Bourbon Canyon Collection: Books 1-3

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Myles

“Myles, is that how you spell your name?” Wynter asked, pointing at the drawing of a fuzzy bear in the book I was reading to her.

“No, mine is spelled with a y.” I was perched on the edge of her bed, and she was rolled to her side, her stuffed ox, Bunyan, clutched in her arms and under her chin. I was reading one of her favorite books for the hundredth time since I’d been fostered by Mae and Darin Bailey.

The countdown was on. I would be eighteen and free to do a whole lot more once the clock struck midnight. I would go and take everything that was mine with me.

A few weeks after I first arrived, Darin Bailey had struck a deal with me. I could work for him for a paycheck if I promised to save it. And I had. I’d fucking saved. I’d worked my ass off.

And I wasn’t losing what I had. I’d been borrowing beds and couches for so long, I needed to be surrounded by my shit. To own something that was mine. The money in my account wasn’t a lot, but it’d get me farther than Bourbon Canyon, Montana. I had plans.

Pent-up fear pushed at the seams of my mind. Something bad was going to happen if I stayed too long. I would log in to my account tomorrow, and the money would be gone. Or the Baileys would blame me for something, anything, and I’d be that kid once again.

Sure, I’d been safe here for over two years. No one taking my money, no bouncing from home to home with nothing but a trash bag of donated clothing. But that was coming to an end, thanks to a specific birthday message I’d gotten earlier.

You’re legal. No more system. I’ll bust you out of that labor camp.

I had to go. On my own terms, or as much on my own terms as possible. And before the Baileys had to deal with a pile of shit because of me.

“Keep reading.” Wynter nudged the book with her little finger.

“You know every word, Frosty.”

She giggled like she did every time I used the nickname with her.

I had graduated in June, but if any of my old classmates could see me now, they wouldn’t believe it. I was reading to a six-year-old girl.

Wynter and her three older sisters had been fostered by the Baileys before I’d come to live with them, and while the other girls had been numb and weary from losing their parents in a car accident, Wynter had been loud and inconsolable.

One day, she’d been throwing a fit that had made me want to walk out of the house into a downpour and keep on going, but an old memory had driven me to grab a book and start reading.

Recollections of days when I didn’t know about death and drugs and foster homes had kept me reading.

With each word, a new memory arose. Pleasant ones.

Blissfully normal ones. So I had continued.

At first, I’d read to the empty air while she’d cried, and her sisters had fled the room.

The Bailey boys had been out working with their father.

I’d been wishing I was already eighteen and gone.

Mae had been busy in the laundry room. Maybe it was the lack of witnesses that had made me change my voice with the characters, but the effect had been astonishing.

She’d quieted down. When I’d finished another book, she’d gone to the room she shared with one of her sisters and brought out another. I’d read that one. Mae had peeked out, nearly collapsing with relief when she saw what was going on.

From then on, when Wynter had a tantrum, usually when it was storming, I was called in to read. When she couldn’t sleep, I read.

I turned the last page. As the final word rolled off my tongue, she blinked and rubbed her eyes.

“One more book?” She yawned.

Normally, I kept the limit to one, otherwise I’d be up to eighty books before I knew it. She asked anyway.

Tonight, I’d read one more. “How about the adoption one Mae got you?”

Her little lips turned down. “That one’s boring.”

I chuckled. Mae must’ve read it to her, to all the girls. “Your adoption’s soon, and Mae wants you to be ready.”

“I don’t know if I can call her Mommy,” she whispered, her brown eyes wide, like she was scared Mae would jump in and announce the adoption was off.

“Mae doesn’t care what you call her.” As far as foster parents went, Mae and Darin topped the list. Maybe if I’d gone to them first, I wouldn’t be the asshole I was now, a cocksucker to everyone but a girl who had cried like she knew my pain.

“Go on. Lie back and I’ll read it. You can dream about becoming Wynter Bailey. ”

“Wynter Bailey,” she murmured, frown still in place.

I read the book. By the time I was done with the story about a fox I’d read a hundred times, Wynter was asleep, her head turned and Bunyan escaping the crook of her arm.

I pulled her covers up. “Good night, Frosty.”

I shut the lamp off. Now that she was asleep, all I had to do was load my grocery bags full of all the clothing I owned in the world into the beater car Darin had given to me, and I’d be off. I’d drive all night until I hit Denver. Bigger city, more options. Easier to get lost.

I took one last look at the little girl who’d kept me from destroying my chances at yet another foster home. She’d made me feel useful. Worthwhile and productive.

Guilt tightened in a band around my chest. I wasn’t used to missing people or places, but leaving was harder than I’d expected.

I’d never see her or her sisters again, but her life was better without me in it.

The Baileys would raise her and her sisters like their own.

She’d have three big brothers to protect her. She didn’t need me.

“I’ll miss you,” I muttered to the dark room and turned to leave. When she woke, I’d be gone. I didn’t plan to return to Montana, and with a big family like this to grow up in, I doubt she’d ever leave. We’d never see each other again. “Enjoy your new family.”