Page 22 of Peaches & Pistols

I take a step back from her, trying to give her space. I’m not a huge guy, but if my instincts are correct, I need to be aware of her sense of safety.

As if the fight flees from her body, she crumples to my couch in a heap of physical and emotional exhaustion.

I’m not uncomfortable with silence; I prefer it most of the time. I set the phone beside her on the couch and take a seat at the other end of the sectional.

“I didn’t grow up with much.” Her voice is so small, I have to lean in.

“The things we had were temporary, or conditional. Before I met him, I’d never had a phone, let alone a car. But he showered me with gifts.” Her delicate voice cracks, my cold heart along with it.

“As soon as we were married, not only did the gifts stop…he took them all back. He made me feel independent and connected to the world, just to pull the rug from under my feet and prove how powerless I was.”

I’m still waiting on some searches to come back, but Mia’s confirmed one of my many suspicions about her past, and I don’t like it one bit.

“I hope you can understand it’s difficult for me to trust that you’re doing these things for me out of the kindness of your heart, with no strings attached.” Her deep blue eyes are pools of sorrow, placid and lightless.

“I don’t do anything out of the kindness of my heart. At least not for anyone other than family. I’m offering you space in my home, reliable transportation and communication, solely for my benefit.” Her brows crinkle, suspicion and confusion rolled into one.

“I can’t run the store without knowing Harper’s safe and cared for. In order for you to do your job, you need these things. You don’t know me, you don’t trust me yet, and that’s fine. But there aren’t any strings for you to get tangled up in. You could skip town with the phone and the car tomorrow and the only way I’d be affected would be needing to interview for a new nanny.”

I don’t mean for it to sound like she’s replaceable or invaluable. But I need to impress upon her how serious I am about never holding these gifts, job perks, whatever the fuck she wants to think of them as, over her head.

“Use the car to take care of my daughter, your daughter, and yourself. Use the phone to stay safe and connected to me, and my family. I programmed everyone’s numbers into your contacts; everyone at the ranch, my sister, the store, the school, even Harper’s doctor.”

We sit in silence, nothing left to say, but neither of us willing to bend. I refuse to allow Mia or Everly to be unsafe for a millisecond under my watch. I don’t want to come across like whatever piece of shit hurt her, but I’m not giving her a choice in the matter of her safety.

“Okay.” Her weak acceptance, just a whisper, is enough.

Not wanting to crowd her, I give a tight nod and head back downstairs to the store.

Those reports I’ve been waiting on had better be ready because I’m tired of speculating about what happened to the golden angel upstairs.

“Daddy, have you seen my purple Sparkle Time unicorn?”

“Is it in the toy box?”

“No!”

Apparently, time can stand still until Harper finds this goddamn horse toy.

“Harp, we’ve got to go. We don’t have time for this.”

Her deep brown eyes are backlit with mounting fury. Not only do we not have time to find the toy, but we also don’t have time for a meltdown.

“Where did you see it last?”

“Me and Everly were playing with it while you were at work this morning while Miss Mia got ready,” Harper whines.

I’ve kept the hell away from Mia’s bedroom, for her privacy and my sanity. I know she lets Harper play in there because it’s also Everly’s room, and if going in for a hot second to get the toy will get this show on the road, I’ll have to forego permission and ask for forgiveness.

“Try to use the bathroom and put on your shoes. I’ll go check for the horse.”

“Unicorn, Daddy!”

Yea, yea. What’s the fucking difference? Being a girl dad is a practice in humility; accepting I don’t know a goddamn thing and probably never will.

The doorknob to Mia’s room laughs in my face. This is my fucking house, I have every right to enter that room. With a mental slap to the face, I turn the knob and stride into the room to find this useless purple piece of plastic.

It’s sitting nicely on the windowsill, next to several of its rainbow-colored companions. But it’s not the rescued toy I’m focusing on.