Chapter Five
River
––––––––
At four o'clock, River shut down the computer she used to make the reservations. Surprisingly, she made reservations for the upcoming week and as far out as Labor Day.
Phil walked into the cabin and tapped his watch. "Your shift is over and mine is starting."
"You work too much." She smiled, knowing her boss enjoyed working at the campground. "I shut off the computer."
Phil stayed until eight o'clock in case any of the campers ran out of toilet paper or wanted to buy bug spray, and then he locked up the cabin until seven o'clock in the morning. Her new hours were nine to four; unlike in the kitchen, she'd only work four days a week instead of five or six.
The pay was different. Though she had fewer hours, she'd bring home the same amount of money, and she wondered if Zane had something to do with her getting paid more at the campground.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. UPS dropped off a few packages, and I put them in the office. I wasn't sure if they were supplies and I should open them or if they were personal." She pushed the chair under the desk.
"Any deliveries here can be opened and put up on the shelves. If you don't know where something belongs, you can ask me when you see me." Phil took out the cash drawer from the register. "You were busy."
"Yeah." She inhaled deeply, satisfied with her day. "Is it always like that, or just because it's my first day and the first day of the season?"
Phil laughed. "It'll get busier. The Fourth of July will have you rethinking wanting to work here."
"By then, I hope to be more confident in the job I can do," she said.
"You're doing fine." Phil met her gaze. "You did real good on your first day."
She smiled. "Thanks."
She gathered her backpack and left the cabin as two campers came in looking for lighter fluid for their campfire. Hefting her pack over her shoulders, she set out on the worn path through the woods that would take her to the bar. From there, she could walk to the house or go up the hill about five hundred yards to the clubhouse. Beyond the clubhouse were ten cabins used by the motorcycle club—they were off-limits to her per Zane and Kingsley orders.
She headed home, and once again, all her thoughts went to Zane. She hadn't seen him for a few days after running into him on her first day of work, the morning after they fooled around.
Despite her staying up late to watch for him, he hadn't returned to the garage apartment until after she'd fallen asleep. Or maybe he hadn't returned and stayed at the clubhouse instead.
A sinking feeling settled in her stomach, imagining him staying there because women would sleep with anyone. She'd heard the talk at the bar. Sex was easy to find if you wore the patch.
At the door, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen. Cell reception was spotty on the mountain, but she'd found the best signal was five feet from the door if she faced the bar. Two weak signals came through. Holding the phone steady, she checked her inbox. Besides a few sales advertisements, there was nothing there.
She'd posted messages to her sister on the internet. There was a Facebook group that catered to the area where she last lived. Also, she paid for a classified ad that was in the paper and online in St. Maries, their hometown, where they lived with their dad. But so far, her sister hadn't contacted her.
It was a long shot, but it was all she could do without hiring a private detective.
Kenna had no idea where River was, if she had a phone, or if she was looking to be found.
She opened the door and walked inside. Halfway up the stairs, she heard a noise. She stopped, careening her head to hear what it was that had got her attention when a thunk came from upstairs.
She ran up the rest of the steps and almost collided with Kingsley, who was coming out of a bedroom holding a motorcycle helmet.
He grabbed her arms, stopping her from plowing into him. "Whoa. Slow down."
"Sorry." She hitched her backpack higher. "I thought you were Zane."
Kingsley let her go. "Not many people get us confused."
While the Stafford men appeared similar in build and good looks, their personalities made them different. Kingsley was quiet and rarely smiled. There was an intensity that made him mysterious.
Zane—while he never walked around grinning, he communicated better, making him the easier brother to get along with. He was more approachable, probably because he had a motorcycle club to run.
"Is he here?" She looked behind her, expecting him to pop out of his room.
This was their childhood house. Their father, who was in prison, raised his sons here. It was beautiful, big, and well taken care of. As adults, they both should be comfortable sleeping in their own space. Instead, they chose to live in the garage apartment, leaving her in the house alone.
"No." Kingsley thrust his hand in his hair. "Zane's at the clubhouse."
"Oh."
"Do you need him for something?"
She chewed the inside of her cheek. She needed Zane for everything, but that was hard for someone else to understand.
"No." She swallowed heavily, changing the subject. "I don't work in the kitchen anymore."
"You don't say," he murmured.
"Zane's put me in the cabin at the campground." She held up her hand. "Now I'm typing with these fingers instead of washing dishes."
Kingsley's expression hardened, and he grabbed her wrist, bringing her closer and studying the back of her fingers. She pulled her arm, wanting to hide her hand.
He ran the pad of his thumb over the brown mark on the knuckle of her ring finger. "Kenna has the same mark."
She pulled her hand out of his grasp and rubbed her fingers as if to rid herself of the birthmark. "Hers is on the—"
"Middle finger." Kingsley backed away. "Sorry about grab—"
"What the fuck is going on here?" Zane approached them. "What did you do?"
Kingsley held up his hands and shook his head. "Slow your roll, brother. I was only talking to River."
"What the hell are you doing in the house?"
She slipped her hand into Zane's hand. "This is his house."
"Not while you're living here," he blurted.
She shook her head. "That's not right."
The two brothers never even glanced at her. The way they stared at each other made her uncomfortable. If Zane had a problem with Kingsley being in the house while she stayed here, she could fix that problem.
"I can move out and—"
"You're not going anywhere." Zane put his hand on the back of her neck and looked at his brother. "She was gone all day. You could've come over when she was at work."
"I came home, showered, and needed to grab my helmet. I'm riding out and will be going over the state line." Kingsley lifted the helmet as if to prove his story. "I got some information I want to follow up on."
"Club business?" asked Zane.
Kingsley glanced at River and shook his head. "A bar owner in Billings thinks he hired Kenna a few months ago. I want to check it out."
Goosebumps broke out on River's arms. She grabbed Zane in excitement. Through the years, Kingsley had gone away many times, searching for Kenna, and always came back empty-handed.
It'd been almost a year since she'd heard anything about Kenna from the two brothers.
"Is she there?" Her heart raced. "Do you think it's her?"
"I don't know anything until I go check it out." Kingsley's gaze softened. "If I learn of anything solid, I'll call Zane. He can pass the info to you."
"Thank you." She swallowed. "Thank you so much."
She would never be whole until her sister was back in her life. Bouncing around from one foster home to another, she never set down roots long enough to trust any of the foster parents to ask their help in finding Kenna—besides, she'd held her promise to Kenna.
She hadn't talked about her dad to anyone, not even Zane or Kingsley.
"Will you be back by Sunday?" asked Zane.
Kingsley's brows lowered. "If I ride straight there and back, I could probably make it to the visitation but—"
"Don't push yourself. I can go by myself to talk to Dad." Zane clasped Kingsley's hand. "Watch your back. Stay alert."
The second Kingsley left them, she stepped before Zane and threw her arms around his waist. No matter what happened between her and Zane, she was thankful for the Stafford brothers.