Chapter 8
Wes’s eyes went to Rowan.
She sat at the table, both hands wrapped around a mug and an unfinished plate of eggs in front of her.
She looked up when he entered, and something shifted in her expression—not quite surprise and not quite relief.
Remington crossed toward her without any prompting, and Rowan’s face changed the moment the dog reached her. The tension around her eyes eased just enough to be noticeable.
She set her mug down and reached for the canine, her fingers moving through his coat with the ease of someone who’d been around dogs her whole life. Her entire face became animated and soft.
“Look at you,” she murmured. “You are so handsome and strong. I’m so glad you came to see me.”
Remington ate up her attention, leaning into her hand and completely forgetting to keep up his tough dog persona.
Wes understood what that was like. At one time, he’d been like that around Rowan also.
He watched a beat longer than he intended. But there was just something about the way Rowan looked at Remington . . .
For the first time since she’d arrived here, she appeared open and unguarded.
He looked away and glanced at Naomi instead.
“Coffee?” Naomi held up the carafe.
“I never refuse coffee.” He took the mug she offered and pulled out the chair across from Rowan.
A moment later the back door opened again, and Caleb and Hamilton stepped inside.
“Morning,” Caleb murmured.
A round of greetings echoed from everyone in the room.
Caleb went to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he dropped into a chair at the table.
“You gotta meet our puppies,” Caleb told Rowan. “They’re adorable.”
“You have puppies?” Her eyes lit. “There’s nothing I love more than cuddling puppies.”
Wes could see that. It fit everything he knew about her. Maybe some things never did change.
Conversation drifted around the table—Caleb talking about the puppies, Naomi talking about Grace. Then it moved on to the expansion plans for the property.
Wes listened and tracked, sorting what was relevant from what was background.
Then Rowan leaned forward. “So let me get this straight. I know the nonprofit is your first priority. But other than that, I’m basically hearing that my brother is building a tiny dog empire in the mountains? Should we all be concerned?”
Caleb snorted. “A tiny dog empire? Nice. I prefer to call myself a visionary.”
“I’m pretty sure every supervillain says that at some point.” Rowan winked.
Naomi laughed, and Caleb shook his head.
Wes simply observed.
Rowan kept going—questions about the property, a story from a movie set about a malfunctioning fog machine and an actor who’d accidentally set part of his costume on fire.
Everyone laughed, and the energy around the table loosened the way it did when someone good at this took hold of a room.
Rowan had always been good at this.
But he’d also always been able to tell the difference between Rowan filling a room because she wanted to and Rowan filling a room because she needed to.
Back in high school it had taken him longer than it should have to learn that distinction. But he’d eventually learned it.
Rowan closed every pause before it could open. Every time the conversation slowed, she pushed it forward again.
She was performing, and she was doing it well enough that no one else at the table seemed to notice.
Except Wes.
As Caleb and Naomi broke off into a side conversation, Wes stood to get a refill on his coffee.
As he walked past her chair, he leaned toward her and kept his voice low enough for her alone. “You might want to check the headlines this morning.”
Her smile froze.
A knock at the door drew everyone’s attention before anything else could land.
Caleb pushed back his chair. “I’ve got it.”
Wes wrapped both hands around his mug and listened.
A familiar voice carried from the entry. “Morning.”
Sheriff Sutherland.
The tone underneath the word said this wasn’t a social call.
Caleb stepped aside. “What’s going on?”
“I heard back from the fire chief.” Sutherland’s gaze moved across the room before returning to Caleb.
“And?” Caleb asked.
The sheriff’s expression hardened just enough to make the answer clear before he spoke. “Last night’s fire wasn’t accidental.”
Wes set his coffee down, his thoughts already churning.
“If someone set that intentionally, I’d like to take a look at where it started,” he said. “See the approach routes. Figure out why that spot was chosen. I need to know as part of my property risk assessment.”
“Makes sense,” Sheriff Sutherland said.
“You need me to go with you?” Caleb asked.
“Not necessarily. I know which direction to head.”
“If it’s okay, I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” Caleb said. “I have some business I need to take care of first.”
Wes pushed back from the table then glanced at Rowan. “Any chance you want to walk with me? It would be nice to catch up and maybe stretch our legs. What do you think?”
The question sounded casual, but it wasn’t. He wanted to talk to her alone, and this might be his best opportunity.
Rowan hesitated before pushing back her chair. “Sure. Let me just put on some shoes and a jacket.”
A few minutes later, Wes headed for the door, Remington already moving at his side. Rowan followed, now wearing the black leather jacket she’d had on when she arrived. It looked more Hollywood than mountain hike, but he didn’t say anything.
Rowan had always been more glamourous than anyone else in their small town. But at her core, she’d also always been down-to-earth and relatable. Those contradictions had made her more fascinating.
Outside, the air carried a faint trace of smoke, thinner than the night before but still there.
They headed through the fence and walked along the edge of the woods in the direction of the fire. Wes kept his pace even, giving the distance from the house time to build before he said anything.
When the opportunity was right, Wes said, “I saw the news article this morning.”
Rowan’s gaze stayed forward, her expression masked. “I saw it also.”
“I know it’s not my business. But I can’t help but feel like you could use a listening ear. Do you want to tell me what actually happened?”
There was no edge to the question or pressure in his tone. He was honestly concerned about her—and concerned with everything she appeared to be keeping inside.
Was she protecting herself? Or was she protecting everyone around her by keeping these secrets?
Rowan let out a long breath. “There’s not much to say. I left. I told the people who needed to know that I was going, that there was an emergency I needed to handle. That should have been enough, but people have to make a mountain out of a molehill.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked what actually happened. There has to be a reason you left. It’s not like you. You like to finish what you start. I know your dad instilled that work ethic in you and that you hate it when people think you’re flighty.”
Rowan crossed her arms, her gaze shifting past him toward the trees. “I do pride myself in being a hard worker. But . . . in Hollywood things are different. The whole culture is different. People love building sensational stories out of nothing. It’s gossip at its finest.”
“They do. But that doesn’t explain what I read.” Wes stopped walking and turned toward her. He shifted his weight and kept his voice steady as he said, “I’m not asking for every detail, Rowan. But I need to know one thing.”
Rowan looked at him then, her expression guarded. “What’s that?”
“Are you in trouble?”