Chapter Twelve
Wildwood’s Most Wanted
T his place is useless.
I should have just eaten the questionable banana I found in my car, and slept the hunger pains away.
It’s almost seven. I’ve missed lunch, worked through dinner, and my fridge is emptier than my social life. The Wildwood Market’s the only place open nearby, and judging by the flickering sign and split-pea-colored walls, I might be safer with the banana.
All I can do is hope the food is fresher than the decor.
I tug my sweater tighter and push my cart down the aisle with one hand while flipping over a box of crackers with the other. My stomach growls loud enough to draw a shocked look from a man comparing canned beans.
I don’t even care.
“Contains wheat,” I mutter under my breath, slamming the box back on the shelf. “Why does the world hate me today?”
The sudden burn behind my eyes has nothing to do with the crackers, and everything to do with the horrible day I’m having. I was yelled at by a client, had to drive two hours, back and forth across the county from one case to the next, and couldn’t find a single place to eat while I was out.
I’m so tired, I hurt down to my bones, but it’s the heaviness in my heart that threatens to split me in two.
The girl from the truancy case the other day, Tessa, wasn’t at school again.
When I followed up at the house, the power was off and a six-year-old answered the door in a T-shirt and no socks. She said her big sister was at work. Work . She’s fifteen. And they’re mom—recently widowed, was working a double at her second job, just to get the power back on.
I left them with two bags of groceries, but it’s a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.
They’re slipping, a family completely under water, and I’m worried I won’t be able to catch them fast enough.
Body sagging, I lean against the cart and shuffle through the store, desperate to just find anything .
The basket’s already full of chicken, salad, and fresh produce for dinner and lunches, but if this week’s taught me anything, it’s that this new placement means I’ll be spending most of my day in the car.
I need safe snacks, and I need them now .
After five aisles filled with nothing but broken dreams and stomach aches, I finally spot a tiny section of hope.
An exhausted cheer escapes as I crouch to grab a jar of almond butter, and flip it over, reading the ingredients. Gluten-free . Thank the snack Gods.
Sighing in relief, I tuck it in the crook of my arm and grab three more jars, just in case they’re out the next time I shop, then push to stand. My shoulder bumps the cart handle, and I stumble, dropping the jars.
They roll in four opposite directions, and my body sort of just… gives up.
Or, maybe it’s me.
I fall to my ass, the skirt of my dress puddling around me like a white waterfall of depression. My back hits the shelves a second before my head, and I close my eyes, breathing through the sudden need to sob between the tuna cans and tampons.
This store really is backward.
Suddenly, the weight of the last month crashes down on me, heavy and unbearable. Maybe this whole damn idea was a mistake. Why the hell did I think coming to South Dakota alone, to find my long lost family, was a good idea?
I’m floundering here.
All I wanted was to finally feel like I fit in somewhere, like I have roots and branches, a whole family tree. But all I’ve found is dead end after dead end. Even the Heart Springs cemetery was a bust.
“You know, the mop here’s as ancient as the floors they clean,” a deep voice rumbles, making me jump.
I smack my head against the shelf and wince as half the gluten-free section reacts like it’s under attack.
Jars clatter to the floor around me. Boxes shift and tumble. Something plastic bounces off my boot and glides down the aisle, like it’s trying to escape.
Blinking up through my straightened hair—now half-stuck to my face—I find the last person I want to see while emotionally compromised and surrounded by spilled snacks.
Kade Archer stands at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, one brow raised like my mental breakdown inconveniences him.
“Jesus, freckles.” His mouth twitches. “I leave you alone for a few days and you bring down a whole aisle. You always cause this much damage, or is the food just scared of you?”
My cheeks flame red hot, and my brain chooses that exact moment to remind me of what I did the last time I let myself think of him. I like to pretend it was just the tutorial—the overtly sexual innuendos provided by the bombshell, and the moaning and groaning Brannon supplied, but…
I know the truth.
And the truth is standing five feet away, glowering down at me with a big, perfect beard, giant muscles, and— oh look , he’s wearing his cowboy hat today.
Brilliant. More material for my rub hub. That’s the last thing my demented ass needs.
“Let me guess,” Kade says, stepping closer, boots crunching softly over something crushed and probably expensive. “They just jumped off the shelf the second they saw you.” He smirks. “Happen often?”
“Wow,” I hiss. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more annoying in fluorescents.”
I grit my teeth and swipe a sleeve over my eyes like I’m just brushing back my hair. The last thing I need is for this man—a man I stupidly, accidentally almost came to thoughts of, to see me crying.
And because today is the worst day of all days, he zeroes in on those barely-there tears like it’s a sixth sense.
His smirk fades and he drops to a crouch in front of me.
“You okay?” he murmurs, grimacing. “You look…”
“Lovely,” I bite out, scrambling to stand. “The word you’re looking for is love—” My boot catches the hem of my dress, and I slip.
A strong hand closes around my arm just before I fall again. I land against his chest with a muted thud, heart thundering, breath caught.
His fingers flex gently, steadying me.
“Georgia,” he says again, quieter. “You okay?”
The warmth in his voice undoes me. My eyes sting, throat tight, and I yank my arm free like his touch burns.
“I’m fine,” I lie, scooping up the mess I made, haphazardly shoving shit back on the shelves. “Just go back to whatever cowboy errand you were on and leave me to unravel in peace.”
He doesn’t move.
Just watches me—arms crossed, brows cocked, face tight.
“You’re not gonna help, are you?” I mutter, tossing my hair back.
His lips lift slowly. “I’m having more fun watching.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow, my cheeks burn even more. “You would say that, asshole.”
“Thank fuck I’m not one of your clients anymore.” He scoffs, rolling back on his boots. “Not very professional of you to call me names.”
My eyes squeeze shut as I force myself to breathe through the raging emotions battering around inside me. I’m raw, exhausted, and one more mean comment or disaster away from losing my shit.
I want to ask about Aurora. About him. About everything. But the words wedge in my throat and won’t come out.
Before I can try, he nudges one of the rogue jars with the toe of his boot and lifts it.
“This that overpriced nonsense you city folk are into?” He squints at the label. “Almond butter. Don’t y’all have normal peanut butter in New York?”
I snatch it from him like he’s just insulted my bloodline. “For your information, most regular peanut butters aren’t gluten free.”
“Gluten free?” He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Why the hell would you eat that shit? It’s disgusting.”
I drop the jars into my cart, expression hardening. “Some of us don’t have a choice.”
His brow furrows. “Wait, you’re—”
“Yup,” I snap. “Celiac. Shocking, I know. Go ahead and get your jokes in while you can.”
But he doesn’t say anything. Just stares.
Silence stretches between us. The overhead lights hum. Somewhere above, a terrible, warbly cover of Every Breath You Take starts to play through the crackling speaker system.
Our eyes lock. His flick to my mouth, where they stay, and my body absolutely comes to life under that stare.
So I drop my gaze to the almond butter still clutched in my hands and pretend like Kade Archer has zero effect on my senses.
“Your hair’s straight.”
I blink. “What?”
He gestures to my hair, brows pulled tight. “Most of the time, you wear it down and curly. Just look different, that’s all.”
Swallowing, I barely resist the urge to hide behind said hair, or shave it all off. Instead, I huff, and roll my eyes.
“And your hair’s frizzy.” I snatch the anti-frizz curl shampoo from my cart and thrust it into his stupidly hard chest with a sarcastic smile. “Here. Maybe this’ll help you stop looking like you just rolled out of a hay bale after disappointing a rancher’s daughter.”
Kade catches the bottle with one hand, brow arching slowly. “Darlin’, if I’d just rolled out of a hay bale with a rancher’s daughter, trust me, she wouldn’t be disappointed.”
“Doubtful.” My throat bobs, and his eyes are riveted to the movement.
“Maybe,” he rumbles, voice gravelly, “but I’ve got a feeling you’d be a lot louder.”
My mouth falls open, but I quickly snap it shut, fists clenched, body vibrating.
I want to punch him. Or kiss him. Or maybe throw him into a freezer aisle and file a restraining order. It’s unclear.
“You couldn’t make a woman scream if she stubbed her toe during sex, Archer.”
With that, I shoulder past him, cart wobbling, and storm into the next aisle—pretending I’m not vividly imagining him proving me wrong.
Repeatedly.
Against a wall.
The dirty floor.
Back of his truck.
Or literally anywhere .
And because he’s clearly on a mission to end me, he follows.
“Are you stalking me now?” I snap, grabbing a bag of something I don’t need just to avoid looking at him.
“Just making sure you don’t hurt yourself,” he says. “You’re a dangerously clumsy little thing.”
I whirl around, heat in my cheeks, fire in my blood. “For a guy who couldn’t even find clean socks two weeks ago, you sure like to run your mouth.”
“And you’re just dying to keep my name in yours.”
My jaw drops all over again. If I had any self-control, I’d leave. But I’m finding my mind and body have a serious disconnect where this man is concerned.
Instead, I glare, standing nearly chest to chest with the man who drives me insane. “You are such an arrogant, insufferable—”
“Careful,” he drawls, leaning in just enough that his hair brushes my shoulder. “You might say something nice by accident.”
Before I can fire back, a loud, cackling voice slices through the aisle.
“Well, well, well! If it isn’t my two favorite sexy sluts!”
“Oh God,” I breathe, flicking horrified eyes toward Kade. “That’s your insane landlady, isn’t it?”
He grimaces, already bracing for impact. “Ex-landlady.”
My breath hitches. “Wait—you found a place?”
“No,” he mutters, eyes catching mine. “Haven’t yet. Just didn’t want Agnes caught off guard when it happens.”
“That’s really sweet,” I whisper, tuning out Mrs. Whittaker’s incessant chatter about how hot we’d look together and how badly she wants to watch.
I also ignore the fact that her voice is getting closer, but, damn, I’ve been wanting to hear the updates since I was moved out of Heart Springs and off his case.
“Met Ethel,” he murmurs, lip twitching. “She’s a lot nicer than you.”
I scoff, grinning. “Liar.”
Ethel is really nice, though. We’ve been chatting nearly every day, and she’s slowly helping me acclimate to how things are done in Summit. It’s a world away from the strict policy back in New York. Things are looser here. By the book, but the book’s a lot different than any I’ve read before.
“She has me working through that checklist you emailed,” he adds, giving me a strange look. “Doesn’t give me space, though.” I cock a brow and he rolls his eyes. “Likes to hover.”
“Ethel’s just doing her job.”
A couple days ago, I called the hospital to check on Aurora, and they gushed about how sweet it’s been seeing Kade bond with her over the last week. Apparently, he shows up every day and stays pretty much the entire visiting hours, getting to know her, making sure she feels safe with him.
The nurses are all utterly obsessed, and half in love with the guy, and I…
I’m impressed.
More than that, I’m proud of him for stepping up. He seems to be really trying, and bad attitude and overly sexual banter aside—I truly think he’s going to make a great dad to her.
I also think that information is terrible for my hormones.
“Jesus,” he murmurs suddenly, tapping the back of my hand. “Don’t think you can ignore her anymore, darlin’. She’s about to steal your nut butter.”
Cheeks burning from the nickname, I whirl to find Mrs. Whittaker grinning like a feral cat. Her muumuu is pink leopard print today, and— bless us all —she’s wearing a bra.
“And Kade,” she sing-songs, waving around one of my jars, “if you’re gonna pick fights with pretty women in the grocery store, ’least buy her dinner first.”
“Mrs. Whittaker, please—”
“Don’t ‘ Mrs. Whittaker’ me like I haven’t seen you buck-ass naked before.”
Kade chokes and I gasp.
“You what now?” he rasps, beating his chest.
“Gotta go,” she chirps, spinning her cart toward the produce. “My show’s on. I’m just here for cucumbers, eggplants, and olive oil.”
Kade blinks. “What the hell are you making with—”
I elbow him hard in the gut. He doubles over with a groan. “What the fuck, Walker?”
“Don’t you dare ask,” I hiss. “If she tells us, I will dig out both my eardrums.”
Then I spin my cart and storm off down the aisle, heart racing, pulse pounding, and cheeks on fire.
I need space, air, and sanity.
Because if I stay one more second, I’m going to do something insane—like kiss Kade Archer.
Or buy a cucumber I absolutely do not need but will find a use for while imagining just how loud the grumpy cowboy can make me scream.