Chapter 2
Cady Bernard
As soon as he’d taken the first load to the barn, I’d slipped out of the truck and ducked behind a tree. I was completely soaked by his second trip. My hands are still shaking—not from the cold but from what I’ve done. What I’m about to do.
This could all go horribly wrong.
Stripping out of my wet clothes, I let the hot water chase away the chill.
Turning the faucet off, I wring out my long hair and reach for the towel to dry.
The way I see it, I had no other choice.
He was never going to open up to me on his own.
Never tell me what happened between him and my sister. With my brother.
A wise woman once told me: If you don’t grow a backbone and go after what you want, you’ll spend your life taking leftovers.
Martha had been talking about my mother and sister—both of them professional victims, usually of their own making.
They used their beauty like a weapon, never satisfied with what they’ve got.
Mom jumped from husband to husband and my sister did the same with boyfriends.
Bleeding them dry and tossing them aside.
And me? I’ve loved the man in the other room since I was eight years old.
Longer probably. The first time he came home from school with my brother Chris, I was four.
I fell that day trying to skip after them.
I cried out and Séamus ran to pick me up.
He cuddled and soothed me, dried my tears with his shirt and helped Chris bandage my knee.
Four years later, when my mom tried to leave me home alone, he insisted I be allowed to come to Chris’s graduation dinner, the one Mom’s latest boyfriend had agreed to host. That was the night he and Chris both announced they’d joined the Army.
At thirteen, I watched my eighteen-year-old sister make her move on him when he was home on leave. After that, she never gave me a chance to get close whenever he visited. But he always wrote back to my letters. Always.
Now, Chris is dead, Séamus is emotionally and physically wounded, out of the military and holed up at his mountain home.
I’m pretty sure my selfish sister did something to hurt him so deeply he’s hiding from the world. He’s managed to avoid me for months.
He and Chris were like brothers—his grief must be bone-deep.
For months I’ve watched him come down the mountain for supplies, silent and alone, before disappearing again. Today when I saw him, I didn’t think—I just acted, hiding in his truck bed behind his gear and supplies.
Now dressed in the clothes he left for me, I inhale deeply, capturing his lingering scent. This is going to work. It has to. I need him and I’m pretty sure he needs me.
I run his comb through my hair and stare at my reflection. Great, I look like a twelve-year-old. How is he supposed to take me seriously?
Shouldering my backpack, I open the door and step into the unknown.
He glances up and across the kitchen as I enter. He’s wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck, probably to hide the scars I only half noticed earlier.
“Your hair’s still damp,” he says quietly. “Sit by the fire. There’s a blanket on the couch. I’ll bring you some tea. I’ve got biscuits and soup once you’re warm.”
“Please, Séamus,” I murmur. “Don’t go to a lot of trouble. I’m the one imposing on you. Just tea is fine.”
I drop my backpack onto a chair at the table and check the waterproof case holding my laptop. Still safe.
He watches me, eyes soft, curious. “Lil’ Cady, you’re never an imposition. But I have to ask, what brought you here?”
I draw in a deep breath. Start as you mean to go. “Just Cady, Séamus. Just Cady now.”
A small smile curves his lips. “Then it’s back to Shea for you.”
Laughing, I bunch one of the sleeves in my palm. “It took me years to be able to pronounce your given name properly. Don’t ask me to stop now.”
He smiles as he hands me the tea and follows me toward the couch and fireplace. Seated on the hearth, my back to the fire, the warmth feels good.
“Cady, my question?”
“I-ah, I had a fight with my mom and Noelle. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Ok, only part lie. We’ve been fighting for years. Recently we haven’t been talking at all. I could have stayed in my room like the last four months. But I saw him…
“What about your friends?”
“Most of them are away at college.”
“I thought you were in college?”
“I am, but I’m an online student.”
“Chr-” He stumbles over the name. “Chris told me your father put money in a trust fund for you so you could go to college and get away from home.”
“Yeah, he did. But he made Mom executor so an eighteen-year-old wouldn’t blow through the money.
Instead, she blew through the money. I got two years out of it.
Now I can only afford online classes. It’s not that bad studying online since I’m a cybersecurity major anyway.
All I really need is a network connection. ”
“Cybersecurity. Always knew you were smart.” He studies his own mug. “Ran into your mom when I got back. She doing any better?”
“She never told me she talked to you?”
He shrugs.
Shaking my head, I go on. “Husband number seven just left. He got away clean because she signed a prenup and didn’t read the fine print. She gets nothing except the new furniture which he didn’t like anyway. Now she’s pissy about everything because she got screwed.”
He snorts. I laugh.
“Look, I got some money put away. I could help. You could move out. Start over on your own,” he offers.
“Not yet. Not this semester. Maybe later. I know Martha had internet here. I assume you still do?” He nods. “Could I just crash for a couple days? Give myself a mini vacation from the drama. Get ahead on my homework over the holiday.”
He smiles. “With this storm you aren’t going anywhere for a few days anyway. It was already getting rough on the way up. How did you get here? I didn’t see a car.”
My cheeks heat. Squaring my shoulders I meet his gaze head on. “I saw you loading supplies and climbed in and hid under the tarp while you were getting the last load.”
“Damn it, I could have hurt you.”
“You didn’t. So don’t worry.”
“Why?”
Because I love you and can’t stand to see you in pain. “I told you, I needed a break from them.”
Standing, he shakes his head. “You, little girl, are reckless.”
I stand, too. “Shea, I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m a grown woman. I have a mind of my own. What I want, what I do, the risks I take, are my choice.” I wait, watching, letting my words sink in. When his gaze flares just the slightest, I smile inwardly.
“Now, the soup and biscuits you mentioned earlier sound good. I only had an apple for breakfast.”
“You can have the loft. The bed has a dust protecter on it. I’ll strip it after I feed you and we’ll put fresh sheets on later. You’re gonna have to earn your keep. You can collect the eggs after lunch.”
“You know I hate the chickens.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “That was eight-year-old you. You’re a grown ass woman now. Right? You can handle it.”
I walked into that one.