by Norah Wilson
She paused, and he could hear her rapid breathing.
“April?”
“It just seems like I can’t get through to her anymore.” The words came out in a rush.
“I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, Scott. It’s the truth.” After another pause, she said, “Tell her I love her.”
“I will. And I’ll call you afterward.”
“Thanks.”
Not quite ready to hang up, he searched his mind for something else to say. “So, how’s that breakfast going for the Boisverts’ special guest? That’s today, right?”
The seconds ticked by.
Okay, dumb question. She’d just said she’d been going over security tapes. She probably hadn’t been anywhere near the kitchen yet today.
“I have to go,” she said at last. “Call me when you’ve talked to Sid.”
“I will, April. In the meantime, try not to worry.”
Shoving his phone into his pocket, he went back inside. When he entered the kitchen, Titus, Ember, and Arden all shot him a look. Sidney sipped her hot chocolate, both tiny hands wrapped around the oversized mug.
Arden nodded. “Good to have you home again, Son.”
“Good to be back.” The words flowed out like he meant them. And he did, at this moment, stowaway notwithstanding. But he had no illusions these next months were going to be a picnic. He hadn’t been home more than a few days at a stretch since he’d graduated high school. Since Margaret Standish got sick.
He glanced at Sid. Ember had insisted the kid have a chance to warm up before facing any third-degree grilling. Sid was now dressed in a pair of Ember’s old fleece pajamas—Christmas ones. As if that wasn’t enough, Ember had practically swaddled the girl in her red and black flannel house coat. Now Sidney sat cross-legged on one of the old kitchen chairs, her feet and knees tucked in under the flannel, the red collar pulled close around her neck. To her obvious pleasure, Axl laid his head on her knee, and she stroked that old head gently.
“Could I have another grilled cheese?” Sid looked down at the empty plate in front of her—well, empty if you didn’t count crusts—then looked toward Scott.
“I’ll get it, Scott,” Ember volunteered. “You’ve got to be exhausted.” She got up and went to the stove.
“Thanks.” Scott sat down at the table, but rather than taking the seat his sister had just vacated beside Sidney, he sat across from her.
He was beat. He was also worried about Sidney, and her mother too. And he was more than a little freaked out when he thought about what harm could have come to the kid. Riding in the box of a truck, in the cold, traveling at high speeds on the freaking highway. No restraint in the event of an accident. He took a deep breath, dialed his emotion back.
“Hungry, huh?” he said.
“Starving,” she said.
“Maybe next time you’ll pack a lunch before you stow away,” Titus offered. He and Uncle Arden stood on the other side of the kitchen
“I bought a Mars bar when we stopped at the Gas and Grub.”
“You what?” Scott was pretty sure his heart stopped for a moment.
She shrugged. “You were sitting at the counter with your back to the door, so you didn’t see me. I just slipped in, bought my bar and slipped out.” She slid her hands together in a pretty good imitation of a slick as anything move.
“I wouldn’t be so proud of that fact if I were you, young lady,” Uncle Arden said. “That was a dangerous thing to do.”
Dangerous? That was putting it mildly. If something had happened to her out there, he’d never have forgiven himself.
“Well, I didn’t just get out because I was hungry,” she said. “I had to pee too.”
“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” Scott said. “Not in the Gas and Grub. Not in the truck.”
She looked down at Axl. The old dog gently whined, either in encouragement or sympathy. His tail thumped softly on the floor. She patted his head. “At least you don’t hate me.”
“Whoa!” Ember said. “Who said anything about hating you?”
“Sid, we’re just concerned,” Scott said. “Very concerned. And your mother—”
She stiffened, then sat up straight. “No need for concern,” she said in her best adult voice. “I’ll finish up my breakfast and be on my way.”
Titus snorted. “On your way?”
Ember shot him a glare, then turned to Sid. “That won’t be happening.”
“But—”
“I’ve already called your mom, Sid,” Scott said. “She knows you’re here.”
She deflated back against the seat and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t even uncross them when Ember slid that second grilled cheese onto her plate. “Why’d you have to call her?”
“Because you’re a minor,” Titus said.
“She’s going to ruin everything!”
“Well, it’s either her or Police Chief Buzz Adams. Under the law, we’re legally required to—”
Ember set a hand on Titus’ shoulder and shook her head. Scott shot him a quelling look for good measure.
He turned back to Sid. Tears shone in the little girl’s eyes, but her jaw was set tightly.
Poor kid.
Scott had been on that hot seat himself a few times in his younger years. Like when his Harkness mother had found that half pack of smokes he’d hidden in the laundry hamper. Or the time he’d laid a thumping on Dundas Bloom. Though on that occasion, he’d actually sat up a little straighter on the hard oak chair whilst Arden gave him a talking to about right place, right time.
He didn’t think a person could sink any lower into that old kitchen chair than Sid did now. And his heart went out to her. She still wasn’t talking.
“Titus, why don’t we go unload the truck?” Arden said, clamping a hand on his son’s back.
“What?” Titus said, then recovered. “Right. The truck.”
“And Ember,” Arden said, nodding toward the kitchen clock. “Look at the time.”
She took the hint too. “Whoops. I’d better get going. Gotta meet Jace.”
Jace. Scott caught himself tensing at the name of the man who’d caused his sister so much pain. He had to remind himself that was in the past. Ember was engaged to Jace now. He would soon be part of the family, had proved himself more than worthy.
“Well,” Arden said. “We’ll leave you two to talk, Son.”
“Thanks, Uncle Arden.”
Titus and Ember abandoned the kitchen quickly. But Arden, instead of heading out the door, went to the fridge.
He pulled out a wrapped piece of blueberry pie. Delaying his departure for a few seconds more, he warmed the pie in the microwave. When it dinged, he grabbed a fork from the utensil drawer and set the pie down in front of Sidney. “That’ll warm you up, sweetheart,” he said.
Sid blinked rapidly. “Blueberry’s my favorite,” she whispered.
“I had a hunch.” Smiling, Arden retrieved his jacket and orange vest. With a you-got-this nod to Scott, he left the house, leaving Scott alone with Sid.
It was quiet for a moment while Scott debated what to say, but it was Sid who broke the silence.
“Is he going hunting?”
Hunting? Ah, the orange vest. “No, Uncle Arden doesn’t hunt anymore. Hasn’t for a long time. But other people do, and if you want to go for a walk in the woods or fields during hunting season, you wear the orange vest for safety.”
Frankly, Scott was thrilled to see Arden heading out for a morning walk. Walking was something that had helped pull him back up from his depression. Beyond the blast of endorphins it produced, just being in nature, with it smells and sounds, was incredibly peace-inducing. Scott saw a lot of those walks in his own future.
“What about the dog?” She looked down at Axl. “Does he go walking in the woods too?”
“Sometimes. When he’s feeling good.”
“Does he wear a vest too?”
“During hunting season
, yeah. Uncle Arden keeps it in the pocket of his own vest, I think.”
“So why do you call him Uncle Arden?”
“Arden’s his name.”
“But why don’t you call him Dad?”
Scott raked a hand through his hair. “I’m adopted. I told you that. But he’s my uncle.”
“He calls you Son.”
Dammit, he was supposed to be probing her about why she’d run away, and here she was practically making him squirm in his chair. If there was one thing he’d learned from these past months with Sid tagging around behind him, it was that kids often saw the adult world in black and white. Not much room for nuance.
Besides, how could he explain something to Sid that he didn’t even understand himself?
He’d come to call Margaret Standish, his adoptive mother, Mom within months of landing in Harkness from the only home he’d ever known in Minnesota. She’d been nothing like Beth Wheaton-Standish, his birth mother, but somehow the transition to calling her Mom had been easy. Maybe because he knew how important it was to her.
Yet he’d never been able to bring himself to call his uncle and adoptive father Dad. Arden had unfailingly treated him exactly the same as he’d treated Titus or Ember. And he’d tried just as hard as Margaret Standish had to make him feel at home.
He’d even told Scott that he was welcome to call him Dad, but only if he wanted to. He’d only said it the once, and he’d never pushed.
Scott shook his head. God, he must be more tired than he’d thought.
“Sid, why are you here?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’ve never been to New Brunswick.”
“Ha-ha, very funny.”
She shrugged again, but the gesture was tight, almost jerky.
“Why did you say your mom would ruin everything?”
“Huh?”
“Come on, Sid. Don’t play dumb with me. What did you mean? Ruin what?”
“I can’t tell you.” She bit her lip.
“Can’t or won’t?”
She just looked at him with those big brown eyes, so like her mother’s.
He sighed. “I wish you’d talk to me, Kid.”
Her stare sharpened. “Maybe you’re not wishing hard enough.”
Scott studied her for a moment. The others had left so they could have this heart-to-heart, but he wasn’t doing such a hot job. What would Uncle Arden do in a situation like this?
“Are you going to eat that pie?” he asked.
She started to push her plate toward him. But her hand stilled, then switched over to the grilled cheese plate. She pushed that his way instead.
When Axl whined hopefully, Sid looked down at him. “Cheese isn’t really good for dogs. It can give them diarrhea if they get too much lactose.”
“How’d you know that?”
“I like dogs. A lot.”
“Well, Axl can handle a little cheese. He’s used to getting some with pills. Maybe you could give him one of the crusts.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
She tore a crust from the sandwich and fed it to Axl, who took it gingerly from her hands, then gobbled it quickly.
“There, you’ve fed him something. Now you’re fast friends.”
She smiled down at the dog, then went to work on her pie, ignoring Scott completely.
He pulled out his phone. “Okay, let’s call your mom. We’ll have to make arrangements to get you home.”
Her head came up. “I’m not going home.”
“You have to, Sid.” He started to punch in a number. “Your mom’s worried sick. She loves you, and—”
“Wait!” She leaped up, leaned across the table, and grabbed his hand before he could complete the call.
“Why?”
“Can I at least go to the bathroom before we call her? And I want to change back into my own clothes. I just feel weird in these.”
“Okay, fine.”
Feeling weird or not, she ate the last bit of blueberry pie. Then she put her fork down. Her eyes narrowed assessingly. “Crust was a little too crumbly,” she said. “Probably cut the butter in too much. But otherwise, good pie.”
Scott would have smiled if he wasn’t trying to be stern. She was just like April. She could taste something and spiel off the list of ingredients that had gone into it, or speculate about what had gone wrong in the making of it. Except Sid was more vocal about it than her mother.
“Where are your clothes?” he asked.
“In the dryer warming up.”
“Great.” Pocketing his phone, he went to the laundry room, a small room at the back of the house with access to the back porch and the seldom-used clothes line. He stopped the dryer and pulled out her clothes.
Back in the kitchen, he handed the warm bundle to her. “You can change in the bathroom. Upstairs at the end of the hall.”
“Thanks.” She tucked the clothes under her arm and picked up her knapsack. “I’ll be right back.” Sidney looked at the dog. “Bye, Axl.”
The old dog hung his head.
“He’ll be here when you come down,” Scott said.
She walked into the living room.
He heard three easy steps on the stairs, then fast heavy thump thump thumps as she ran up the last of them.
Axl looked toward the ceiling and whined. He swung his head toward Scott.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m not being too hard on her.”
Was he? He hadn’t a clue.
Scott poured himself a coffee from the pot on the counter. Well, half a coffee. Replacing the empty carafe, he turned the burner off, then rolled his neck. What he really needed was a catnap, but he doubted that would be happening. So bring on the caffeine.
Mug in hand, he crossed to the window overlooking the winter-ready fields. Tall, imposing Harkness Mountain beyond. Maybe he’d take a hike up there before the snow fell. At least up to Crooked Man Cave.
Jesus, he’d spent more time in Harkness in the last few weeks than he had in the last few years. And was set to spend a lot more time here. He’d told Uncle Arden he’d stay until the first of January.
His gaze dropped from the mountain on the horizon to the land in the foreground. His responsibility for the next few months, even though there’d be precious little to do once the apples were picked. Arden had delayed opening to u-pickers when they thought they’d be leaving. His plan had been to tell folks they could help themselves to the crop when it ripened, as a goodbye gesture. Now that the farm was back in Standish hands, they’d be opening it to u-pickers the first of the week. And when they’d had a go at the fruit, he’d get a few good paid pickers in to deal with the rest.
He almost wished it were earlier in the season so there’d be more to keep him occupied outdoors. Still, there were projects aplenty he could do inside the house, starting with that fireplace flue.
He tried to push his thoughts in that direction, toward the jobs that needed doing, but they kept leaping back to Sid.
To her beautiful mother…
Axl woofed.
“Easy, boy.” He bent to scratch the old dog’s head. “I know things are in a bit of turmoil right now, but they’ll smooth out. You’ll see.”
Axl whined, apparently unconvinced.
Scott drained his mug, swished it out under the tap, then filled it with water. Now this was something he missed when he traveled. Most of Harkness was on the town water supply, but the Standish property had its own deep well. Nothing tasted better. He took a slow cold drink, then just about choked on it as he looked out the window.
Behind him, Axl was barking like hell.
Dammit, Sid.
There she was—no coat, no hat. God, her sneakers were still by the door. She had to be in her sock feet. Wearing the clothes he’d just dug out of the dryer, she was hightailing it across the field.
Scott was out the door and after her in a flash. Less than a minute later, he caught up to her. “Hey,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa u
p, little lady.”
“No!” She shrugged out from under his hand. “This is important. It’s a matter of…everything!”
“I don’t understand. Where do you think you’re going?”
She turned and glared at him for all of two seconds. Then she burst into tears. Scott’s heart just about broke at the sight.
“I can’t tell you,” she said.
And no matter how gently he asked as she cried in his arms, she didn’t.
Chapter 4
APRIL WISHED she had some hard liquor in the place. She didn’t indulge often, but if she’d had some whiskey on hand this morning, she might have knocked one back before calling her brother.
“I suppose I’ll have to let the two of you stay, but you’ll have to help around the place. And there will be parameters. My house, my rules. None of your…shenanigans.”
On second thought, it was a good thing she hadn’t had a belt of whiskey. Otherwise, she might have given in to the temptation to congratulate Harley on being as big a piece of shit as ever.
She hadn’t talked to her brother in at least five years, apart from his annual drunken New Year’s call that always left her feeling exhausted and vowing not to answer next year. And if it wasn’t for that faint hope there’d finally be news of their long-gone sister, Kathleen, she’d probably be able to hold to that vow. As for her parents, she didn’t speak to them at all.
But she couldn’t say anything to get Harley’s back up. She had to think of Sid.
“Of course, your rules. Thanks, Harley. It shouldn’t be for long. Just until I can land another position and then Sidney and I will be out—”
“Right. The child.” He sighed dramatically.
She cringed. Sidney hated being called a child.
“What is she now? Six? Seven?”
“Ten.”
“That’s a hard age.”
If she’d told Harley her daughter was thirty-two, he’d be saying it was a hard age. She took a deep breath. “Every age has its ups and downs, I guess.”
“Is the girl—”
“Sidney.”
“—well behaved?”
“Oh, she’s very well behaved.”
“Because, you know, my house…”
“Your rules.” She closed her eyes tightly. Hadn’t she heard that from her father every day for the first seventeen years of her life? Her stomach roiled. “Got it, Harley.”
