“Cheer up.”
He hung his head. “Can’t.”
“Come on. It’s Christmas. I’ll buy you a Coke.”
“No, thanks.” He stared over at the bar, then down at his feet. “I should go home. I mean, back to Uncle Ed’s. I want to get things over with.”
“Good for you.” She gave his arm a gentle punch. “I think that’s best, too. Do you want me to come along?”
“Yes.” He clutched at her arm. “That’s why I want to do it now. I need you with me.”
He squared his shoulders as if preparing for a fight, and Riley’s heart broke right in half. Any kid should feel relieved when he was about to come clean to his folks on such a big problem. But it was obvious he was dreading it.
“Where will I go?” he asked.
“What do you mean? Home, right? To Ed’s.”
“They’ll throw me out.”
“No, they won’t. Did you see Ed stand up to that guy? He won’t allow them to throw you out.”
“Yeah, well, that guy was a mouse compared to my aunties,” Trevor said.
Riley laughed, pretending he’d made a joke, but he had a point. She just hoped the women would surprise him. Sometimes, a real family emergency made people pull together in surprising ways—at least, it did in books and movies. Riley had no idea what happened in real life, because her own family had been shattered as long as she could remember. Nobody had ever been angry with her; no one had cared enough to bother.
As they left, Griff followed. “If you think I’m going to let you face those women alone, you’re crazy.”
Riley turned to protest, but he shook his head.
“I won’t interfere, I promise. But if I’m there, they’ll think twice about hurting you the way they do.”
“They don’t hurt me.” Riley shook back her hair and tried to look like she didn’t care. “They can’t.”
Deep down, though, they could. They had, and she was glad he was coming along. His presence alone made her stronger—not just because he was big and strong but because he represented all that was good and brave.
Plus he chose you, not Fawn.
She smothered that thought, shutting down the butterfly dance. Griff would choose whoever needed protecting. That was his nature. If Fawn smartened up and played damsel in distress instead of town sweetheart, he’d probably choose her.
Maybe Riley should tell her, help her out—because the longer it took for Griff to figure out where he really belonged, the more Riley’s heart yearned for him. And the harder she fell, the worse she’d suffer when he finally figured out his place in the world.
Marshal’s deputy, probably marshal someday, with a pretty, golden-haired wife at his side—not a tattooed lady with a checkered past.
* * *
Walking behind Riley and Trevor like a volunteer security guard, Griff caught himself clenching and unclenching his fists and shoved his hands into the pockets of his Santa pants. Riley needed his support, not his anger. The scene when she left the ranch played in his head over and over, with a soundtrack of if onlys—if only he hadn’t shouted, if only he hadn’t grabbed her, if only he hadn’t shoved her.
He’d gotten his anger under control with Darrell. Why hadn’t he been able to do it earlier with Riley?
Probably because there was so much more at stake.
He followed his favorite elf and the Only Heir across the snowy street and down the slippery sidewalk to the hardware store. Riley went around the building to the side entrance that led to Ed’s door, and Trevor took her hand like a child.
Griff might not like the kid, and he resented the way Trevor had upended Riley’s life, but the gesture made him feel sorry for him.
Riley tapped on the door, then went inside without waiting for an answer. The three of them stamped snow off their boots and wiped their feet in the foyer.
“It’s about time,” Carol said as they entered the living room.
“Now, Carol,” Ed said. “It’s Christmas.”
The room certainly looked like Christmas. In fact, the room was so beautiful that the two women standing by the fireplace looked oddly out of place with their folded arms and grim expressions. Ed, kind-faced as always, sat in the glow of the tree’s twinkle lights.
Riley led Trevor to the sofa and sat down while Griff remained in the doorway, looming. He was good at looming.
“I was sitting there,” Diane said.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Riley started to stand, but Trevor gripped her hand like he was drowning and she was his only lifeline, and Ed stood up, offering his chair to his sister.
“There are plenty of places to sit.” He didn’t sound like Dirty Harry anymore, but he didn’t sound like his old self, either. There was a firmness in his tone that even Griff wouldn’t want to challenge.
“How are you feeling, Uncle Ed?” Trevor asked.
“Three hundred dollars poorer, that’s how he’s feeling,” Diane said before Ed could answer. “If that woman is telling the truth, you have a lot of explaining to do, young man. But I really doubt her story.”
“You shouldn’t doubt her,” Trevor said. “Riley tells the truth. I’m the one who lies. I…” The kid stared down at his lap, then looked up at Riley with a look so desperate Griff almost felt sorry for him. “Can you tell them?”
“No.” Riley patted his knee. “You need to do it.”
The kid looked from Carol to Diane to Ed and back again.
“Tell your uncle,” Riley said.
“Okay.” Trevor took a deep breath. “Uncle Ed, I-I started doing drugs. Things weren’t going right, and I never fit in, not even with my friends, and I just… I thought it would make me feel better, but then I couldn’t seem to stop. I mean, I could have, but for some reason…I just didn’t. I couldn’t. I don’t know.” He paused, opening and closing his mouth like a gasping goldfish.
“What Trevor’s saying is that he got addicted. He didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.” Riley squeezed the kid’s hand. “Is that right?”
Trevor nodded and seemed to find some courage at last. His voice was stronger, and he looked Ed in the eye.
“I tried to get off it a bunch of times, but I couldn’t seem to do it. Since I came here, I’ve been clean, though. It’s the longest I’ve gone without taking anything. That’s why I was so sick, because it—it makes you sick.”
Riley was dismayed when neither sister appeared to unbend. With folded arms, they faced Trevor like jailers dealing with a prisoner gone wrong. But she noticed Carol’s hands were trembling, and Diane was clenching her jaw so hard it had to hurt.
“What are you going to do about it?” Carol’s voice was high and querulous.
Trevor looked down at his clenched hands. “I thought if I stayed here…”
“Stay here?” Carol looked outraged. “Being here is the problem. Being here with her. We all know she’s the expert on taking drugs.”
Griff took a step forward and was rewarded when Carol stopped midtirade.
“It wasn’t her,” Trevor said. “Actually, she’s the only one who’s helped me. She figured out what was going on, and…”
“Well, if someone had told us, we could have helped. But of course, no one had to tell her. She…”
To Griff’s surprise, Diane interrupted.
“Let Trevor tell it, Carol.”
Pressing her lips together, Carol settled back in her chair, but her flashing eyes made it clear she wasn’t done with Riley.
“I started in Denver,” Trevor said. “I’d never even met Riley then. Once we came here, I couldn’t get the stuff so that’s why I was so sick. If I’d just stayed clean another day or two, I might have been all right, but when we went down to the hospital in Denver, I went to see some of my friends and…”
“They’re not friends,” Riley
said gently.
“I should say not,” said Carol. “And neither are you, young lady, sitting there holding his hand like you’re actually helping. Trevor can speak for himself. Sit up, young man. Look us in the eyes and tell us what you did. And don’t keep looking at her.”
Chapter 44
Trevor looked from Carol to Diane. Finding only stares of disapproval, he turned to face his uncle.
“I messed up, and I know I disappointed you.” Griff could tell Trevor was trying to keep his voice steady, but there was a shaky undercurrent he couldn’t control as he turned to the Harpies. “You gotta lay off Riley. She’s really nice. She helped Uncle Ed, and she’s really nice to me and to him. She’d be nice to you if you let her, but…”
“That’s enough,” said Carol. “She has taken over this store and all but stolen it from your uncle.” She flashed Riley a furious look. “I’ve talked to people in town, young lady, and I’ve been told over and over that you’re my brother’s daughter and should actually inherit the store. They’d never even heard of Trevor.” She gave her brother a reproachful glare. “Obviously, she has taken over your life.”
Ed stood up. “She saved my life. That’s what she did. And I’m tired of hearing you two harpies go on about something you don’t understand.”
Carol and Diane gasped in unison at the word harpies. Griff wanted to laugh, but he was too busy watching the drama play out.
Ed seemed stronger, more upright, as if he’d literally grown a spine. “All those folks are right.” His gaze lit on Riley and warmed. “Riley’s the daughter I never had, and you can bet she’ll get the store when I’m gone.” He turned to Trevor, looking benevolent but stern. “Trevor might get a share of it, but he’ll have to earn it, just like Riley did.”
Carol began to speak, but Ed wasn’t done.
“And as for me talking about Trevor—why would I? I haven’t seen the boy since he was knee-high to a sparrow. I’m glad to get to know him now, but you two…” He glared at his sisters, surprising Griff with the sudden force of his anger. “You two need to get out.”
“No, Ed.” Riley stood and went to his side. “It’s okay. They’ve had a shock and they need to adjust. Plus Trevor needs them.” Griff saw the women soften at that.
“As you know, I’m an addict myself,” she told the sisters. “I’ve been clean for years now, but I failed, too, at first—a bunch of times. Trevor won’t be able to do it alone. He needs family support.”
Griff wondered how Riley had managed. As far as he knew, she hadn’t had a family since she was thirteen.
Riley explained addiction and recovery to the Harpies in simple terms. She told them about withdrawal, about the importance of cutting old, destructive ties. She talked about the meetings she attended in Grigsby once a week—Griff hadn’t known about that—and let them know Trevor wasn’t strung out anymore—that he’d gone through withdrawal alone, and that took courage. That was why he’d been so sick, she said.
“It’s hard, and the fight is forever,” she said. “But fighting gets to be a part of you and makes you stronger. Trevor will have reason to be proud, every day, as long as he stays clean.”
She didn’t tell them about the drugs the marshal had seen in the Iron Kings’ van or the fact that Trevor had been hoping to get more. He hadn’t managed to do it, and Griff figured that was what mattered—to Riley anyway. And for the moment, the kid seemed sincere.
The women listened with twin lemon-sucking looks on their faces. By the time Riley was done, they were no longer actively spouting hatred, but that was only because they were so confused and upset. With her quiet recognition of their pain, her refusal to take offense, but most of all her genuine desire to help Trevor, she’d done all she could to help them—but they still shot venomous looks her way when she wasn’t looking.
Griff looked up at the ceiling. He hadn’t prayed in a long time, but he needed to pray now—for Riley, who was the strongest person he’d ever known. Not only had she overcome her demons, she still fought them to a standstill every single day. He needed to pray for himself, too, in the hope he could become the kind of man she needed, one who stood beside her and helped make the fight worthwhile.
He was working on it. He’d started controlling his anger, and he wasn’t bushwhacked by loud noises anymore. He’d stopped clenching and unclenching his fists so much—probably because he’d stopped clenching his heart and let somebody in. Love was what had ambushed him, as fully formed and overwhelming as those demons Riley fought.
But he wasn’t going to fight it. Whether Riley returned his affection or not, he was going to love her and do all he could to win her. If that didn’t work, he’d somehow be whatever she needed—a friend, an ally, or, if things went south, a dimly remembered stranger.
He’d take whatever she offered, because the smallest crumb from her table meant more than a banquet from anyone else.
* * *
Riley stood. She’d done her best. She felt sorry for Trevor and sorry for his aunties, but she’d done all she could.
“You probably want to discuss this as a family,” she said. “I’ll…”
The words faded away as she realized she didn’t know what she was going to do. Stay in the office on that cot, she guessed. She had to admit she wasn’t looking forward to it, but she had to rest somewhere, and it was too late to go over to Phoenix House. If Sierra had gotten the kids to go to bed, company would only start them up again.
“You’re family, too,” Ed said. “We want to discuss it with you.”
Riley looked at Carol and Diane and could see they definitely didn’t want to discuss the weather with her, let alone something so personal. She didn’t want to make them any more miserable than they already were, so she had to get out of there somehow.
Griff took her hand. “We want to go back to the party,” he said. “I don’t want her to miss all the fun.”
Ed smiled indulgently. “Go, then, you two,” he said.
Griff more or less hauled her off to the foyer. He presented her with her boots, and she stepped into them and out the door—but as soon as he took her hand, she shook him away.
“Look, I can’t go back there with you,” she said. “Fawn’s there.”
“I’m not with Fawn,” he said. “And I can’t leave you here,” he whispered. “I worry about you with those women.”
“You shouldn’t,” she said. “I stood up to big, fat Darrell, so I can stand up to anything. No old-biddy church ladies are going to get the best of me, you know.”
He chuckled. “I do know. So does everybody else around here.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the sidewalk. “You’re the only one who doesn’t know how strong you are.”
“So why are you so worried?”
He laughed. “I’m not worried for you. I’m worried for them.” He did his best to look somber and official. “The marshal trusts me now, so it’s my job to protect old-biddy church ladies and keep you from killing them like they deserve.”
“But they’re old ladies,” she protested. “They can’t help who they are.”
“Somewhere along the way, they could have learned to be decent human beings.”
She sighed. “Some people never get the chance.”
He shot her a penetrating look. “And yet they do it anyway. But here’s the thing. I’m Santa and you’re my elf, and I can’t let you sleep on a cot. Plus you know it would break Ed’s heart. He’d have to stand up for you again and throw his sisters out.”
“That would probably give him another heart attack.” Riley sighed. “Cheap shot, Griff, but you win.”
Maybe she could glance over at Phoenix House on the way to the bar, see if the lights were still on. If they were, she could go join the kids.
Griff tugged her hand through the crook in his arm, helping her across the ice as if she were an old l
ady. She didn’t need the help, but Griff needed to give it, so she let him.
“I can’t believe you helped Trevor like that,” he said as they cautiously navigated the ice. “He’s been nothing but rotten to you.”
“He’s a kid,” she said. “He’s still learning from the people around him, and they were the wrong people. He got in deep before he knew what was going on.”
Griff nodded. “But when you got into drugs, you were different. You knew what you were doing.”
She gave him a wry smile as he helped her off the curb as if she were ninety years old. “Well, yeah. I was old enough to know better.”
She wondered why he was taking so long to cross the street. There was such a thing as being too careful, and she was anxious to get back to the party. Anxious to be anywhere but alone with Griff and his questions.
“How old were you when you started using?” he asked.
“Thirteen, I guess.”
“And Trevor’s how old?”
She sighed. “It’s not about age, it’s about experience. So many of the adults around me were addicts that I understood the consequences. He’s been kind of sheltered.”
They continued past a few shuttered buildings before they reached the bar. At the corner, he stopped, pulling her to face him and holding her arms in his big hands while he looked searchingly into her eyes.
She froze. She was sure he wouldn’t shake her again, but she was afraid he’d kiss her. And she’d promised Fawn.
“Listen to yourself, Riley,” he said. “Being exposed to drugs and violence at that age wasn’t an advantage, okay? Kids imitate the adults around them. And I’ll bet a lot of them encouraged it, didn’t they?”
She shook her head, even though it was true.
“Here you are, saying you should have known better while you’re making excuses for a kid who’s older, who’s had every advantage and all kinds of role models. Why?” He pulled her closer, but there was nothing sexual going on—no kiss hanging in the air. He was just being caring, darn it. And nosy.
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