CHAPTER 63
Declan
I’m on my way.
The flight to Lompoc Regional is only an hour and a half, which is a perfect length for travel in this situation. It won’t be enough time to let my thoughts fall into the rabbit hole of doubts and regrets. But it might be enough to pull myself together.
The good news is that almost half the flight will be spent focused on ascent and descent, which require my full attention.
This is my last shot, and I know it. I’ll either manage to win her back or I’ll have to cut her loose. I’m not sure what kind of man I would be without her, or what kind of life I could piece together without Summer Stevens at the center of it.
I think back to that first day. I was getting ready to leave for the Navy and was spending my last few weeks helping out at the ranch.
I looked up to see Joe drive down the ranch lane with a woman in the passenger seat of his truck.
I was sure I didn’t know her, and Joe explained that he offered her a ride from town when she asked about anyone looking for ranch help.
She stepped out from the pickup, brunette hair swinging, piercing gray-blue eyes peeking out from the brim of her hat as she closed the truck door. She walked confidently around the pickup and locked eyes with me.
Such a pretty girl—not a woman at all, I saw. Slim, athletic, and standing straight and tall. I understood right away. She was capable of handling whatever life threw at her. She was pleasant enough, but she was daring me to fuck around and find out.
And just like that, I knew.
Here she is, I thought.
She was young. Still in high school, I realized. But by the time I had to get my ass to San Diego to report for duty, our newest ranch hand was my buddy.
And through all the years since, that awareness of who Summer was to me never faltered. Every time our paths crossed, I’d look at her and think, there she is. She’s the one. The only one for me.
I wasted so many years with my head up my ass.
I will fight for her. I will fight for her because she’s mine. She’s always been mine. And I will make sure she knows how much I love her, no matter what.
Am I absolutely certain she’s at the Lompoc Federal Penitentiary? Yes, despite the fact that she’s traveled using cash and has left no evidence of her whereabouts. I feel it in my gut that she’s there. I know her well enough that I can put myself in her boots and think the way she might think.
My brothers and I got our first clues yesterday.
First, the county water authority called to tell us that one of our kayaks had gotten snagged up near the White Snake River Dam, seventeen miles southeast of Yosemite Ranch.
Next, Special K and I found Summer’s starting point—a tiny fork in the road with a mini-mart and a bus station, within hiking distance of the river. The store clerk recognized her photo, as did the bus ticket agent, and the only bus that day was headed to Reno.
That’s where we went next. We got another hit when we showed her picture around but could find no indication of where she was headed. But I checked the bus schedule for the approximate time she would have arrived to transfer buses. I saw it—Santa Barbara, with a stop in Lompoc.
Evander made some calls. He confirmed that a married couple with the last name of Stevens were serving sentences there.
Finn hacked into the bus security cameras and saw her board a bus to Santa Barbara.
I was right.
The question is why—why would she go there?
I know it has to be related to the series of hard knocks Summer has endured lately.
But she wouldn’t go to them for solace—no way.
The only reason she’d want to see them would be to dig up the bones of her past, to face what still haunts her so that she can leave it behind, forever.
That’s what my Summer would choose to do.
I told my brothers I was heading out. They offered to come with me.
“No. Thank you,” I told them. “I’m going alone to talk to my wife.”
I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I wonder if maybe—just maybe—a visit to confront her parents will change her mind. Will she be willing to come home? Will she choose to stop running from me?
From happiness?
My phone rings. It’s a FaceTime from Jasmine. I stick the phone in its dashboard mount and answer. “Hey, Pinkie! Wassup?”
It appears that she’s seated in the leather office chair in Finn’s home office. Maybe she’s playing a game of Junior Boss Lady today.
“Don’t call me that anymore, Uncle Declan. I hardly wear pink at all nowadays, not like I used to when I was a little kid.”
“Oh. Sure. Sorry. When did you stop being a little kid? Did I miss something?”
“I’m calling for a serious reason, Uncle Declan. I need you to promise me something. It’s important.”
“Sure, kid. I mean Jasmine. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to bring Summer home. You can’t fail us, Uncle Declan. This place is swirling down the crapper without her. People are losing their minds.”
“Oh.” Swirling down the crapper? Did I teach her that?
“Dad found Joe crying in one of the horse stalls this morning.”
“Okay.” That’s not good.
“Emma ordered takeout from the diner last night, because she said she was too upset to cook dinner.”
I sit up straighter in my seat. “That is concerning.”
“Victoria didn’t even bother to blow out her hair this morning, and it’s all wild and flying around everywhere and it’s really got folks on edge.”
“Of course.”
“And MeeMaw Phyllis has locked herself in her room and Grandpa keeps yelling for her to open up and tell him where she hid his NutterButters, but MeeMaw yells back at him using language that an older woman shouldn’t even know, let alone use in a conversation.”
I stare at her.
First of all, I keep forgetting that Jasmine has called her MeeMaw Phyllis since it was discovered that Emma’s mother was Phyllis’s daughter from her first marriage, making Emma her granddaughter. We’re all still in shock over the news.
And second of all… “Excuse me, ma’am. Who am I even talking to right now? I thought I was speaking with Jasmine MacLaine of Yosemite Ranch.”
“What’s your point, Uncle Declan?”
“My point is—wait. Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“I’m taking a much-needed mental health day,” she says. “Which brings me to the bottom line of this call.”
This call has a bottom line? Since when do nine-year-olds have bottom lines?
Next, she’s going to tell me to circle back tomorrow when she has more bandwidth to synergize.
“What’s the bottom line?” I ask.
She leans in closer to the camera. “If you don’t come home with Summer, don’t bother coming home at all.”
The screen goes blank.
I sit back, trying to wrap my head around what just happened.
I think Junior Boss Lady just ripped me a new one.