Chapter 11
Noah
In my line of work, I’m trained to spot what’s out of place, to hunt suspicious behavior, or to see what others don’t. So when I spot Lily sitting on a bench out of the way from everything and petting Max, I almost choke on my mouthful of chili.
“You okay?” Morgan asks.
I nod and snatch a bottle of water off the table.
Paul Tate, Pinebrook’s sheriff, whacks me on the back as I aim to take a sip, but the water sloshes out and onto my plate of desserts instead.
I turn to regard him, and he gives me that boyish smile he’s known for.
Tate is all six-foot-three—three inches taller than me—with curly blond hair, and rich, earthy eyes that contrast his sharp facial features.
Especially his nose, which is slightly crooked from a break the year after high school, but when he smiles, those dimples on either side of his grin appear, causing most women in this town to drop their panties.
Except for Morgan. Probably the one woman he’d prefer to warm his bed won’t give him the time of day.
“Paul! Seriously, did you hit him hard enough?” Morgan glares at him, and Paul’s face falls.
I laugh. “It’s fine.” Then I turn my head to check if Lily is still there. She is.
I’d moved Max to beside the bench before eating, keeping him in my line of sight, but away from the young kids running all around the tables while they shoved donuts in their faces.
Since Max is a working dog, I stay prudent with him, knowing his strength and drive.
He’s not accustomed to so many little kids running and screaming.
So I gave him the command to sit and stay, and he’s been content to watch over the festivities from his spot.
Honestly, it hasn’t been that long, ten minutes tops.
I’d already determined I’d scarf down my chili, so he didn’t have to sit over there alone, and while I kept my eyes peeled for Lily during my parade about the booths with Tate, seeking her out to get a glimpse of those salt-colored eyes, I hadn’t expected her to be sitting next to Max willingly.
And Max, the traitor, he doesn’t sit for anyone else to pet him. Ever.
“That must be the new girl around here,” Tate says, tapping his knuckles on the table to garner my attention.
He squints, taking her in, and I know he sees what I see.
She’s different—there’s an edge to her, the way she carries herself with a secret defiance, like the world around her and its nonsense doesn’t matter to her.
Or maybe like she’s gathering in all the words to spill on paper—my mind flicks to the small book she had on her at the hospital.
Her bulky boots scuff against the sidewalk pavement, and I follow Tate’s gaze as he trails his eyes down her legs, enraptured by the dichotomy Lily seems to be.
My jaw tightens, heat prickling my nape as he continues his slow, appreciative stare. Each second makes something inside me whorl, tight and protective.
“That’s her. Kind of weird she’d pick Pinebrook to steam roll her way through,” Morgan says, and I catch her gaze flick back and forth between me and Lily.
I, however, don’t remove my eyes from where Lily’s hand scratches Max’s ears as I stand. “Yeah …” I absentmindedly answer.
Several strands of her loose waves have fallen into her face, and when Max’s tongue lolls out of his mouth in pure bliss, there’s a quick curve of her lips. Suddenly, I’m jealous of my own damn dog.
I don’t mean to startle her, but she doesn’t hear me approach. “Is this you not doing dogs?”
She jumps, yanking her hand from Max. Her wide bright eyes stare up at me, and I smile, happy that the expression I’ve elicited is one of surprise versus contempt.
For a woman I assume has walls erected around her, she’s fairly expressive—I wonder what other stories those eyes have held, and how I might know them.
When I move to sit next to her, the vulnerable shock on her face morphs into confusion and then annoyance. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
“Why?” She crosses her arms, much to Max’s dismay.
He huffs, then sneezes, and I snicker, but Lily seems less than thrilled.
“Figured you could use the company?” I raise the end of my statement like a question, and she raises her eyebrows in tandem.
I’ve watched her over the past hour. Saw her travel from booth to booth, sampling chili and taking her selections on her clipboard entirely too seriously. The common theme—she’s alone. Most everyone here has come with someone. Family. Friends. Co-workers. Not her, though.
And while it adds to the mystery of Lily Parker, it also bothers me. The fact I know she was alone on the trail that day all those weeks ago, by herself in the hospital, and now here. Is it intentional or circumstantial?
When she says nothing, I turn toward her, draping an arm across the back of the bench. “So what brings you to Pinebrook?”
She looks at me, her piercing gaze numbing my tongue from any follow-up questions about anything else.
“What’s it to you, Ranger?” She says it without animosity, but her fingers clench in her lap, turning white as she squeezes.
I shrug. “Curious.”
She snorts out a laugh, but it sounds genuine. Like the time in the diner, and for a moment pride swells somewhere deep within me. That is, until she doesn’t answer, and we continue to sit there in companionable silence.
“I think I’ve had my fill of chili,” I say, reaching for something, anything.
She smirks. “Yeah.”
Okay.
I’m feeling awkward, like a creep who won’t go away with her one-word answers. I’m not sure if I’m figuring her out or if it’s the weight of the responsibility I feel after her trail accident, but either way, I convince myself to keep trying.
Somewhere deep, the churning fear about my mother passing and leaving me alone echoes, and maybe … maybe I don’t want Lily’s predicament to become my own.
Maybe that’s why it bothers me so much that she’s alone.
“Didn’t come here with anyone?”
She gives me a quick glance over, and I wince realizing how that sounds.
“Nope.” She pops the P and shifts on the bench seat, looking out toward the tables.
I follow her line of sight, noticing Morgan watching us. When I meet her stare, she averts her gaze.
I sigh.
I’m about to give up, to push pause—no, temper my desire—on getting to know Lily. She doesn’t want me here. Max had better luck with this woman.
But then she speaks.
“Is your mom here?”
Her voice is softer than I’d expect, and her asking about my mother is shocking, but her tone carries this unguarded honesty that hits like a shot of adrenaline straight to my chest.
“No. She doesn’t get out much. Actually, that day we were in the diner was one of the few times we’ve opted to do something after her appointment.
It started as she was going through her intense chemo—the not getting out part.
We were worried about her getting sick since her body was so compromised.
Even after the chemotherapy stopped working, she never truly recovered that aspect of her life. ”
“So I was lucky then …” She trails off. Then seeing my confusion, adds, “Seeing her on a rare day out, I mean.”
I lean back, studying her. That’s an optimistic way to look at it, and definitely not something I’d have pictured based on her demeanor, or the book I happened upon in that hospital room.
“She’d be ecstatic to know you find meeting her lucky. You know she liked you? It’s been a while since people have looked at her like anything other than sick and dying.” I smirk, thinking how my mother would preen at the words Lily just offered me.
Lily turns to face me, the brightness in her irises blurring any and all thoughts. “Sounds like she’s lucky to have you, Ranger.”
I shrug. “Too bad I can’t have her thinking that about her nurses.
The woman simply won’t keep a nurse. She keeps on firing them or yelling at her doctor, refusing his advice for hospice.
” Removing my hand from the back of the bench, I lean forward, my thighs spread, making them the perfect spot to rest my forearms.
I’m not sure when this conversation got so heavy, and I’m not sure why talking to Lily about it makes me feel better.
“Maybe she needs something different.” Lily sighs, and I hold on, waiting for her to continue. “I mean, maybe she needs someone more as a companion, rather than the constant reminder her days are numbered. I’d fire my nurses, too.”
I rear back, almost as if slapped by her thoughts.
I want to laugh out of sheer fascination, but I don’t want to scare her away.
Her insight though … it rings true. My mother isn’t a stranger to the truth about her condition and the rapid disintegration of her health.
Perhaps I’ve been approaching my mother wrong all along.
“That’s … a good point,” I say.
Lily purses her lips and slowly bobs her head up and down.
Max suddenly stands and spins, alerting to something behind the bench.
He lets out a low growl, and Lily and I both twist toward the alley between two shops—Pinebrook’s bakery and a used bookstore.
Dusk blots out most of the remaining natural light, and though the streetlamp on the corner offers a weak glow, it barely reaches the narrow passage.
A gust of wind funnels through the alley, carrying a chill that snakes underneath the collar of my sweater, and Lily shivers in my peripheral.
A heavy dark shadow shifts, the subtle movement flickering in the deepened alcove. The shadow is tall, human in stature. Max barks, and something darts, quick and fluid, rustling in the debris. He bolts, only to be met with resistance at the end of his leash.
“Aus. Bleib,” I command, standing to grab on to his collar.
Several people clustered close by the bench grow quiet, looking at us.
“Probably just someone passing through,” I say, loud enough for those around to hear.
Lily abruptly stands, breaths ragged and her pupils blown unnervingly wide. “I should go. See ya, Ranger.”