Chapter 26
As soon as Rowan realized her mom was here, she rushed from her room.
By the time she reached the kitchen, her mother was inside.
“Mom . . .”
Her mother turned, and her expression both lit and softened. “There’s my girl.”
That was all it took.
Rowan crossed the kitchen fast and let herself be pulled into the kind of hug only her mother gave—tight and warm and absolute, like no amount of time or distance could weaken it.
Suddenly, the exhaustion she’d been outrunning since California caught up with her. She melted into her mother’s embrace, longing for the days when Mom could make everything better.
If only that were true now . . .
Her mother held her tighter. “Oh, honey. I wanted to come sooner, but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry.”
Rowan swallowed hard against the sting in her throat. “I’m okay.”
Her mother pulled back just enough to look at her face. “You look terrible.”
Despite everything, Rowan laughed softly. “You working for TMZ now or something?”
“There she is.” Her mother chuckled and touched her cheek. “That’s the sound I was waiting for.”
Emotion rose in Rowan so fast she nearly felt strangled. Love. Gratitude. Anxiety. All of it, and all at once.
Rowan looked away before everything could fully show.
Her mom noticed anyway. She always noticed.
“You are eating, right?” Mom looked her up and down.
“Mom—”
“That’s a no.” Her mother released her and started unpacking containers.
Rowan stared at everything. “You brought half a grocery store.”
“I brought breakfast.” Her mother glanced up. “And enough food to survive the Apocalypse because apparently people around here keep getting shot at.”
Caleb made a noise somewhere behind them that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
The warmth in the kitchen should have made Rowan relax.
Instead, part of her still felt tuned toward danger. It was as if her body no longer trusted quiet.
Her mother touched her arm. “Hey.”
Rowan looked back at her.
“You’re home now,” Mom murmured. “That’s all that matters.”
For one brief moment, Rowan almost believed it.
Ruby King had arrived with two paper bags, a basket of food, and the ability to make a room feel entirely different without saying a word.
Within twenty minutes she had coffee brewing, bacon in the pan, and everyone seated at the table without anyone quite realizing how it had happened.
That had always been her way. She didn’t ask people to gather—she simply created a place worth gathering around.
Wes had seen strong people in his life, but Ruby’s brand of strength was warmth. She made everyone feel loved.
Caleb and Naomi sat across from each other. Millie had taken the chair nearest the window, and Rowan sat beside her mother with both hands wrapped around a mug she hadn’t drunk from yet. Remington had settled near the back door without being told.
The kitchen smelled like biscuits and bacon.
A surprising peacefulness settled around them.
Until a buzz sounded.
Caleb glanced at his phone and frowned. “That’s the front gate.”
Wes was already on his feet. Through the front windows he saw a dark SUV idling just outside the entrance. As he watched, the driver’s door opened, and a man stepped out holding a camera with a long lens.
Rowan appeared at his shoulder, and the color drained from her face. “Oh no.”
“You know him?”
“No.” She shook her head once. “But I know why he’s here.”
The man raised the camera and pointed it toward the house.
Caleb was already moving toward the door. “He starts taking pictures of this property, we’ve got a problem.”
He wasn’t wrong. Refuge Cove’s entire foundation existed on privacy. Several of the women currently staying there had come specifically because they needed somewhere no one could find them. One photograph posted online with a location tag could unravel all of that.
The camera lifted again.
Wes followed Caleb out the front door.
The man near the gate spotted them and straightened.
“Can I help you?” Caleb asked as he strode toward the man.
The reporter smiled, almost appearing carefree. “Chad Godwin with Celebrity Dispatch. I’m looking for Rowan King.”
“You found private property instead,” Wes said.
The man lowered the camera but didn’t step back. “We’re working on a story about Thayer Holt’s death and Ms. King’s disappearance from production. We thought she might want the opportunity to comment before it runs.”
Caleb’s expression hardened. “You need to leave.”
“Is Rowan King here?”
Caleb bristled even more. “That’s none of your business.”
The reporter’s gaze shifted past them toward the house. Wes moved a half step to his left, cutting off the sightline without making it obvious that was what he was doing.
He kept his voice level as he said, “Sir, you’re on private property, and you’ve been asked to leave. I’d strongly encourage you to do that now.”
Something in the delivery—not the volume, not the words, but the steadiness behind them—seemed to land. The man’s posture shifted.
“Understood. The story runs tomorrow either way.” He produced a business card and held it out. “In case she changes her mind.”
Caleb took it without a word.
The reporter climbed back into the SUV. Wes watched the vehicle ease down the drive and disappear beyond the gate before he turned toward the house.
When he stepped back inside, Rowan’s eyes met his across the room.
He knew at once that she’d come to the same conclusion he had.
The story was coming whether she was ready or not.