Chapter Six
The radio hissed when I set it beside the first-aid kit.
I checked the water, gloves, and tools in the truck bed, though I’d checked them the night before. Dry grass along the road had turned pale enough to burn from one careless spark. By dark, I’d be walking the launch-zone perimeter while Promise Ridge watched fireworks.
Talia might be gone before the first one left the ground.
The cabin door opened behind me.
She stood on the porch in the red dress.
The thin straps left her shoulders bare. The fitted fabric followed every curve before ending high above her knees. Diamonds flashed at her throat and ears, gold circled her wrists, and dark curls framed her face. The block-heeled boots should’ve made the outfit practical.
They didn’t make it less Talia.
Her handbag hung from one shoulder.
That was the only thing she’d packed.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“I know.”
“I expected a complete response.”
“You look beautiful.”
Her fingers closed around the strap. “Thank you.”
I shut the tailgate. “Do you have everything?”
“I have my phone, identification, cosmetics, and enough jewelry to negotiate my release if the morning becomes medieval.”
“That probably won’t be necessary.”
“You don’t know Daddy.”
“I know he wants you in his car.”
Talia lifted her chin. “Wanting isn’t the same as getting.”
I wanted to ask what that meant.
Instead, I opened the passenger door and held out my hand.
Talia took it without speaking and climbed into the truck. She let go when she reached the seat.
I closed the door.
I’d spent the night telling myself silence was fair.
By the time I walked around the hood, it felt more like cowardice.
The truck started on the second turn.
Talia settled her handbag against her knees while I backed away from the cabin. The red dress stood out against the worn seat, bright enough to pull my attention every time the road straightened.
Neither of us mentioned the empty bedroom we might return to.
The morning sun had already heated the dust drifting through the pines.
Talia watched the trees for several miles.
“How long will your inspection take?” she asked.
“Not long. The clearing work is finished. I need to walk the perimeter and check that nothing shifted or got dumped where it shouldn’t be.”
“And after the fireworks?”
“I’ll watch the area until we’re sure there aren’t sparks in the grass or brush.”
“You’re not setting anything on fire.”
“No.”
“You’re preventing everyone else from setting the town on fire.”
“The fireworks professional handles the display. I’m responsible for the vegetation around it.”
“Much less dramatic.”
“It usually is.”
Talia adjusted the gold bracelet at her wrist. “Where should I be while you work?”
“Anywhere outside the marked line.”
“That’s a broad instruction.”
“It’s a public celebration. There’ll be food, music, and people who aren’t carrying radios.”
“You make town sound dangerously social.”
“You met Mabel.”
“I survived Mabel.”
“She likes you.”
“She sold me underwear and witnessed a loan agreement. We have a bond.”
She almost smiled.
The expression disappeared when her phone lit inside the open handbag.
No sound followed. She’d left it on silent.
I kept my eyes on the road.
Talia turned the screen facedown.
“Was that him?” I asked.
“The family office.”
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.”
The first houses appeared below us, decorated with flags and red, white, and blue ribbons. Vehicles filled the main road while families carried chairs toward an open field lined with food stands. Temporary markers separated the crowd from the fireworks site, and grilled meat scented the air.
I parked beside the authorized crew’s truck.
Talia reached for the handle, then stopped and looked at me.
“I remembered,” she said.
“What?”
“That you open doors when the ground might object to my shoes.”
“The ground’s uneven.”
“It usually is around you.”
I got out before she could decide whether that was an insult.
When I opened her door, she accepted my hand. The block heels landed securely in the dry grass.
Talia smoothed the skirt of her dress. “These boots have changed my relationship with Colorado.”
“You no longer expect it to kill you?”
“I’ve reduced the threat level.”
I took the radio and gloves from behind the seat.
Her gaze dropped to the equipment. “I’m staying out of the marked area.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t need to look concerned.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were about to tell me not to touch anything.”
“I know you won’t.”
That stopped her.
I closed the truck door. “You listened at the work site.”
“I always listen.”
“You frequently answer before the other person finishes.”
“That’s different.”
“It is.”
I smiled.
Talia reached up and straightened the open collar of my olive work shirt. Her fingers brushed my throat.
“You look good too,” she said.
The touch ended before I could cover her hand with mine.
“Thank you.”
“That was a complete response. You’re improving.”
She stepped away.
I walked the perimeter with the fireworks professional while Talia remained on the public side of the markers.
The ground was dry but clear, with no fresh brush piled along the edge.
The other man pointed toward the far side. “I’ll have one of my crew walk that section after setup.”
“I’ll check it before the crowd fills in and stay after the display.”
“Good.”
When I returned, Talia stood beside Mabel near a folding table stacked with bottled water, paper fans, and small flags.
Mabel wore denim overalls over a red shirt, with a tiny silver star in her piled blue hair.
Her eyes traveled over me. “You both look like you swallowed something sour.”
Talia accepted a bottle of water. “We had a difficult breakfast.”
“It must’ve been terrible. You’re usually louder.”
“I’m conserving energy.”
Mabel turned to me. “What’s your excuse?”
“I have work.”
“You always have work.”
Talia twisted the cap off the water. “He’s using it as an emotional support activity.”
“I’m inspecting a field.”
“That’s what makes it practical.”
Mabel leaned toward her. “You should charge him for the analysis.”
“I’m not his therapist.”
“I’m standing here,” I said.
“We noticed,” Mabel replied.
Talia met my eyes over the bottle.
Mabel carried a stack of paper fans toward the food stands.
An engine slowed near the entrance.
A black SUV crossed the field and stopped near the celebration. Another dark vehicle pulled in behind it.
Talia lowered the water. Her grip crushed the thin plastic.
“That’s them.”
The first driver’s door opened.
The man who’d left Talia at my cabin stepped out in a dark suit. He found us and opened the rear passenger door.
A polished black shoe touched the dusty ground.
Domenico Russo emerged in a custom charcoal suit made for Manhattan, not a Colorado field. Silver threaded his dark hair. A heavy gold watch showed beneath one cuff, and an old signet ring caught the sun.
Two men left the second vehicle and stayed beside it, watching.
Talia stared at her father.
“He came himself.”
Domenico saw her.
His expression softened, and he crossed the field without looking at anyone else.
“Princess.”
“Daddy?”
He pulled her into his arms. Talia held herself stiff for one breath, then hugged him back.
Domenico kissed her temple and stepped away with his hands on her shoulders. “Let me look at you.”
His gaze traveled over the red dress, diamonds, gold, and brown boots. “What happened to your shoes?”
“The originals were inappropriate for gravel.”
“You were forced to admit that.”
“It was a difficult day.”
His thumb touched her cheek. “I missed you.”
Talia’s eyes softened. “I missed you too.”
Domenico faced me, his voice polite and his expression cold. “Mr. Bricker.”
“Mr. Russo.”
“I appreciate your cooperation.”
“I didn’t cooperate.”
His eyebrows lowered.
Talia stepped in before the silence hardened. “Daddy, Jonah didn’t create the Mountain Mates profile. Cade used his pictures and address, then accepted the request without telling him.”
“My office confirmed the acceptance.”
“They confirmed an account. Jonah didn’t know I was coming until your driver left me at his cabin.”
Domenico turned toward the driver. “You said he denied the arrangement.”
“He did.”
“And you left her.”
“I followed the instructions I was given.”
Talia touched her father’s sleeve. “Your people verified public information. Nobody spoke to Jonah.”
Domenico looked at me again. “You had no knowledge of the profile?”
“None.”
“And your friend accepted my daughter without your permission.”
“He did.”
Domenico’s signet ring pressed into his palm. “That will be addressed.”
“Cade closed the profile and preserved the records,” I said.
Talia moved closer to her father. “You also didn’t ask whether Jonah agreed before you sent me.”
“The service showed an acceptance.”
“A screen isn’t a conversation.”
Domenico glanced toward the driver. “No. Apparently it isn’t.”
Music started behind us as a child ran past with a paper flag.
Domenico returned his attention to Talia. “You’ve completed the week. The lesson is over.”
“That depends on what you think the lesson was.”
“You wanted independence. You experienced it.”
“I experienced having everything you controlled removed because I disagreed with you.”
“You had shelter, food, transportation, and a vetted man responsible for you.”
“A man you never spoke to.”
He said nothing.
Domenico removed a phone from inside his jacket. “I can restore your access before we reach the highway. Your apartment and position are waiting.”
“You punished me for seeing a therapist.”
“I punished you for hiding family money and discussing private matters with a stranger.”
“The payments were wrong. My therapy wasn’t. Does it end if I come home?”
“Yes.”
Talia’s shoulders went still.
Domenico’s voice softened. “You don’t need to pay someone to teach you how to resent your family.”
“That isn’t what therapy does.”
“It taught you to hide from me.”
“No. Your reaction taught me I had to hide.”
He looked toward the crowded field before facing her again.
“I gave you everything.”
“I know. I grew up loved, Daddy. I also knew everything could disappear if I made a choice you hated.”