that.

He turns and straightens to face me, as if he's sensed me behind him, and for a moment, I wish we could go back in time. Because I want to be near him, maybe even need to be near him. If there is anything these last two days have shown me, it's that.

It's such a simple revelation, and yet it's one hundred percent the truth.

A few days ago, Micah was the easiest and best part of this whole trip, and now ... now here we are. Distant. Awkward. Insecure. "Thank you," I begin. "For what you did back there."

He blows out a hard breath and then tugs on his neck the same way he did in that bedroom. "You had the perfect opportunity to tell them, Raegan, and you chickened out."

"I'm going to tell them," I blurt before I can stop myself. "After the festival, once I have Mama's blessing."

"Life very rarely follows our plans."

"It's only a few more days."

"And if it all blows up before that? Then what? I'm living proof that things don't always go the way we want them to."

My heart twists at the pain I hear behind his statement and what I did to contribute to it. I can only hope that the steps I've taken to finalize things with Tav will give me the opportunity to build a bridge across this chasm.

"I'm sorry you found out about my engagement the way you did. I can see how that felt unfair, but I have thought about what you said, and I'm waiting on a—"

"Raegan! Come take a group photo with us—the lighting is perfect! My kids will love these mountains," Hattie calls from farther down the rock wall where my family is posed in front of the Rockies. A tourist in a big tweed hat is waiting patiently as the stand-in photographer.

I force a practiced smile on my face and steer my gaze in their direction. "Okay, sure, I'll be right over."

But when I turn back to Micah, he's already halfway to the bus.