Page 34
The Armstrong farm wore the final weeks of summer like it had nowhere else to be. Cottonwoods gathered thick along the bend where the land gave way to a narrow stream — slow-moving, clear enough to reveal the smooth stones lining the bottom. Every now and then, a breeze stirred through the trees, setting the leaves whispering overhead and rippling the surface just enough to catch the light, turning the water into shifting patterns of gold and green and shadow.
Smoke from the barbecue curled up through the branches, carrying the rich scent of grilled meat and sweet corn, mingling with the earthy tang of river water and sun-warmed grass. The kids took turns launching themselves over the swimming hole on a homemade zip line strung between the trees, each jump marked by a happy whoop that echoed through the trees before ending in a clean, satisfying splash.
Just a lazy Sunday afternoon with a group of friends before school started. Oliver and Sunny. Nate and Bella. Ruth. Him. And the kids.
Except the conversation had taken a decidedly nasty turn.
To Felicity.
She’d been seen in Fitzpatrick’s. Regularly.
Flirting. Playing pool. Drinking.
And leaving with two different men.
Ronan frowned slightly, more at himself than the words being tossed around. He had no claim on her. No right to care what she did, or who she left with. But her behavior felt like a betrayal.
And yet—
There had been something about her that morning he caught her sleeping in his home. A flicker of vulnerability she hadn’t quite managed to hide.
It was what had made him press the key into her hand without thinking. Trust her with his space.
Trust her.
His jaw tightened.
“I think there’s more to Deputy Graham than meets the eye,” Oliver said, easy but thoughtful. “We’ve all got backstories. I’d wager hers is a helluva one.”
“I just don’t like her,” Bella muttered. “There’s something … off.”
Ruth huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s not exactly evidence of wrongdoing.”
“I’m serious. One minute she’s a detective in Denver — high up, from what I heard — and the next she’s a lowly deputy out here?” Bella shook her head. “Something happened. Bet she had an affair— damn.” She flicked an apologetic glance toward Ruth and Ronan. “Sorry.”
Ronan lifted his bottle and took a slow swallow — more to give himself something to do than anything else.
Disappointment sat heavier than it should.
At his late wife.
At Felicity.
At himself.
And Bella wasn’t done. “Come on, Law. Other than my brother — and that’s only because he’s her boss — you’ve had the most to do with her.”
His gaze sharpened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bella held his stare. “We all know she left Fitzpatrick’s with you the night after Harlan’s funeral.”
Fuck. Ronan set his bottle down with deliberate care and looked at her from beneath lowered brows. “That had nothing to do with you, Bella.” His voice stayed even, but there was steel under it now. “And I’d suggest you tread carefully. You’ve already admitted you don’t know Felicity, so you don’t get to judge her.” He gave it a beat before adding, quieter, “As Oliver said, there’s more to her than meets the eye.”
Bella didn’t back down. “Is she why you moved here?”
“Bella,” Ruth cut in. “That’s enough.”
“Why?” Bella shot back. “He doesn’t need to get mixed up with a woman like Felicity Graham.” Her lip curled. “He’s too decent for the likes of her.”
