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He opened his car door and grabbed for the tool belt he’d laid at his feet, leaning back in and grinning at me. “Maybe you should be,” he said. “She’s pretty hot. Thanks for the ride.” He slammed the door shut before I could say anything else, and I drove home wishing I hadn’t gotten that outside verification of Harper’s appeal. I didn’t know why, but having Dean express his interest made me feel territorial. And that was ridiculous. I had no claims on my tenant beyond her rent money.
I parked and took my time getting out of the truck. Harper’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and I forced myself to focus on other things. Where she was and what she did were none of my business.
I was just making my way up the stairs to my front door when a mournful howl came from the hill on the other side of the small creek that ran below my property. I froze, listening. It wasn’t the same sound we’d heard before—the terrorizing yowl of what I was sure was a mountain lion. This was different—an animal in some kind of pain, maybe? Almost a cry for help. I shivered, listening for it to repeat, but the wilderness across the creek had taken on an almost unnatural silence in the wake of that sad cry.
The low hum of an engine replaced the stillness, and I ducked inside just as Harper’s car pulled up the drive.
Chapter 6
HARPER
Cam’s car was in the driveway when I pulled back in, and I wasn’t sure why it gave me such comfort to know he was home. It wasn’t as if I knew him well, or knew much about him, really.
After I’d had lunch with my father, I’d gone back to the hotel to read through all the information Mike had given me and filled out all of my benefits paperwork. I wanted to hit the ground running the next week. Also, I didn’t want to come back to this big silent house and think about anything too deep.
Like the sadness in my father’s eyes when I gave him one word answers to his questions. Or the pain in his voice when he finally said, “Harper. There was a lot more to what happened between your mom and me than you know about.”
That had made me mad. “Tell me, then,” I’d suggested, and the desire to do so had been clear on his face. His mouth had worked in silence, as if he was about to let out the words that would explain to me why he hadn’t visited me, why I’d been sent away when he was the parent who’d once clearly loved me most.
“I told myself a long time ago I’d never be the kind of parent who’d poison you against the other,” he said, his shoulders drooping as his bright eyes searched mine. “Your mother isn’t a bad person.”
“I know that,” I’d snapped. “It’s not her I’m trying to understand. I spent my whole life seeing that she’s not a bad person. It’s you I’m not so sure about.”
He nodded, and the anger inside me spun up. I wanted him to explain. I needed him to tell me why things had been the way they were. Instead, he took every hurtful word I flung at him like a pincushion, and just absorbed it. “It’s good to see you again,” he said after a long silence.
Fury flooded me. Why was I here? Why had he made me come back here, if not to explain? “Are you ever going to give me answers about what happened? Or are you thinking we’re going to just start from here?” I finally asked him. “What was your plan once you got me up here, Dad?”
He stared at me for a long minute across the table, his silver eyebrows lowering as he thought. He looked so much like the man I’d worshipped as a kid—his hair more grey, his face more drawn—but my hero was still in there, and I had to fight with the memories I had of him to remember all the years that had come since. He wasn’t my hero. He’d sent me away. “I don’t really have a plan, Harp. I just wanted a chance. To know you.”
“You had a chance,” I whispered. “You had years of chances. You stayed away.”
He dropped his eyes then, and I saw pain flash across his face. I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me, and I waited for him to speak. But after a few minutes, he seemed to get control of his emotions again, and he just raised his eyes and smiled. “I’m just glad you’re here. Maybe we’ll find our way.”
I’d huffed and eaten the rest of my meal in silence. I might have spent years shoveling money at the best yoga teachers in New York City, but Dad had mastered some kind of guru-level passivity right here in Kings Grove. “Put aside your anger and frustration,” my yoga teacher used to say in her soothing voice. “And focus on the energy that comes with calm, with peace.” Dad had mastered his calm energy.
I, on the other hand, had gotten home full of all kinds of energy, and none of it was even close to calm.
I changed out of my work clothes and pulled on leggings and a sports bra, then proceeded to bound up and down the stairs forty or fifty times, trying to wear out the anger inside me. Why had he sent me away? Why hadn’t he visited me? Why hadn’t I ever gotten to come back to Kings Grove until now? What had gone on between him and my mom and why wouldn’t either of them just tell me?
Finally, I collapsed onto the sofa, sweat running down my face. I sat there for a long time, forcing my mind to still, forcing my anger to ebb back to a manageable level.
As night darkened the sky beyond my windows and made the air in the house feel close and alien, I shivered. This was the part of being alone I didn’t like, and it didn’t help that I was too frozen in my spot on the couch to run around turning on all the lights I usually put on at night. Darkness and loneliness combined with whatever long-shoved-away feelings seeing my father had stirred up and I began to worry I might never get up again, might just melt into an obscure puddle on this couch. There weren’t many people who’d notice at this point.
I’d hit a low point. I knew it, recognized it for what it was. I also knew these were the times I was vulnerable to my own negative thoughts and that things wouldn’t get better if I didn’t stand up and march forward. (Thank you yoga and therapy.) But I also knew there was a sense of comfort in the familiar misery, and sometimes it was hard to force myself out of it even if it seemed obvious that movement would make things better. The clock on the wall over the fireplace ticked toward eight o’clock. When it got there, I told myself, I’d stand up and find a path forward.
I stared at the clock’s face as my last three minutes of self-pity ebbed and flowed around me, and when the long hand hit twelve, I stood, feeling weak and uncertain. I made a circle of the room, turning on lights one at a time until the too-big space glowed with reassuring light. I switched the television on, smiling when I foundQueer Eye, and set the volume low. I brewed a cup of herbal tea and settled on the floor next to the coffee table with my back against the couch.
This became my routine pretty much every night for a week, and as the days passed, filled with work and learning the ropes at the inn, I began to dread the evenings. I’d wander the house, drink tea, and occasionally stare out at the little fire pit in front of Cam’s, trying to keep myself from wandering out just for the company. And because I was attracted to him.
But a week of solitude was about all I could take, and one night when I’d exhausted my supply ofQueer Eyeepisodes, I stood and walked to the window in the kitchen, peering out toward the little house behind mine. I could see the glow from Cam’s fire pit, and before I could think better of it, I shrugged on a big sweater and some boots and pushed out the front door. I was tired of feeling lonely and sorry for myself. Cam might not have invited me, exactly, but he had said he was there if I needed anything. And right now I needed company.
* * *
As soon asI was within the circular glow of Cam’s fire, I began to feel like rushing out here to alleviate my own loneliness might have been a mistake. His chin was low on his chest, his dark eyes fixed on the flames, and his mind might have been on a different planet entirely. He didn’t look up as I approached, even though I purposely shuffled my feet a bit as I neared, letting him know I was there. I doubted the guy carried a gun or anything, but he looked just dangerous enough in general that he wasn’t someone I wanted to sneak up on.
I hesitated, wrapping my arms around myself, an unfamiliar uncertainty sweeping through me.
What was I doing?
