Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
FORD
We watched in silence as Harvey followed Edgar out, neither of them speaking in words, though the looks they shared did plenty of talking.
“What do you think they know?” I asked Griffen.
He gave Hope a squeeze before he shifted his weight and stood, bringing her to her feet along with him. “My guess is they know more than they’re saying, but I don’t think they know where Sarah and Paul are.”
“That’s the read I got too,” I agreed.
“Paige,” Hope asked, “do you think something happened to them?”
Paige gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t want to, but I’m starting to wonder if that’s the only sensible answer.”
“I don’t like it,” I said. “But I agree.”
“I don’t like it either,” Hope said. “I’d rather imagine her neglectful and thoughtless than the alternative.” She shuddered.
“Me too,” Paige whispered. “Especially for my father. My mother was a miserable person, and I was just an idea. I could see being in love”—her eyes flicked to me, then back to Hope—“and losing his head. But to never show up again? That’s pretty crappy.
I’d still rather he was a bad father and a selfish husband than…
” She fell silent, clearly not wanting to put the other option into words.
None of us wanted to think that. I was firmly on her team. I’d much rather imagine my mother enjoying life somewhere—careless, selfish, gone. But alive.
“Look,” Griffen said, “we’re not going to get any answers on this today.”
“It feels like the more people we talk to, the more questions we have,” I said.
“Agreed,” Griffen said. “For now, let’s just enjoy Sunday dinner. Maybe tomorrow, Cooper’s people will have dug something up on Paul Williams. Without that, I’m not sure where we look next.”
“I—” Paige started to say, then stopped.
“What are you thinking?” Hope asked, leaning into Griffen’s side, her arm around his waist.
Paige shook her head. “I’m not ready to say,” she said, swirling her finger in the air. “I need to let things percolate a little more. I might have an idea, but it might be nothing at all.” She looked up to me. “I’m up for just enjoying Sunday dinner and worrying about the rest of this tomorrow.”
So that was what we did. As we’d been reminded since I’d found those letters in Paige’s drawer, Sarah and Paul had been missing for over thirty years.
Another day, another week, another month wouldn’t make much of a difference.
Our impatience to solve the mystery didn’t change a thing, especially since it didn’t seem like there was that much to find.
Sunday dinner was more family-style and less formal than usual, right down to the meal.
Finn had made big pans of lasagna, bruschetta on fresh-baked bread, and crisp Caesar salad.
With the kids in the dining room with us, the atmosphere was light and loud.
Everyone lingered after the meal. Miss Martha—and to my surprise, Uncle Edgar—talked the kids into a board game, roping in Tenn and Scarlett.
Hope and Griffen disappeared with Stella, and Paige and I took advantage of her evening off to hide away in my room.
It was less cozy than Paige’s. To be honest, if invited, I would have ditched my room in favor of moving in with her.
But given that we were just across the hall and had only been together a short time, maybe that was jumping the gun.
It didn’t feel like it. The idea of spending a night apart from Paige was intolerable.
I’d never felt like this with a woman before—not just attracted to her, but as if she was necessary.
When I could see her, touch her, even if just to hold her hand, everything was brighter and more alive.
“Are you going to do anything with this room?” she asked as I shut the door behind me.
I looked around, reminded again how much more welcoming her space was—not just because of the furniture, rugs, and artwork Savannah had hung, but the way Paige had settled in and made it her own.
In contrast, I had a beat-up wooden desk with a chair, a full-size bed without a head or footboard, and an old couch.
Yeah, Savannah definitely hadn’t been happy I was coming back to Heartstone Manor.
I understood. While I’d never been a jerk to her or Miss Martha, I hadn’t been particularly friendly either, treating Savannah like the daughter of the help when I was younger.
Savannah, like almost everyone else, had been loyal to Griffen.
I’d hurt a lot of people when I’d gotten him exiled.
At the time, I hadn’t understood the ripple I’d create.
In my head, I’d thought all of it would be temporary.
Griffen shoved out so I could have a little of our father’s attention for a while, so I could be number one.
And then, somewhere in my immaturity and inexperience, I thought things would just mend themselves.
Griffen would come back, and everything would work out.
Somehow, I thought I’d still be top dog and Griffen would be second to me.
None of it had happened the way I’d imagined, because I’d been a tool, the great Prentice Sawyer manipulating me for his own ends like he did with everyone else.
“I don’t know if I’ll fix up my room,” I said to Paige, pushing away the reminder of all the things I’d fucked up. “I guess it just feels—” I shrugged. “Temporary. I wasn’t living here when I was arrested for shooting Prentice. I’d moved into a suite at the Inn.”
“Heartstone wasn’t big enough for the two of you to share?” she asked, her voice heavy with humor.
“It should have been,” I said honestly. “But no, it wasn’t. I needed to get away. The Inn at Sawyers Bend always felt like a second home. I moved in one day, intending to stay a few days while my rooms here were repainted, and I never left.”
“What about now?” she asked, crossing the room, stopping in front of me to slide her arms around my waist. She tipped her head back and looked up, her pale blue eyes lit from within, filled with welcome.
I wrapped my arms around her. “I don’t know.
It feels too soon to make any big decisions.
But for me, this room still feels temporary.
I’m hoping that down the road I’ll find something more permanent.
” I lifted my hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, stroking her soft skin with one fingertip.
“But I don’t want to rush anything. I don’t want to rush you,” I said, cupping her cheek in my hand and lifting her face.
I kissed her, falling into the feel of her soft lips against mine, the heat of her mouth, the stroke of her tongue—a taste that was only Paige, my Paige.
Her arms rose, her fingers sinking into my hair.
She kissed me back, so filled with want.
We were on the same page there. The more I touched her, the more I needed.
I slid my hands under the back of her shirt, feeling the silk of her skin, and undid the clasp of her bra.
Leaning back, I cupped her breasts, sliding my thumbs over the points of her nipples, breaking the kiss and running my lips along her jaw, sucking the point behind her ear that made her shiver.
“Ford,” she said, stepping back, reaching for my arm to pull me toward the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, sliding her shirt over her head along with her bra.
I moved to scoop her into my arms, nipping the side of her neck just enough to make her squirm, planning to toss her on the bed and lunge after her so I could pin her down and strip off the rest of her clothes—
Glass shattered, and in a split second, all ideas of stripping Paige naked evaporated. Instead, I landed on top of her on the mattress, spread my body to cover her, shielding her from whatever had broken the glass.
I scanned the room frantically. The window was broken. How the fuck was the window broken? We were on the second floor. My eyes focused. The upper left pane of the center window was a gaping hole, shards of glass scattered over every surface in the room. “Stay still,” I said.
“What? Stay still?” she said, her words muffled by my shoulder, her voice strained with fear. “You’re smushing me. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I rolled slightly to look over my shoulder, and after a second, I saw the neat hole in the desk drawer. “I think someone tried to shoot me.”
Her voice was panicked. “What? How?”
It was night. We had the lights on in here. I couldn’t see a thing through the dark window, and whoever was out there could probably see us perfectly.
Could see Paige. With me. Perfectly. Fuck.
I couldn’t do anything about the overhead light without putting myself in danger, so I left it.
“I need to call Hawk and Griffen,” I said quietly.
“Slide over to the edge of the bed. We’re going to hide underneath.
” Aware I needed to get Paige out of sight, fast, we edged to the side of the bed.
I risked sitting up just enough to nudge Paige down.
She dropped to the floor, leaving a red smear across the white duvet that stopped my heart. She was bleeding?
“I’m under,” she said.
“You’re bleeding,” I growled, unable to hold back my panic. I followed her under the bed, finally getting my phone out and dialing Griffen.
“Yeah,” he answered.
I filled him in, using my free hand to examine Paige for injury, the tight space and darkness making it nearly impossible to see where she was hurt.
“Single shot?” he asked.
“As far as I can tell,” I said.
“All right. I’m going to get Ryder’s team mobilized. I’m thinking long-range sniper. One of the trees—” His voice cut off. Then, “Wren can track almost anyone. Stay there until we come get you.”
I pulled Paige farther under the bed, shifting so my back was to the rest of the room and Paige was against the wall, as safe as I could make her until rescue arrived.
Turning on the flashlight on my phone, I ran it over her, seeing the long slices on her bare arms and shoulders, with dots of red scattered across her chest. Flashes of light caught the beam from my phone.
Glass shards had flown into the room when the bullet hit the window, slicing into Paige.
She lifted her top arm, turning it in the light. “It doesn’t really hurt, Ford. They aren’t deep.”
Her denial sent burning rage coursing through me, followed by the ice of fear. So close. She’d been way too close to that bullet. She could have been killed just for being close to me.
I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” I said slowly. “But I’m starting to think we may need to consider a safe house.”
“I thought you said you weren’t leaving Heartstone,” she said.
“Not for me,” I said. “For you.”