Chapter Ten
For the first time in two weeks, nothing was on fire.
Penny woke to sunshine streaming through the cabin windows, Ginger's wet nose in her face, and the distant sound of children laughing. She lay still for a moment, listening. No gunshots. No screaming. No frantic phone calls from her mother.
Just... quiet.
She'd almost forgotten what that felt like.
The compound was transformed when she stepped outside. Gone was the grim efficiency of the past few days—the tense brothers, the locked-down perimeter, the constant sense of waiting for the next attack. In its place was something that looked almost like a family reunion.
Kids ran shrieking between the cabins, chased by dogs.
Smoke rose from the pavilion where someone was firing up a massive grill.
Women set up tables with checkered cloths and platters of food.
Music drifted from speakers somewhere—country, of course, because this was the Ozarks and apparently anything else was heresy.
"Cookout day," Maggie said, appearing at Penny's elbow with a stack of paper plates. "Third Saturday of every month, weather permitting. Families come in, brothers take a break from club business, everyone pretends we're normal for a few hours."
"You do this every month?"
"Rain or shine." Maggie shoved the plates into Penny's hands. "Make yourself useful. Pavilion needs setting up."
Penny found herself absorbed into the chaos of preparation. She arranged plates and napkins, helped Darcy carry out trays of fresh rolls from her bakery, and fielded approximately seventeen questions about her dogs from children who ranged from toddler to teenager.
It felt normal. Domestic. Like a life she might have had if her mother had made different choices.
She pushed that thought away and focused on the work.
By noon, the grooming station was her idea.
One of the compound dogs—a scraggly mutt named Diesel—had rolled in something unspeakable near the lake. The smell was bad enough to clear a fifteen-foot radius around him, and his owner (a prospect whose name Penny kept forgetting) looked genuinely distressed.
"I can help," Penny offered. "If someone's got a hose and some shampoo."
Twenty minutes later, she'd commandeered a corner of the pavilion, rigged up a makeshift grooming station with a garden hose and a plastic tub, and had Diesel halfway to presentable.
A crowd gathered to watch.
"She's magic," the prospect breathed as Diesel's matted fur transformed into something almost fluffy.
"She's got skills," Tessa corrected, arms crossed, watching with professional appreciation. "You ever think about expanding into large animals? I've got horses that could use this kind of attention."
"One species at a time," Penny said, working shampoo through Diesel's coat. "Dogs are complicated enough."
More dogs appeared. Owners materialized from nowhere, suddenly concerned about their pets' hygiene now that someone competent was available.
Penny found herself running an impromptu grooming clinic, working through a line of compound dogs while children watched with fascination and adults gathered to gossip.
She was elbow-deep in a golden retriever's undercoat when she felt eyes on her.
Eddy.
He stood at the edge of the pavilion, leaning against a support post, watching her work. River sat at his feet, ears pricked forward like he was taking notes.
Their eyes met.
Something electric passed between them—a current that had been building since that night on the porch, when he'd held her hand and sat with her in silence. They hadn't talked about it. Hadn't acknowledged what was happening between them.
But every time she looked up, he was watching.
Every time she moved through the compound, she felt his attention tracking her.
Every time they passed each other, their bodies pulled toward the other like magnets, even when they didn't touch.
It was driving her crazy.
She looked away first, focusing on the dog in front of her, and tried to ignore the heat spreading across her skin.
The afternoon turned golden and lazy.
Penny finished with the dogs and cleaned up her station, accepting thanks and compliments from owners who seemed genuinely impressed. She was drying her hands on a borrowed towel when she spotted Eddy again.
This time, he wasn't alone.
He sat at one of the picnic tables with a toddler on his lap—a dark-haired little girl in a pink sundress who was systematically destroying a cookie while Eddy held her steady. River lay under the table, apparently unbothered by the crumbs raining down on his head.
Penny's heart did something complicated.
She'd seen him kill a man. Watched him hold Trey Samples underwater until the bubbles stopped. Knew exactly what kind of violence he was capable of.
But right now, he looked like someone's dad. Patient. Gentle. His big hands careful around the tiny body on his lap.
"That's Jenny," Darcy said, appearing beside Penny with a knowing smile. "One of the brother's kids—her parents are over by the grill. She adopted Eddy about two years ago. Won't let anyone else hold her at these things."
"He's good with her."
"He's good with most things, when he lets himself be." Darcy's smile turned sly. "You two going to keep dancing around each other, or is something actually going to happen?"
Penny felt her face heat. "I don't know what you mean."
"Sure you don't." Darcy laughed. "Honey, everyone in this compound knows what's happening between you two. Eddy's never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. And you—" She gestured at Penny's pink cheeks. "You're not exactly subtle either."
"It's complicated."
"It always is." Darcy squeezed her arm. "But complicated's not the same as impossible. Trust me on that."
She wandered off toward the food tables, leaving Penny standing alone, watching Eddy wipe cookie crumbs off a toddler's face with a gentleness that made her chest ache.
The cookout wound down as the sun started its descent.
Families packed up their kids and headed out. Brothers lingered over beers, talking in low voices about things Penny probably wasn't supposed to hear. The old ladies gathered near the fire pit, trading gossip and keeping an eye on the stragglers.
Penny sat at the edge of the dock—not the hidden one from before, but the main compound dock—watching the light change on the water. Professor had finally abandoned his sunny spot on the lodge porch and was sprawled beside her, snoring gently.
She should feel relaxed. The day had been good. Normal. The kind of day she'd always wanted and never quite achieved.
But underneath the calm, she could feel the tension coiling.
Tomorrow, the threat would still be there. Kirby was still out there, her mother was still trapped, and the Ridgerunners were still planning something that would probably involve more violence and more death.
Today was a reprieve. Not a resolution.
"Hey."
She turned. Eddy stood behind her, a plate in each hand, River at his heels.
"Brought you food," he said. "You've been running around all day. Didn't see you eat."
"I grabbed some—" She stopped, trying to remember. Had she eaten? The morning had been such a blur of activity.
"That's what I thought." He sat down beside her and held out a plate. Pulled pork, coleslaw, cornbread, and something that looked like Maggie's famous beans. "Eat."
It wasn't a request.
She took the plate. Their fingers brushed.
The contact was brief—barely a second—but it shot through her like lightning. Her breath caught. Her skin tingled where they'd touched.
She looked up at him.
He was watching her with that intensity again. That focused, hungry attention that made her feel like the only person in the world.
"Eddy—"
"Eat first," he said quietly. "Then we'll talk."
He turned to his own plate, not looking at her, but his shoulder was pressed against hers and he didn't move away.
Penny stared at the food in front of her. Tried to remember how to breathe.
All around them, the compound was settling into evening. Brothers laughing by the fire. The distant sound of dishes being washed. Children's voices fading as cars pulled out of the lot.
Normal sounds. Peaceful sounds.
But there was nothing peaceful about the way her heart was racing.
She took a bite of pulled pork without tasting it, hyperaware of every point where Eddy's body touched hers. His shoulder against hers. His leg aligned with her leg. The heat radiating off him in the cooling evening air.
She thought about the night on the porch. His hand in hers. The silence that had said more than words.
She thought about watching him hold that toddler. The gentleness in his hands. The way the violence he was capable of seemed to coexist with something tender underneath.
She thought about a man whose surface never broke. Whose calm never cracked. Who held everything churning beneath where nobody could see it.
What did it cost him, she wondered, to maintain that stillness? What currents was he fighting that nobody knew about?
And what would happen if he stopped fighting them?
The question hung in her mind as the sun sank lower and the stars began to emerge.
She didn't have an answer.
But sitting here beside him, shoulders touching, sharing a meal in the fading light—
She thought she might want to find out.