15 Summers Later

Chapter 7

In our pursuit of help, we find allies who listen to our harrowing tale, their eyes mirroring a mixture of disbelief and compassion.

—Ghost Lake by Ava Howell Brooks

He was treading on dangerously thin ice here.

He studied Madison in the streetlight, skin glowing and hair still slightly damp from dancing.

She looked lovely and fragile, with her mouth permanently frozen on one side, and he fought the sudden fierce urge to tuck her against him and protect her.

It was a battle he fought often, whether that was in the office when a wounded dog tried to lash out or sitting in a town hall meeting with her as she tried to persuade local politicians that a no-kill shelter would only benefit the community over the long haul.

He had learned a long time ago that Madison Howell didn’t want him—or anyone—to protect her. She wielded her independence like a Valkyrie with a sword.

He had seen her wounded, so pale he wasn’t sure she was still alive. He had seen her bandaged and hooked up to machines. He had seen her crying in pain and frustration from the physical and occupational therapy necessary for her to come back from a serious brain injury.

He wondered if she had ever been as vulnerable and exposed as she was now, since her sister had written about their experience in the mountains fifteen years ago.

He wanted to protect her, which was why he struggled for a long moment with how best to answer her heated question about whether he had read Ava’s book.

If he told the truth, that he had read every single word more than once, Madi would be furious and see it as one more betrayal.

If he lied, she would immediately know he wasn’t being honest with her. She had an unerring radar about those kinds of things. They had been friends long enough that she knew him well. He could never successfully deceive her.

He finally decided the truth was his only option.

“She sent me, Mom and Nicki each an advanced copy of the book.”

“I know that. We talked about it. She sent you the...last few chapters so you could read about what happened with you and...and your d-dad.”

Her words tangled, as they sometimes did when she battled fatigue or emotional turmoil.

Still, he could feel the pain spasming through him, the flash of memory of his good, honorable father lying in the dirt, his features pale, blood seeping through his shirt where he had been shot.

“She didn’t only send us the final chapters,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. Clouds shifted over the moon and he could see her clearly, her green eyes murky and her mouth twisted into a frown. “She sent us the entire thing. I don’t think Nicki has read it yet. Mom has. She read it right away.”

“Why...why didn’t Nicki tell me? Or your mom? They should have t-told me. You should have told me.”

He couldn’t blame her for feeling betrayed. He would feel the same, in her shoes.

“It took me a while to bring myself to read it from the beginning, especially because I know the ending all too well. I finally read it right before it was released. I have to say, Ava is one hell of a storyteller.”

He knew he was only adding kindling to the fire of her temper but he couldn’t continue keeping the truth from her.

She glared at him. “How could you? Especially when you know how I feel about it.”

“I did not know how you felt until the book came out and started gaining traction,” he pointed out. “For most of the past six months, you’ve been ignoring the topic of Ava’s book, if you’ll recall. You were quick to change the subject every time anybody brought it up. I’m sure you were hoping it would all go away.”

“Okay, yes. I’ll admit to some degree of magical thinking. Can you blame me?”

“No,” he said, his voice soft. “I can’t blame you.”

“Most of the time, I don’t even think about it. I can go days without remembering. But now that Ava has written her book, I can’t go an hour without being reminded. I hate it.”

“Oh, Madi.” His heart ached for the pain in her voice.

“I don’t only hate being forced to relive it, over and over. I hate that now everyone else knows what happened to us. I see them judging me. Seeing me as only that poor girl whose dad dragged her and her sister into a survivalist cult and tried to marry them off to men three times their age.”

He hated that part, too, thinking about how desperate and frightened she and Ava must have been through their whole ordeal.

Reading Ghost Lake had been a torturous exercise for that alone, for the simmering fury that made him want to punch a hole through his drywall, even as he found the words and the story profoundly moving, even humorous at times.

He took her hands in his, feeling the weakness in her left hand compared to the other one. “No one who knows you sees you as anything other than a strong, capable woman who did everything she could to escape her circumstances.”

After a moment, she pulled her hands away. “That book is ruining everything. Now it’s even wrecking my love life. Ryan would have been perfect for a summer fling.”

In the past, he had found her and Nicki’s penchant for choosing guys in town only for the short term rather amusing. When had it started to bother him so much?

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

She made a face. “How can it be anything other than lousy?”

He chose his words carefully, aware he was on shaky ground here. He certainly couldn’t tell her the idea of her picking another seasonal guy this summer had started to make him feel slightly rabid.

He had absolutely no right to comment on her dating patterns, he reminded himself. He was her employer and her friend. That was all.

“You said yourself how busy you are right now with getting the animal rescue off the ground. You’ve got plenty on your plate. A new guy might be too much of a distraction.”

She blew out a breath that ruffled her hair. “I know. You’re right. That’s what I’ve been telling myself, t-too. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She slid into her car before he could answer.

“On that note,” she said, “I should go home and check on the new kitten. What time are you picking me up in the morning to take care of Paul Lancaster’s sheep?”

She sounded less than enthused at the prospect, which didn’t surprise him. Paul was a crotchety son of a gun who exhibited little patience and even less gratitude.

“You really don’t have to go with me. I can drag Sierra into helping out.”

“I’ll go. What time?”

“We said eight. That way we can be done by ten or ten thirty, which would still give us time to grab an omelet at the Fern Fir, if you want.”

“I don’t think I have time for that. My day is packed. But I’ll help you with the sheep. I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good night.”

She closed her door and started up her small SUV. He watched until she drove out of the parking lot before climbing into his own pickup truck.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her as he drove toward the house he and Johanna had bought when they first moved back to Emerald Creek, a few blocks from the veterinary clinic.

He shouldn’t have danced with Madi. Even as he asked her, he had known it was a mistake, as if he were crossing some invisible barrier he had carefully maintained between them for the past few years. His own personal Maginot Line.

They were friends. That was all. Or so he told himself, anyway.

Their families were close, almost tighter than the Gentrys were with actual relatives. His mother adored her and she was his sister’s best friend and his daughter’s close confidante.

Since the moment she and her sister had stumbled onto their camp fifteen years earlier, theirs had been an unbreakable bond, forged through shared trauma from the events of that day that others could never understand.

If lately he had begun to wonder if perhaps his feelings toward Madi had begun to grow into something else, something far more than he ever expected, that was his problem to handle.

He would never risk damaging that bond between them by expecting more than she wanted to give.