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“And now it’s up to you.”
“Yes, Mr. Maynard and myself.”
St. John, Maynard & St. John. Of course.
Derek walked over to the other end of the mantel and handed Breanna a photograph. The man in it was young, around her age maybe. Handsome. Dark hair brushed his shoulders. Familiar blue eyes. He was smiling at the camera.
A feeling tugged at her chest. It looked like he was smiling right at her. Silly thought. Her eyes filling, she glanced at Derek.
His arm coming around her, he nodded. “Your dad. The last photo ever taken of him.”
A tear slid down her cheek. Breanna didn’t understand why she was crying for a man she never got to know, but then, maybe that was the very reason. She was robbed of the chance.
“Did you know him?”
“I did, though I was just eleven when Shane died.”
She nodded, doing the math in her head. That would make Derek around thirty-two.
Francie returned with the mousse and once Breanna swallowed the last bit, she rested the spoon on her plate, covering a yawn with her hand. “I’m sorry, it’s been a day.”
“You need your rest.” His fingertips grazed across her forehead. “Let’s get you back to your room.”
“Thanks. This house is a labyrinth, but I think I can manage.”
“Regardless, I’m taking you.” Derek rose, pulling her to stand with him. “What if you became dizzy on the stairs or something? I did say I’d keep a close eye on you, didn’t I?”
Good grief.
“You did.”
Breanna paused when they reached the second-floor landing. “I think I’ve got it from here.”
With a lift of his lips, his thumb hitched to the left. “I’m at the end of the hall should you need me.”
I won’t, but thanks.
She nodded. “See you in the morning.”
“I’ll come get you for breakfast.” Winding a blonde tendril around his finger, he murmured, “You intrigue me, Miss Dalton.”
Her head tilted to the side.
Derek leaned in closer.
“Danger, Will Robinson!” Kayleigh’s warning rang in her head.
Breanna stiffened.
Smoothing her hair over her shoulder, warm lips touched her cheek. “Sleep well. Goodnight.”
And he turned away, going left down the hall.
Goodnight.
Breanna pulled a pillow to her chest and held it there. As exhausted as she’d been when she got under the covers, sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned, every moment of the last few days replaying in her head. Only twenty-four hours ago, she slept in the shelter of Sinjin’s arms.
Then poof, he was gone.
