Chapter 24
Three enormous trucks were parked in front of the house, along with a polished Volvo. Hudson’s rental looked faintly apologetic beside them.
He parked at the end of the row, cut the engine, and sat for a moment in the quiet while the heater ticked down. He’d driven over eighty miles of logging roads with Walter today. They’d found nothing. He exhaled a slow breath.
One of the trucks was Sarah’s department vehicle.
Sarah’s already here.
Twenty-four hours ago this had been dinner. Now he didn’t know what waited inside—or whether he had any right to hope for it.
The porch light was on, throwing a warm arc across the front steps. The wraparound porch, with its cushions and folded blankets, was as it had always been, as if the years between then and now had happened somewhere else entirely.
He got out of the car.
Sophie opened the door before he reached the porch steps. She was exactly as he remembered, radiating the kind of warmth that felt like stepping out of the cold into a lit room. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and gave him the widest smile as if no time had passed at all.
She hurried down the steps and took his face in both hands. “Still too thin.” She cupped his cheek. “I was so sorry to hear about your parents.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Meyer.”
“Oh, I think we’re past that now, Hudson.” Her eyes crinkled in a smile. “Sophie, please.”
He held out the white bakery box he’d brought from Benji’s, a little self-conscious about it now that he was standing here. “I brought dessert. Apple pie.”
“Oh, how lovely. Thank you, Hudson.” She glanced at the label, then toward the house. “Apple pie. Sarah’s favorite.”
Heat crept up the back of his neck. He rubbed at it, avoiding Sophie’s eyes. “Thought everyone liked apple pie.”
Sophie laughed and patted his cheek, before turning toward the door. “You always did know how to make an entrance, Hudson. Come in. It’s freezing.”
He followed her into the hall, and the rich smell of pot roast hit him. He stood in the hallway for a second, breathed it in, and told himself to get it together.
Ty appeared from the direction of the kitchen. Over six feet and granite-edged. The familiar scars on his hands caught the hall light when he reached out. Hudson shook one of them and felt approximately sixteen years old.
“Good to see you, Hudson. It’s been too long.”
“Likewise, sir.”
“Sophie’s been cooking all day.” Ty gestured for him to follow, the words somehow containing both a warning and a welcome.
Sophie fussed and took his jacket. “Ryder and Ivy send their apologies. Ryder’s on a call and Ellie needed an early night.” She guided him deeper into the warmth and noise of the house.
Sarah.
She was in the kitchen doorway, a glass of water in one hand, saying something to Caleb that cut off the moment he walked in. She was still in her uniform and must have come straight from work.
She smiled. The room narrowed, the noise dropping out, the distance between them collapsing to something entirely too small for the amount of history sitting in it.
Caleb saved him—stepping away from Sarah to hug him and introduce him to his wife, Grace, and their toddler, Josie.
Josie wobbled around the corner of the coffee table with the enthusiasm of someone who had recently discovered how amazing legs were.
She bumped against his shin, grabbed a fistful of his cargo pants before looking up at him with dark eyes.
He bent down to say hello, but she let go of his leg and buried her face between her mom’s legs.
Grace scooped Josie up and offered him her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard stories about you from Caleb.”
“All perfectly legal.” Caleb waggled his eyebrows. “How long are you planning on staying?”
Casual. Perfectly pitched.
“As long as the case needs.”
Caleb nodded slowly, as if he’d expected that answer and wasn’t entirely convinced by it. “Right. The case.”
Wyatt came out of the kitchen with two beers and stopped when he saw Hudson. He crossed the room and handed him a bottle. “Good to see you again, brother.”
“Likewise.”
“This is Jen,” Wyatt said, turning toward the dark-haired woman who had followed him out of the kitchen. He put his arm around her, and she leaned into him a little, her head against his shoulder.
“Hi.” She offered him her hand. “Good to finally meet you.” She looked at him with frank appraisal. “I’ve heard lots about you.”
Oh. He glanced between Wyatt and Sarah. Good or bad?
Sophie rescued him, shooing them toward the dining room. “Dinner’s ready, everyone come sit.”
Everyone crowded around the table. Sophie sat at one end, Ty at the other, with Caleb and Grace on one side and Wyatt and Jen on the other. Josie occupied the high chair between her parents. Sarah had somehow ended up directly across from him.
It made eating surprisingly difficult.
The conversation moved on—overlapping and loud, threads picked up, dropped and resumed halfway through another story.
Josie dropped peas on the floor one by one. Caleb stole a roasted potato from Wyatt. Sophie handed around a plate stacked with buttery rolls. For a few dangerous seconds it felt less like visiting and more like slipping back into a life he’d once known by heart.
“How’s the investigation going? Any progress?” Caleb asked in a lull.
Grace paused to cut something on Josie’s plate, and Wyatt leaned back in his chair, eyes alert.
Hudson set his fork down. “We’ve made some progress.”
“What sort of case is it?” Grace asked.
Hudson picked his fork back up. “Missing person.”
“That doesn’t sound like Alaska,” Caleb chuckled. “Most people here who go missing want to be missing.”
“Caleb,” Sophie said mildly, though there was a smile in it.
“I’m just saying.” Caleb shrugged. “People don’t usually wander off by accident up here. Not for long.”
“That’s consistent with what I’m seeing,” Hudson said.
Sarah looked across at him. “And what are you seeing?”
Hudson met her gaze for a second, then looked back down at his plate. “Nothing definitive.”
Wyatt let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “That’s another way of saying not much.”
Hudson shrugged one shoulder. “It’s accurate.”
“Mmm,” Wyatt said.
Ty cut in before the silence stretched. “Weather’s been turning. Ice’ll come in early this year if it keeps like this.”
Caleb picked it up immediately, talking about the marina and how they’d lost power for two days the previous winter. The table shifted with it, conversation sliding sideways into safer ground.
Sarah met his gaze and didn’t look away. He’d spent fifteen years believing he’d made the hard choice for both of them. After last night, he could no longer pretend the future was his decision to make.
Caleb said something, and she turned back into the conversation.
Hudson picked up his fork and ate another bite of pot roast he couldn’t taste.
Across the table, Sarah laughed. His glass stopped halfway to his mouth. Her head tipped back a fraction, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in the soft lamplight.
She’d always laughed like that. How had he ever forgotten?
He set his beer on the table before he dropped it.
Sophie was asking who wanted seconds. The conversation rolled on around him, easy and loud and alive. For the first time in a very long time, going back to the hotel sounded like the worst part of his day.
Because Sarah wasn’t there.
The kiss hadn’t changed the investigation or the fact that he might still have to leave.
It had only made him understand exactly what leaving would cost.