Chapter 25
Sarah stood in the doorway, shrugged into her jacket, and let herself have it—the warmth, the dwindling noise, the safety of a house that had never once let her down.
Her mom had packed three separate containers of leftovers before anyone had properly stood up from the table, stacking them by the door. No one ever left her mom’s house hungry.
Josie had gone boneless against Grace’s shoulder somewhere around the second slice of pie, her breathing slow and even, one small fist curled loosely against her mother’s collar. Jen gathered glasses, stacking them by the sink.
The cold outside hit like a wall, brittle after the kitchen’s close heat, everyone’s breath hanging pale as they drifted onto the porch in a loose cluster. Hudson crossed to his rental, keys already out. He got in, but the car remained dark and silent.
Caleb knocked on the window glass. “That thing finally admitted defeat? Pretty sure it’s legally a lawn ornament now.”
“Need jumper cables?” Her dad retrieved them from his truck, then popped the hood on Hudson’s rental and connected the batteries. Hudson tried the ignition. The engine turned over sluggishly, coughed, and died.
“Definitely dead.” Hudson’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
Wyatt didn’t hesitate. “I’ll run you back. We can get Mitch to look at it tomorrow.”
“I’ll take him.” The words arrived and left Sarah’s mouth before the cautious part of her brain objected.
Wyatt looked between the two of them.
She shrugged. “It’s twenty minutes.”
Wyatt didn’t argue.
Hudson collected his file from the rental’s front seat before Sophie pulled him into a hug. “Come back,” she said, “before another fifteen years.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ty shook his hand. “Drive safely.”
Caleb caught Sarah’s arm on the way past, low enough only she could hear. “Discombobulated.”
She fixed him with a look that promised retribution before unlocking her truck and heading toward the driver’s side. By the time she reached it, Hudson already had the door open.
“Thanks.”
He frowned, one hand resting on the handle, as if it hadn’t occurred to him he’d done anything unusual. He stepped back. “Sure.”
She waited until he climbed into the passenger seat, then put the truck in gear and pulled out of the driveway. Hudson set the file on the floor between his boots. His eyes swept the mirrors and the road ahead before he finally relaxed into the seat.
In her rearview mirror, Wyatt waited on the porch, hands in his pockets, watching her taillights. He stayed there until the bend took him out of sight. Her big brother never changed. She smiled despite herself and turned back to the road.
Silence sat between them.
Hudson rested an elbow on the door, but his gaze kept drifting. Mirrors. Intersections. Road.
She found something bluesy on the radio and turned it up.
It didn’t help. Her brain, apparently done taking orders for the night, offered her specific details.
The way he’d gone still when he’d realized he was sitting opposite her. The line of his shoulders beneath his jacket, set differently now, as though years of carrying too much had become part of his posture. The touch of silver at his temples. The tanned backs of his hands.
Her body knew those hands. Even after all this time. It wasn’t anything she could describe out loud, but?—
Hudson cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She let that be enough. “Your rental’s awful.”
“It was the cheapest one.”
The corner of her mouth moved despite herself.
She tapped her fingers in time with the radio on the steering wheel. “Is Walter still convinced Cord is gone and living in Mexico under an assumed name?”
“I think he maybe watches too many movies.” He laughed softly. “Man’s convinced of it no matter what the evidence says.”
She glanced sideways at him—the dashboard lights catching the strong line of his jaw, the loose set of his hands on his thighs.
After fifteen years.
Hudson Kane was sitting in her truck.
Her heart did a tiny flip.
She didn’t mention the kiss, only adjusted her grip on the wheel. The road narrowed as it climbed, trees closing in densely on either side, nothing but her headlights carving a tunnel through the dark. The heater blew warm air as she steered around the bend.
Hazard lights blinked amber against the dark trees. A pickup sat angled awkwardly on the shoulder, nose canted toward the ditch, a man beside it with one hand raised.
Sarah eased her foot off the accelerator. Beside her, Hudson stilled. His gaze locked straight ahead.
Her side mirrors.
The pickup.
The road behind it.
The man.
“Fuck.” The word was soft as the warmth left his face. “Sarah.”
She looked again. Only then did she see it.
The pickup sat too neatly against the shoulder.
No churned gravel. No gouges where the tires had slid onto the shoulder.
No broken branches near the ditch. The driver wasn’t waving anymore.
He was watching them, one hand hanging a fraction too close to his hip.
Hudson’s eyes never left the road. “Don’t stop.”