Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
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My heart had stopped dead in my chest. Those sea-green eyes, the high cheekbones, even the way she held herself. She was a gangly, adolescent version of Mama Flo. The longer I stared at the girl in front of me, the more I saw Ford.
Her father.
Jesus.
“Do you know him?” The kid’s voice wavered, uncertainty creeping in to replace that brief show of bravado. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her jacket, and I watched her swallow hard, like she was fighting back tears.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know him.” The words came out rough, like I’d swallowed sand. My tongue felt thick and useless in my mouth as I tried to process what I was seeing—this living, breathing piece of Ford standing right in front of me.
The usual buzz of conversation in the bar died. Heads turned our way—because everyone knew Ford Donoghue. He might have been gone for years, but his shadow still lingered here, especially at the bar where we’d practically grown up. And if I didn’t want this news spreading like wildfire across the island, making it to Ford’s moms before the kid could blink, I needed to get her the hell out of the public eye.
Swallowing hard against a throat that had gone dry as dust, I waved the girl around the end of the bar. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere a little more private to talk.” My heart hammered against my ribs as I tried to maintain an outward calm I definitely wasn’t feeling.
The kid was about to balk. I could see it in the way she rocked slightly in her black Chucks, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her backpack like she was ready to bolt for the door at any second.
I lowered my voice, leaning in just enough to keep the conversation between us. “I’m guessing you don’t come from a small town. If you don’t want all your business all over the island before sunset, you’ll want to take this back to my office.” God knew how fast gossip traveled here—especially anything that had even the remotest hint of scandal. A daughter no one knew existed definitely qualified as that.
Sawyer materialized at my elbow, protective as always. “Everything okay here?” His steady presence was both reassuring and complicated, given how close he and Ford had always been.
I cut my eyes toward him, a silent plea. His gaze shifted to the girl, and I watched understanding dawn across his features. The same shock I felt was written all over his face—this kid was unmistakably Ford’s.
“She’s looking for Ford?” Willa’s voice was barely a whisper behind him, thick with the same disbelief I was struggling with.
“Yeah.” I touched the girl’s shoulder, gentle, not wanting to spook her more than she already was. “Let’s head back to my office.” Where I could figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with this bomb that had just been dropped in my lap.
The kid’s gaze darted between the three of us, wariness creeping into her expression. Smart girl. I’d have been suspicious too, walking into a bar full of strangers, looking for someone who might not even want to be found.
“I’m Bree Cartwright. I own the place.” I gestured to the others, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. “This is Sawyer Malone and his wife, Willa. They’re old friends of your—of Ford’s.” The word caught in my throat, but I pushed past it.
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction, some of the tension easing from her jaw. Good. Trust was important right now, especially given how young and vulnerable she looked standing there in her wrinkled hoodie and scuffed sneakers.
I guided her around the bar and through the door that led past the shiny row of brewing tanks toward my office, Sawyer and Willa trailing behind us like a protective detail. The weight of a dozen pairs of eyes pressed against my back, making my skin crawl with remembered anxiety. I knew what it was to be stared at. To be the unexpected surprise, the girl who showed up out of nowhere with a story no one quite believed. No matter what my beef with Ford, I’d do whatever I could to protect this kid from that.
My office wasn’t much—just a cramped space with a desk covered in invoices and a couple of chairs that had seen better days—but it beat having this conversation on the floor. I clicked the door shut behind us, blocking out the noise and curious eyes, grateful for even this small refuge from the weight of speculation I knew was already circulating through the bar.
The girl perched on the edge of one chair like a sparrow ready to take flight at the first sign of danger, while Willa claimed the other, Roy settling at her feet with a heavy sigh. The girl eyed him, and the dog gave a hopeful thump of his tail as he gazed up at her.
“He’s a big love muffin,” Willa explained.
The girl reached out a tentative hand toward Roy, letting him sniff her before he butted her hand for pets. The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she scritched behind his ears.
Sawyer leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, his presence oddly reassuring. I settled behind my desk, shuffling some papers to buy time to get my racing thoughts under control and tamp down the memories threatening to surface.
“What’s your name?” I kept my voice gentle, the way I used to speak to the scared strays that would show up behind Pop’s bar.
“Peyton Walsh.” The name came out barely above a whisper, her fingers twisting the frayed hem of her hoodie.
My chest tightened as I studied those features that were at once familiar and strange. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
I arched a brow, calling bullshit. The defiance in those sea-green eyes—so like Ford’s—flared, reminding me of another teenager who used to sit in my grandfather’s kitchen, full of that same stubborn pride.
“Well, I will be in two months,” she amended, lifting her chin in a gesture that was pure Donoghue.
My heart stuttered as I did the math. March. That meant… Jesus. That summer before Ford left for college. The summer Gwen Busby had disappeared. But who was her mother? I wracked my brain, trying to remember any girls Ford had been seeing then.
Had he known about this? The question rose like bile in my throat.
No. The answer came with absolute certainty, settling like a stone in my gut. Whatever Ford had done to me, whatever anger and hurt I still carried—and there sure as hell was plenty—I knew him down to his bones. If he’d known about this girl, she wouldn’t be standing here looking for him. He’d have been there, probably coaching tee ball and chaperoning school dances. It wasn’t in him to walk away from responsibility. That had been drilled into him by both his moms.
“Okay, you’re here to see your dad.” If I kept repeating it, it would get less weird. Right? “Where’s your mom?”
Pain flashed across Peyton’s face, raw and fresh, like a wound that hadn’t had time to scab over. “Gone.”
The single word had me pushing away from my desk and crouching down in front of her chair until we were at eye level. My knees protested the position, but I ignored them. “She left you?”
“Sort of.” Again Peyton’s fingers twisted in the hem of her oversized hoodie. “She died.”
Oh God . The words struck me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. This child. This poor child. No wonder she had that haunted look in her eyes.
“Oh, honey.” The words came out rough, choked with memories I usually kept locked away. “I’m so sorry.”
My hand moved of its own accord, covering her trembling fingers. She didn’t pull away, and something in my chest loosened at the tiny victory.
“I was eight when my mom died.” The admission slipped out before I could stop it, drawn from that deep well of shared pain. “I know what it feels like. That… emptiness. Like someone reached in and scooped out everything that made sense in the world. Like you’re just… drifting.”
Peyton’s eyes locked with mine, something desperate and hungry in their depths. The same look I’d had when social services was trying to figure out what to do with me. “What happened to you?”
“I ended up here. With my grandfather.” I squeezed her hand, feeling the slight tremors running through her willowy frame. “Pop—Ed—he took me in. Gave me a home. A family. Saved me, really.”
“Did you know him before?”
“No.” A sad smile tugged at my lips as I remembered that first awkward meeting, both of us terrified but trying not to show it. “Never even met him. But he chose me anyway.” And I’d never stop being grateful for that. Pop had been my anchor when everything else was chaos.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t have any other family. That’s why I came looking for… for him.”
The weight of what she wasn’t saying pressed against my chest. No other family meant foster care. Group homes. The system. Christ. I remembered that, too.
“How long?” I asked softly.
“Three months.” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay there anymore.”
The desperate need to run. To find something—someone—to hold on to. God, I remembered that feeling. It had driven me to try running away twice before social services found Ed.
“You’re safe here.” The promise came from somewhere deep in my soul, bypassing every single one of my carefully constructed walls. “Whatever happens next, we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”
A single tear tracked down her cheek. Impatient and faintly embarrassed, she swiped at it with her sleeve, but nodded.
Behind me, I heard Willa’s quiet sniffle. But I kept my focus on Peyton, on this girl who’d had her whole world ripped away, just like I had.
“Where are you from?” I kept my voice gentle, not wanting to spook her.
“Oregon.”
Shit. That was the other side of the continent. My stomach churned. “Who brought you here?”
Peyton’s gaze skittered away, fixing on the wall behind me. Her fingers twisted harder in her hoodie. The evasion spoke volumes.
“Did you come here on your own? All the way across the country?”
A bare nod.
Jesus Christ. My mind filled with every horrible scenario that could’ve befallen a thirteen-year-old girl traveling alone. Human trafficking. Assault. Robbery. The fact that she’d made it here in one piece was nothing short of miraculous.
“You’re very smart and brave to have managed that.” I congratulated myself for saying that instead of putting my head between my knees to wheeze through the what-if anxiety still coursing through my veins.
“Are you going to tell me where my dad is or not?” Steel crept back into her voice, that earlier vulnerability vanishing beneath a fresh shield of teenage bravado.
“He’s not here.” The words felt like rocks in my mouth.
The color drained from her face, leaving her already fair complexion ghostly pale. “Not here? Where is he?”
“He’s in the Navy. He just left the island this morning to go back.” I hated being the one to deliver this news, watching hope die in those eyes that were so much like Ford’s.
Pure panic flashed across her features. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, quick movements, and I recognized the early stages of hyperventilation. Her hands trembled at her sides, and she swayed slightly in the chair as if the floor had suddenly become unstable.
“It’s going to be okay.” I grabbed both her hands in mine. “We’re going to get him back for you. We’ve just got to let him know you’re here.” That you exist . The words echoed in my head. Ford had a daughter. A beautiful, brave, terrified daughter who’d crossed the country alone to find him.
“You’re friends?” Hope and desperation mingled in her voice.
“We used to be. A long time ago.” The words tasted like ashes in my mouth. “Just… give me a little bit.”
I jerked my head toward the hall, urging Willa and Sawyer out ahead of me. Quietly, I shut the door behind me, not wanting to spook the terrified teenager I’d left in my office. My heart was still hammering against my ribs, trying to process what was happening.
“Are we sure this is real?” Sawyer’s voice was low. “I mean, how do we know she’s really Ford’s kid?”
I fixed him with a look. “Take one good look at that kid and tell me she doesn’t look just like him.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah, okay. She’s like a teenage, female version of him.” Even his stance shifted uncomfortably as the reality fully sank in.
Willa’s brow furrowed, her analytical mind already working through the implications. “If her mother’s dead, someone had custody of her. They’re probably missing her right now.”
I could see where she was going with this, and I held up a hand, protective instincts I didn’t even know I had surging to the surface. “We aren’t contacting the police. Not yet. Not before Ford knows. By rights, this is his to deal with.” And something in the girl’s eyes told me there was more to her story than she was letting on.
Sawyer ran a hand through his sandy hair. “Want me to call him?”
Bless him. I could let him do it. I could offload this whole thing onto someone else’s shoulders. But then I thought of Peyton, of the fear and desperation in her eyes. I’d been where she was, lost and alone and aching for someone to give a damn. Doing anything else felt like abandoning her.
And I wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that.
I shook my head. “No. I’ll do it. Y’all want to head on back out front? See if you can do anything to head off the gossip train?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Willa squeezed my shoulder, her eyes full of empathy and warmth.
To buy myself another few minutes, I grabbed a Coke from the cooler and took it in to Peyton. The can was cold and slick against my palm, condensation already beading on the surface.
“Thanks.” Peyton’s voice was barely more than a whisper as she wrapped her fingers around the can.
“I’m just gonna go call your dad.” I hesitated for a moment, wanting to say more, to somehow reassure her that everything would be okay. But I didn’t make promises I couldn’t keep, so I just gave her a small smile and turned away.
I closed myself into Monty’s office down the hall. Unlike my own shoebox of a space, his was twice as large, with neat rows of filing cabinets and framed black and white prints of the island decorating the walls. A sleek computer perched atop the desk beside an ancient rotary phone that he’d picked up in an antique store to use as a paperweight. Weird, wonderful man.
I slumped back against his desk, took a deep breath, and pulled out my phone to dial a number I should have deleted years ago in order to break ten years of silence.