“I’m behaving,” Woodrow snapped, his irritation easing. “Mr. Wallace, here, needs to understand when his dessert plate is cleared, his time is up. After that, he is no longer welcome on this property.” His smile was hard. “Ever.” He waited for Brody’s nod before marching into the dining room.
The man was a bastard. Brody didn’t give a shit about the way Woodrow talked to him. But India? He’d no cause to talk down to her like that. It got his blood boiling. “You okay?” he asked.
Her green-blue eyes met his. “Me?”
“Chaps my hide to hear him talk to you like that. I can’t imagine talking to the girls that way, no matter how caught up in anger I was.” His hands fisted at his side.
“You’re a good father, Brody. Your girls are lucky to have you.” The longing in her voice was hard to miss.
“Damn shame,” he grumbled, happy to have her close. He could study the curve of her cheek, the long sweep of her lashes and the slight scar slicing through her left eyebrow. He didn’t know that scar—and he’d known every inch of her face well.
Her gaze met his. “That went better than I expected.” Her smile eased the hard knot pressing against his chest.
“It did?” he asked, itching to touch her.
“I fully expected him to come downstairs carrying Martha,” India said, tugging him toward the dining room.
“Martha?” Brody asked, his concern over Woodrow fading at the sweet smile India sent over his shoulder.
“Dad’s favorite pistol.” India stopped, her gaze sweeping over him. “You’re lucky he promised Mom he’d behave, or things could have taken a turn for the worse.”
He stared at her, stunned.
“Go dazzle the crowd. And bring back the Monarch Festival.” She patted his chest and disappeared into the dining room. She was teasing him. She’d always loved teasing him. Surely, she was joking about the gun. A quick glance at Woodrow Boone and he wasn’t so sure.
One thing he was absolutely certain of—the way India made him feel. Standing there, staring after her, he didn’t care about her father, the election or the crowds of people he was supposed to “charm.” All he wanted was time alone with her.
He walked up to the lodge’s reception desk and asked the clerk to borrow a pen and paper. Then he wrote, “Full moon tonight. Going to the ridge for some peace and quiet. Hope you’ll join me.” He folded the note, tucked it into an envelope and put her name on it. “Can you make sure India Boone gets this?” he asked the clerk. “Nobody else.”
Chapter Six
“And then they traveled to all the fairy castles, gnome mushroom villages and mermaid coves, spreading joy and friendship wherever they went.” Brody closed the book. “The end. Everyone into her own bed. It’s late.” For them. He loved their bedtime routine, but he was worn out and ready for some quiet. He had plans tonight—he hoped.
Today had been productive.
First, the Monarch Festival was going to happen. Once a handful of local businesses put up the majority of the money, plenty of folks offered up their time and talents. From the Butterfly Kissing Booth, face painting and butterfly crafts to butterfly cakes and treats—this promised to be the biggest festival yet.
Second, unless someone else jumped in at the last minute, he’d soon be mayor of Fort Kyle.
Lastly, India preoccupied far too much of his mind. And it wasn’t just because she was the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever set eyes on. She was beautiful, yes, but she was also sad. And he couldn’t bear to watch. Even sitting across the dining room, he could see it. That was why he’d left her a note asking her to meet him at the ridge. That was why he needed the girls to go to bed without a fight.
Was it a damn foolish move? Yes. He knew one night of stargazing on the ridge wouldn’t make her happy. Was it likely to backfire? Definitely. Damn it all, he loved her, there was no way around it. All he knew was she needed someone. And he wanted to be that someone. Whatever she needed, whatever she wanted—he’d do his best to give it to her. He might regret it once she’d left town...but he was doing it anyway.
He turned to his girls. “You three princesses have sweet dreams. All about cookies and cupcakes, and dragon eggs, too.” He added the last with a wink for Amberleigh.
“Daddy?” Marilyn asked. “Drink, please.”
“Me, too?” Suellen asked, sliding from her bed. “I’ll help.”
Brody sighed but let Suellen help him get three glasses of water. It was a production. Marilyn needed pink, Suellen blue and Amberleigh dragon green. He filled their cups, put them on a tray and carried them back to their room—Suellen trailing behind him. She distributed their cups, taking teeny-tiny steps so she wouldn’t spill.
“Not thirsty,” Amberleigh said.
“You might get thirsty later,” Brody said, watching Suellen set Amberleigh’s green cup down with the utmost care.
“Daddy?” Suellen asked, climbing into bed again. “Dragons come from eggs? Like chickens?”
He looked at Amberleigh. “I think so.”
Amberleigh nodded.
“Eggs make babies. Cute babies.” Suellen laughed.
He chuckled.
“No.” Amberleigh frowned, making claw hands. “Dragons scary.”
Marilyn moaned. “No scary dreams.” She sniffed, her big eyes welling up with tears.
“Daddy, no,” Suellen wailed. “No scary dreams.”
Amberleigh’s eyelids drifted shut.
“No, no, now, your dream dragons will protect you,” he assured them, hoping he sounded convincing. “They keep all princesses safe and sound and watch over them when they sleep.”
“They do?” Marilyn asked, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand.
“Sure,” he said, out of his element. He wasn’t raised on make-believe and fairy tales. But seeing his girls in tears was too much for him. “I’ll bring Lollipop in here, too. He’ll come get me or Nana or Granddad. Okay?” He leaned out the door. “Lollipop, come on.” He patted his leg, watching the tiny dog barrel down the hall—a white fluffy flash that leaped up onto Amberleigh’s bed. “Better?”
Suellen nodded. Marilyn sniffed but nodded, too. Amberleigh was already sleeping, completely unaware of Lollipop nudging beneath her arm and burrowing close to her sleeping form. He turned on their princess crown night-light and flipped off the overhead. “You girls sleep sweet. Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for your birthday party next month.”
“Gonna be three,” Suellen said, holding up three fingers.
“Go to school?” Marilyn asked.
“I’ll check. We can ask Cal’s momma. She teaches at the school.”
“Ask, Daddy,” Suellen said.
“I’ll go do that,” he said. “You get some sleep and we’ll talk about school at breakfast tomorrow morning. Night, girls. Sleep tight.”
“Night,” they said in unison before he pulled the door around, leaving it cracked behind him.
He lingered in the hall. Experience had taught him to stay put for at least five minutes. The girls tended to slip out of bed and wander, wanting more water, another kiss or a bathroom visit before he had to tuck them in again. If he caught them early on, he could stop the dawdling and stall tactics.
“How’d it go today?” his father asked when he walked into the living room. His dad was working on his nightly crossword puzzle while his mother sat in her recliner, knitting needles furiously clicking. “I still can’t believe you went there.”
“Vic.” The needles stopped clicking. “Your blood pressure.”
“It went well. The county really rallied—ready and willing to make the Monarch Festival happen.” He leaned against the arched doorway. “And Mayor Draper is stepping aside.”
His mother smiled. “Congratulations, sweetie.”
“Mayor Wallace.” His father smiled, peering over his black reading glasses.
He smiled back. “Overall a good day.”
His father sat back, watching him closely. “You see him?”
The knitting needles stopped again. “Of course he did, he lives there. Honestly, Vic, sometimes I think you want him to pick a fight.”
His father scowled at his mother. “That’s ridiculous, Ramona. I just know Woodrow Boone. Hotheaded, inflated and downright nasty. Having a Wallace under his roof must have—”
“We kept our distance,” Brody interrupted, hoping to keep his parents calm. He wasn’t a fan of Woodrow Boone either, but he knew his father had done more than his fair share to make the other man that way.
“Huh,” he said, almost disappointed. “Well, there it is.” His father shook his head and leaned over his crossword again.
“You going out?” his mother asked, her keen gaze sweeping over him. “You look nice.”
“For a bit, if that’s all right?” he asked. “The girls are in bed for the night.”
“You go on,” his mother said. “We’ll call if we need you.”
With a smile and a nod he left, climbed into his truck and took the winding back roads that led to the ridge. The farther he drove, the darker it grew. He might have spent a few years away, but he knew this land—blindfolded. If he didn’t, he’d be at risk of driving off the edge of the rocky cliff ravine that gave Fire Gorge its name.
He slowed when he reached the summit, a perfectly flat surface that made this place perfect for stargazing. He turned, backed closer to the edge of the ridge and parked. As soon as he turned off his headlights, he was consumed by darkness. He let his eyes adjust before he climbed out of his cab. A steady breeze held the slightest hint of a chill and a welcome relief.
He sucked in a deep breath and opened his back door, released the seat and tugged his emergency sleeping bags out. He’d been caught out in an ice storm once, a blown axle and miles from help, without a thing to warm him up. Now he kept two sleeping bags, water and some trail mix stored behind his seat. Perfect for sitting and solving the world’s problems—or sharing burdens.
If India decided to show up.
* * *
INDIA DROVE SLOWLY along the rutted dirt road. What am I doing? Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. Driving in pitch-dark, along a sheer drop, to meet a man who stirred up far too many distracting wants and emotions. But his note had tugged at the loneliness deep inside.
Full moon tonight. Going to the ridge for some peace and quiet. Hope you’ll join me.
She should have spoken to Scarlett before leaving. It had been so nice to catch up and reconnect with her, to share and be a little vulnerable. Scarlett had agreed to watch Cal, but India hadn’t said where she was going. Letting someone in wasn’t easy for her—sister or no.
So why am I driving to the middle of nowhere to meet a man—
A blur of movement exploded out of the dark, streaking from the right and cutting across the truck’s path. Her brain shut off, unleashing panic and reacting without thought—instinct had her jerking the steering wheel sharply to the right. The dirt and rocks of the road provided no resistance. The truck spun once and again, bouncing off the road, tipping forward, slamming into the side ditch and coming to an abrupt stop.
She sat still, stunned and sore from the bite of the seat belt. The truck was wedged at an angle. While her seat belt kept her locked in place, the cab and hood of the truck sat at a severe downward slant. She turned the engine over and put it into Drive, but the car didn’t move. Reverse was no better. It was stuck. She was stuck.
“Perfect,” she ground out, resting her head on the truck headrest. She couldn’t walk out of here at this time of night. West Texas was home to mountain lions, bobcats, javelinas, snakes and the occasional black bear—all beautiful, majestic creatures she had no interest in encountering in the wild.
She flipped on the interior lights, wincing from the bright white flooding the cabin. Her purse had slid across the seat and spilled its contents all over the floor of the cab. Including her phone. If she was lucky she’d be able to call Scarlett. But the seat belt buckle wouldn’t release, and even stretching, she couldn’t reach it.
“Damn it,” she ground out. She stared out the window into the darkness.
Lights were coming. They stretched along, growing larger as whatever vehicle bounced along the road. Flying down the road. She honked, waited a few seconds and honked again. “Please, please...” she whispered.
It was Brody. When his red truck pulled alongside the ditch, relief slammed into her so hard she almost burst into tears. Almost.
“India?” he called, jumping from the cab as soon as the vehicle came to a stop. “India? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she answered, pushing the driver door wide. “My seat belt’s stuck, though.”
Brody straddled the ditch between her truck and the road, trying the buckle release. “Might want to brace yourself,” he said, pulling his pocketknife from his pocket.
She held on to the seat back with one hand and pushed against the dashboard with the other while he cut through the strap. It was the wrong time to notice how good he smelled. Or how nice his hands felt holding hers, helping her out of the truck and onto the road. One hand smoothed the hair from her forehead while the other tilted her face up. “I saw your lights spinning like crazy and got here as fast as I could. What the hell happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Something ran out in front of me. I swerved.” She shook her head, leaning against him. Her heart was still thumping, and her nerves were shot. But having his arms slide around her was nice. So was his scent. Her toes curled in her boots, her fingers plucking at his shirt. His scent wasn’t just nice. She breathed deeply—nervousness and fear forgotten.
“Damn lucky you swerved right and not left.” His hand rubbed up and down her back. “Damn lucky.” His voice was soft, his voice a husky whisper at her ear.
“For me, yes.” She drew in a wavering breath. He was right. Tonight could have taken a turn for the worse—if she’d gone left she’d likely be at the bottom of the ridge. She shuddered. Right now, she was very thankful to be alive. And pressed tight against him. She might be enjoying that part a little too much.
“You’re okay?” he murmured, holding her away from him so he could inspect her.
The truck chose that moment to make an odd hiss-pop sound. She wasn’t mechanical, but that couldn’t be good. “But not the truck.” The truck was the only thing she owned free and clear, and she needed it. How was she going to get to work? Or Cal to school? She already relied too heavily on her parents. Now she was going to have to borrow a Fire Gorge work truck. “Maybe it’s not that bad?” Even she heard the doubt in her voice.
“It’s too dark to tell how bad the damage is. I’ll come out first thing in the morning, see if I can use a chain to pull it out or if it’ll need the tractor.” He grinned. “Either way, I’ll get it out and see if my friend Danny can fix it quick.”
Her problem wasn’t his responsibility. She didn’t want to be indebted to anyone but... “I should argue with you and try to stop you.”
“Why?” His brow furrowed.
Why indeed. Brody wasn’t the type to hold things over her. He wasn’t her ex-husband or her father. He was Brody. She shook her head.
“Come on, India,” he sighed. “This is a no-strings, no-stress offer here, okay?”
How could she argue with that? “Thank you, really. When you have an idea of the repairs, let me know... Or the cost.” She mumbled the last part. Repairs were going to take a solid chunk of her precious savings. And delay her plans. Not to mention, cause a headache with her dad when she borrowed a vehicle.
“I never should have suggested meeting out here like this.” There was guilt in his voice—something he had no right to feel.
He was worrying over her, trying to take care of her and her
vehicle, for crying out loud. She was not about to let him feel guilty over any of this. “I didn’t have to come, you know.” She nudged him, for good measure.
His gaze met hers. “But you did.” He sounded...happy.
She nodded, an odd tightness weighing down her chest. Something about the way he was looking at her made the truck, the potential repair bills, even her uncertainty about this evening melt away. All that remained was a longing so fierce she could scarcely breathe. “I did,” she whispered.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
What indeed. She knew what she didn’t want to do. Leave. “Well... We’re here. If there’s nothing we can do about the truck tonight—” She pointed at the truck.
“Not tonight,” he agreed, smiling.
“Maybe we don’t need to rush home?” Why was she nervous about his answer?
“Not when there’s a full moon out. Like you said, we’re here and all.”
She smiled. “Exactly.”
“Need anything out of there?” he asked.
“My purse sort of exploded.” She grinned.
“Give me a sec,” he said, hopping from the road to the truck and leaning in.
A noise off the side of the road made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Brody?” she called out.
“What’s up?” he called back.
“There’s something out here.” She moved closer to his truck, standing in the beam of his truck headlights.
“Hold up,” he said, emerging from her truck with her purse in hand. He moved with surprising grace back to her side and held out her brown leather purse. “Think I got it all.”
“Thanks.” She gripped the bag close.
He spun around, peering into the dark. “Probably feral pigs. Dad thought it was javelinas, so I set up a game camera—to see their comings and goings. Damn sons-o-bitches have made short work of our back-pasture fences and damaged two of the water tanks.” His fingers threaded with hers as he led her to his truck. “Probably caused less damage to your truck swerving than hitting ’em. Got a picture of the pack. The male was big. Probably weighed between three and four hundred pounds.”
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