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Chapter 3

Gabe reached out and grabbed for the woman, once again, to keep her from crashing to the ground. She sagged against him, her head lolling back, exposing her neck and the distinct yellowing of fading bruises. What the hell?

“Ms. Davies?” He shifted her, holding her in one arm while smoothing the rich, auburn hair from her eyes. The color of her hair struck a chord with him. Where had he seen dark red hair recently?

Then it dawned on him. The murder victim on the beach had dark red hair. “Ms. Davies, please wake up.” He shook her gently.

Kayla blinked, her eyes staring up into his, tears filling them almost immediately. “I’m sorry.” She pushed against him, the movement not enough to convince him to let go.

Gabe kept his hold on her, his arm slipping around her waist, her breasts pressed firmly into his chest. He stood a head taller than she did; the soft curls hanging down her back brushed against his hand. Her pale skin against the deep auburn hair gave her a pretty, feminine and fragile appeal that would inspire any man to want to protect her. Including Gabe.

So where did the bruises come from?

“I can stand on my own,” she said.

“I don’t believe you. If you don’t mind, I’d rather hold on until we’re well away from the edge of the cliff.”

“But I was painting,” she said, waving her hand limply.

“Considering the canvas flew over the edge, I’d say you’re done for now.”

Her gaze held his for a moment, then she sighed. “You’re right. Who was I fooling anyway?” The last bit was muttered under her breath.

Keeping one hand around her waist, he handed the box of paintbrushes to her and gathered the easel under his spare arm. “Ready?”

“I guess.” She looked at the edge of the cliff where her canvas had gone over.

“Trust me, you won’t find it.” Gabe urged her toward the cottage. “And if you did, you wouldn’t be able to get to it. That part of the bluff is too steep to climb down and back up.”

She smiled, a short quirk of her lips. The sun seemed to come out, then fade away as quickly as it rose in her face, her green eyes darkening with her frown. “Really, I can walk on my own.”

“Prove it by walking with me first.”

She let him walk her several yards away from the edge of the cliff before she glanced up at him. “See?”

Gabe reluctantly let go of her waist, a strange feeling of loss resulting from the separation. He wanted to keep her tucked safely in the crook of his arm. Must be that waiflike appearance she had about her. Her pale skin only emphasized the dark circles beneath her eyes, adding an air of mystery and tragedy to her beautiful features.

They crossed the distance between the cliff and the cottage in silence. Gabe didn’t want to start questioning her until he was certain he wouldn’t be picking her up off the ground again. A chair would be nice. And apparently, Ms. Davies wasn’t anxious to talk right away, either, her lips pressed into a line, the frown furrowing her forehead more worried than angry.

When she reached the cottage and pushed the door open, she paused. “Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you, Ms. Davies.” Gabe stepped inside and leaned the easel against the wall. The cabin was like so many other cabins along the coast, decorated in light, durable furnishings in keeping with summer vacation beach residences. The open living space had a large picture window facing the ocean.

“Call me Kayla. Ms. Davies makes me sound old.” She set the box of supplies on an end table and headed for the kitchen. One after the other, she rummaged through the cabinets, her movements brisk and efficient, but Gabe noticed the way her hands shook a little as she unearthed a teakettle.

Gabe stepped up beside her and grabbed her hands, kettle and all. “Sit.” He led her to the dinette table and pulled out a chair, forcing her into it.

For a moment, Kayla looked as if she was about to argue, but then the fight seemed to leach out of her. She stared out the window, her face blank, expression closed. “I thought it was my nightmare.”

“What?” Gabe sat across from her and continued to hold her hands in his. “What did you think was your nightmare?”

“The scream.” Her gaze shifted from the window to his face. “I thought it was part of my nightmare. I did nothing.”

His stomach did a flip-flop, the desperation in Kayla’s face making him want to pull her back into his arms and shield her from whatever ghosts haunted her. He squeezed her hands in his. “So you heard a scream?”

“Yes. I woke from a bad dream and was just going back to sleep when it happened.”

“What time?”

“Around midnight. I thought I’d drifted off. I thought the scream was me.”

“And what do you think now?”

“I wasn’t asleep. I know that now.” She dragged her hands from his and buried her face in them. “She screamed and I just lay there.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

When she looked up, he saw that her face was streaked with tears. “I could have helped.”

“Or been just another victim.”

“If I’d realized what was going on, I could have called the police.”

“Likely the man would have gotten away by the time we got there anyway.” He took one of her hands in his again. “You didn’t kill her. Someone else did.”

Her eyes widened and her free hand went to her throat. “H-h-how did she die?”

Gabe’s gaze focused on the yellow markings on her neck. “Without having an autopsy report, I can’t be certain, but she showed signs of strangulation.”

Kayla gasped. “Oh, God, no.”

“What?”

“No.” She shook her head, more tears slipping down her cheeks before she buried her face in her hands again.

“Kayla, what’s wrong?” He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.

Her body trembled beneath his touch.

“This is my fault.”

“What? No, Kayla, I told you. You’re not responsible for what the killer has done.”

“Yes, I am. You don’t understand.” She looked up, the expression on her tear-streaked face deadly earnest. “I’m the reason it happened.”

Gabe released her shoulder to reach down and take her hand. “Does it have to do with the bruising on your neck?”

She stared up into his face, but there was a vacant look in her eyes that made him uneasy, as if she didn’t really see him there. “He followed me, he must have.”

“Who followed you?”

“I don’t know.” Her hand clenched tightly around his. “He’s come to kill me. And instead, he’s killed that girl, that poor girl….”

“Who, Kayla?” Gabe was filled with confusion. Was someone truly after Kayla? Uneasily, he realized that she did fit the same physical profile as the victim—petite frame and dark red hair. But did that really mean that someone was after her, or was her imagination running out of control? He didn’t know her well enough to say.

“Who do you think killed the girl? Who do you believe has come to kill you?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She touched the fingers of her free hand to the bruises on her neck. “I just know that he tried to before and almost succeeded.”

Some of the blankness faded away. Her green eyes were steady and focused as they stared into his, and she spoke again.

“He’s going to try again.”

A few hours later, Kayla was alone in the house again. Officer McGregor had left after he’d gotten the basic story of her attack. He’d promised to contact the Seattle Police Department for the official report in case the incident truly was related to the murder of the girl on the beach, but he had assured her that a connection was unlikely.

Cape Churn was a three-hour drive from Seattle, and by her own report, hardly anyone in Seattle knew where she had gone. The odds were very slim that her attacker would know how to find her. And yet, as Kayla stood barefoot at the window overlooking the road, she felt like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.

The scenery out the front of the cottage wasn’t quite as picturesque as out the back overlooking the ocean, but she could see when people drove up or passed by on the road.

For now, the ocean view had lost its appeal. Her easel stood beside the back window, the view as glorious as the day before, the sun high in the sky, casting brilliant light over rocky cliffs and steely gray water speckled with white-capped waves. But Kayla couldn’t find the right colors on her palette to start, an image of a body floating in the current swimming through her mind, taking away from all the glory of nature.

A woman had died pretty much outside her cottage the night before and she had heard her cry for help.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened to her if someone had not heard her cries for help back in Seattle. What if her attacker had finished her off, taking her life—and her baby’s life—the way someone had taken the life of the woman found on the beach?

“I messed up, Baby,” she murmured. “Maybe I could have helped that girl if I’d just realized …” She squeezed shut her eyes, pain twisting in her gut. “I let her down, and I’m so afraid of letting you down, too.”

She reached down to stroke her belly. “This place was supposed to be safe, a place where no one could hurt either of us, but now I’m not so sure. The worst part is that I just don’t know where that place would be.”

Her stomach rumbled, serving as a reminder to save her introspection until later and get to work on eating for two right now.

As she rattled around in the kitchen, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. She couldn’t let herself dwell on her fears. It wouldn’t accomplish anything. Officer McGregor was probably right, anyway, that the attack was in no way related to hers. It was a tragedy—a horrible, senseless tragedy—but it wasn’t her fault. It had nothing to do with her at all.

So why couldn’t she believe that?

On the other side of town, Gabe McGregor pulled his police cruiser up next to the teenager walking his bicycle, slid the passenger-seat window down and leaned over so that he could see the boy’s face. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where were you?”

The teen shrugged. “Around.” He pushed his bike up one of the many hills surrounding Cape Churn.

Gabe kept pace, while tamping down his frustration. “We’ve been over this before. I don’t mind if you visit your friends, I’d just like to know when you do, where you’re going and when you’re headed home.”

“Kinda stalker-like, if you ask me.”

“Not the way I look at it.” Talking through the open window wasn’t any way to get through to a troubled teen. Gabe pulled ahead of Dakota and parked on the side of the road, blocking the boy’s path. He climbed out, smiled and waved at a passing car before resuming his conversation with the stranger who was his son.

He’d known about Dakota for only a matter of months. The boy’s mother hadn’t bothered to tell him that a son had resulted from his brief fling with the older woman back when Gabe was a teen. Siena had been twenty-five, Gabe had been a naive eighteen-year-old, flattered by an older woman’s attentions. He’d even imagined himself in love with her. She’d been on vacation with friends at Cape Churn. When she’d left, he hadn’t heard from her again, until four months ago.

Siena had shown up at Gabe’s apartment in Seattle long enough to tell him that he had a son. She’d pushed the boy carrying a single suitcase in front of her, stating she couldn’t handle him anymore. Then she’d left.

After the initial shock wore off, he realized he couldn’t raise a kid in downtown Seattle, especially not with the crazy hours he kept serving on the Seattle police force. He quit his job and moved home to Cape Churn. But nothing had prepared him for the difficulties of raising a teenage boy—a troubled one, at that. Apparently Dakota had gotten into a little legal trouble. It was nothing too serious, but he was on probation, and that had apparently been the straw that had broken the camel’s back when it came to Siena’s patience with their son.

Gabe pushed his hand through his hair, rather than pulling it out, and stood in front of Dakota. He needed instant dad lessons. “I don’t ask you to keep me informed because I want to stalk you. I ask you because I care.”

“Could you care a little less? I’m not a baby. I don’t need a keeper.” The words he didn’t say, but Gabe felt, were I don’t need you.

He let the implied meaning slide off his back. Whether or not Dakota thought he needed his father, he needed someone. And since Gabe was the only one he had, Dakota was stuck with him until he finished high school. Gabe didn’t give up easily. “No, I can’t care a little less. You’re my son.”

Dakota snorted.

Gabe’s lips pressed together to keep from saying something about the boy’s attitude. He remembered having a similar one when he was Dakota’s age. Thank goodness his parents hadn’t given up on him. “As I’ve told you before, I didn’t know about you until recently, or I would have been more involved as a parent all along. But I know about you now—you’re here, I care and we’re going to figure out this father-son thing if it kills us.”

Okay, so that wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say, but so be it. He’d tried all the textbook suggestions on getting through to a teen and they had worked no better.

“I want to know where you go so that I know you’re safe.”

“Really?” Dakota’s brows rose into the shaggy hair hanging down over his brow. “Like, this town has nothing goin’ on. Why wouldn’t I be safe?”

Gabe sucked in a deep breath, last night’s victim surfacing much too quickly. “I take it you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?”

“About the woman found strangled on the beach this morning.”

That got his son’s attention. Dakota stared up at Gabe, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not pullin’ my leg just to get me to call, are you?”

Gabe’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “Wish I was.”

Dakota’s face paled. “Dead? Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t like you being out on these roads alone.”

The teen’s brows scrunched together, that rebellious look returning. “I’m not a girl. I can take care of myself.”

“Are you sure?” Gabe asked. “Women aren’t the only murder victims in the world, you know.”

“So, that doesn’t mean it’ll happen to me.” His son bounced the bicycle impatiently. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Let me know where you’re going and when. That’s all I’m asking. That way I’ll know which ditches to look in if you don’t come home on time.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about me being run off the road if I could drive myself.”

“Boy, you are so wrong.” Gabe shook his head, a smile curving his lips. “When you start driving, I’ll worry even more.”

“Not like I’ll be driving anytime soon.” Dakota sighed.

“Your probation ends on Saturday. We’ll start driving lessons then, I promise.”

Dakota scuffed his tennis shoe against the gravel on the shoulder of the road. “Stupid to be on probation for a little graffiti.”

“It’s considered destruction of property,” Gabe stated in a matter-of-fact way. “Property that doesn’t belong to you. How would you feel if someone painted your house with graffiti?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a house.”

Gabe sucked in a deep breath and let it out. The kid had a point. They were living with Gabe’s sister in her bed-and-breakfast until Gabe found a house he liked enough to buy. “Just call and leave a message on my voice mail when you come and go from your friends’ houses, will ya?”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“At least text me to let me know where you’re going.” His voice was a little sharper than he’d intended, but he couldn’t walk on eggshells with the boy forever. “And don’t be late for dinner, it makes your aunt crazy.”

Gabe climbed back into the cruiser and pulled out onto the road, his gaze shifting between what was in front of him and the boy in the rearview mirror. He didn’t like leaving him on the side of the road, but short of manhandling him into the cruiser, he had no other choice. The kid just didn’t get it.

A murderer was loose in Cape Churn. Until they caught him, no one was safe. The knot in his gut tightened. Though he’d assured her otherwise, Gabe had begun to wonder if Kayla’s attack was connected.

Chapter 4

Kayla woke from a nap on the couch, surprised she’d fallen asleep at all. Drawn to the picture window overlooking the ocean and the road leading up from town, she noted the sun hovering over the horizon. It would be dark soon. A shiver of dread slithered down her spine.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Kayla’s heart skipped a beat and then thudded against her chest. Her hand rose to her throat where her breath lodged, as a solitary figure appeared walking along the road. At first all she could see was a dark silhouette, until the figure moved closer.

Finally, Kayla could make out a teenage boy pushing a bicycle.

She let go of the breath caught in her throat and laughed shakily. She really was a mess. “Your mommy’s losing her mind, Baby. But don’t worry, I have six months to get it back before I can start driving you crazy, too.”

Maybe coming to the coast wasn’t such a good idea. Alone on the edge of a cliff almost made her feel more of a target than if she’d been surrounded by people in a bustling city.

The boy stopped, dropped down by the rear wheel of his bicycle, fiddled with something and then stood, his gaze panning the area.

When he spotted the cottage, he resumed pushing the bike. Instead of passing by on the road, he turned onto the gravel drive leading down to the lighthouse cottage.

Moments later, the teen knocked on the door, the sound jolting Kayla from her stupor. When she didn’t move to open the door, the boy leaned to the side and peered into the window. He blinked and stepped closer, his hand cupping around his eyes and pressing against the glass. “Hello?” The teenager’s gaze landed on her and his face brightened. “Miss, could I use your telephone?” he called out, his voice muffled by the thick panes of glass.

It would be rude to ignore the boy. “Is everything all right?” she asked, her voice little more than a squeak. Oh, no, what if someone else had been hurt? Had another woman been attacked?

“I got a flat tire on my bike. I need to call the police station.”

“The police?” Kayla inched toward the door. “Why the police?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “It might give them something to do.”

Something to do? Kayla shook her head. Had the boy not heard about the murder? Curiosity warred with wariness, pushing it to the side. The teen looked harmless enough. A glance at his bicycle confirmed the flat tire. He was as tall as she was and lanky, but not very muscular. Certainly not big enough to overpower a woman and strangle her to death. And surely he wasn’t the man in Seattle two weeks ago who had tried to kill her. The boy didn’t have the build. What did Kayla have to worry about?

“Just a minute.” Kayla left the chain secure over the door, while she unlocked the doorknob and the dead bolt. She eased the door open and stared out at the young man. “I’m not sure the landline’s been turned on yet. Give me a minute, will you?”

“Sure. I guess I could push the bike all the way to the B and B, but the old man will go ballistic if I’m late. Thinks I’m a little kid or something.” The boy turned his back to the door and scuffed his tennis shoe against a porch column. “This place is so dead, it’s lame.”

Kayla cringed at the young man’s choice of words and closed the door, racing for the telephone on the kitchen counter. She lifted the receiver. No dial tone. With a sigh, she replaced the phone on the charging unit and dug in her handbag for her cell phone. The display showed two bars. Maybe.

Back at the door, she unlatched the chain and handed the phone to the kid. “The landline isn’t connected yet. But you can try using my cell phone. No guarantees—the reception isn’t great. But I got a call through yesterday.”

The boy punched in the numbers and hit the send key. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Nothing.” He pressed the redial key and waited again. With the same response, he closed the phone and handed it back to Kayla. “Guess I’m walking. Thanks anyway.” He turned and stepped off the porch.

Kayla watched him amble down the gravel road, shoulders slumped. She called herself every kind of fool. If she let herself be afraid to step out of the house, she’d more or less create her own prison. That was no way to live. If she retreated from life in fear, her attacker back in Seattle had won.

Bull on that!

Kayla was made of sterner stuff. Officer McGregor was right. Her attack had nothing to do with the woman killed last night. No one knew where she’d gone. She’d told no one. He couldn’t have followed her.

Guilt and determination pushed her out the door to stand on the porch. “Wait!” she called out. “I have an SUV. I’m sure I can fit the bicycle in the back. Want a lift?”

He turned, shielded his eyes from the sun falling toward the sea. “No, thank you. I don’t want to bother you.”

“I insist. Just give me a minute to get some shoes on.” When she turned to close and lock the door, she stopped herself. The boy wasn’t going to bother her, and she’d be damned if she acted like a pathetic old lady, locking herself inside every minute of the day. She purposely left the door unlocked and opened as she ran for her room to dig out her sandals.

When she returned to the living room, she gasped.

The teen stood beside her easel, holding up the palette and paintbrushes. When he heard her gasp, he dropped the items to the table beside the easel. “I’m sorry, the door was open. I thought you wanted me to come in.”

Kayla laughed, her voice shaky. “I did want you to come in,” she lied. “I just didn’t expect you to be so quick.”

“A guy would be stupid to pass up a free ride.” He nodded at the easel. “You paint?” He snorted. “Dumb question. Of course you do, why else have paintbrushes and an easel?”

Kayla stared at the empty canvas and sighed. “I used to paint.”

“Used to paint?”

She shrugged and gathered her keys from the kitchen countertop. “Haven’t felt much like it lately.” Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she stared across at the boy.

He didn’t seem at all in a hurry, intent on studying the paints, pressing his finger to the globs of oil on the palette. “I like the way the colors blend and make new colors.”

“Me too. It’s one of the reasons I took up painting in the first place.” Kayla moved closer to where the boy stood. “Seeing as I’m giving you a ride home, it might be nice to know your name.”

“Dakota.” He glanced at her. “Are you any good?”

“At driving?”

“No, painting.”

Kayla almost laughed out loud. She never took her talent for granted, nor her success over the past five years. From selling her paintings on the sidewalks of Seattle to being sought out by rich-and-famous art aficionados, she’d come a long way. Good at it? The laughter died before it could emerge. “Sometimes.”

The teen turned away from the palette, the canvas and the brushes and strode to the door. “At least you don’t get fined, put on probation and kicked out of your home for your art.” He pushed through the door and jumped off the steps to the ground below.

“Fined?” Kayla followed him out, locking the door behind her.

When he didn’t respond, she didn’t push. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the stormy look on his face didn’t invite confidences.

With a tap on her key fob, she popped the latch on her SUV and the back door rose. The backseats were still folded down from when she’d loaded all her suitcases and art supplies for the trip south from Seattle.

Between the two of them they managed to get the bicycle in place, laying it on its side. Kayla let Dakota handle the heavy lifting. Once it was inside, Dakota climbed into the passenger seat while Kayla closed the hatch and rounded the vehicle to the driver’s side.

As she settled behind the steering wheel, the sun glinted off something shiny, blinding her for a moment. That something dangled off the rearview mirror. She blinked and held up her hand to keep from being flashed again. She touched a thin chain, her fingers curling around it. When she looked down, her heart stopped, her breath lodging in her throat. In her palm lay a golden locket—the locket she’d worn the night of the art show in Seattle. The night she’d almost lost her baby. The night she’d almost been murdered.

Gabe stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and scrubbed the water from his hair, his thoughts poring over the events of the day, the murder weighing heavily on him.

He’d been with the sheriff when they’d given the young woman’s parents the news. His chest was still tight from witnessing their disbelief and then the overwhelming grief in their eyes.

Adding to his crapper of a day, Dakota hadn’t been home when he’d gotten off work. Another ten minutes and he’d be late for dinner.

Not that Gabe cared so much about punctuality. He worried where the boy was and whether or not he was in any kind of trouble.

The front door opened and closed on the big old house.

Gabe looped the towel around his neck, slipped into a pair of jeans and padded barefoot through the bedroom door and out onto the landing overlooking the large foyer. “Dakota?”

When no one answered, he hurried down the stairs, reaching the bottom just as the door opened again and Kayla Davies entered, followed by Gabe’s sister, Molly, with Dakota bringing up the rear.

Kayla stopped so suddenly that Molly ran into her back, bumping her forward and into Gabe’s bare chest.

His hands automatically rose to steady her, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. “Hello, again.”

She stared up at him with deep green eyes, her hands resting against his bare skin.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I was too busy looking down I didn’t see you stop. Hi, Gabe, meet our new neighbor, Kayla.” Her brows rose. “You might want to put a shirt on.”

“Yeah, really,” Dakota agreed, edging past the women and his father to lope up the steps two at a time, his face a mottled red.

“Wash up, dinner is on in a few minutes,” Molly called out to the retreating teen. She shook her head. “I don’t know what it’s gonna take to get through to him.”

Kayla stepped back, twin flags of color rising in her pale cheeks. “Excuse me. I’m not usually so clumsy.”

“Blame me.” Molly hooked her elbow and dragged her toward the kitchen. “Gabe, get dressed while Kayla and I put the finishing touches on the soup. Oh, by the way, she’s staying for dinner.”

Kayla glanced over her shoulder at Gabe as Molly pulled her through the swinging door and out of sight.

For a long moment, Gabe stood staring after them, his skin still tingling from where Kayla’s hands had rested on his chest. He dragged in a deep breath and let it out, stunned by the impact she had on him. His pulse beat faster than normal, his blood burning through his veins. He’d thought his reaction over their earlier meeting had been one of fear for her life, but this kick in his gut had nothing to do with fear and more to do with physical attraction.

Gabe shook himself, grabbed the towel from around his neck and followed Dakota up the stairs. He needed to remember to keep his head clear. This was no time to get caught up in an untimely attraction. He had too much going on, between trying to connect with his son and finding a killer.

He also had to remind himself that women weren’t on top of his most trustworthy list since Siena showed up at his door with a son she’d kept secret from him for years. Growing up in a small town, he’d always assumed that the people he felt close to—family, friends, lovers—were as open and honest with him as he was with them. He couldn’t assume that anymore.

He suspected his lack of trust was part of the strain in his relationship with Dakota. He doubted Dakota would feel any better about it if Gabe explained that he was suspicious of everyone, not just teenagers with juvenile court records.

Gabe even had his suspicions that Kayla was keeping something from him. He wanted to know everything he could about this stranger with the porcelain skin and long silky hair. But the timing was all wrong—not least because he was afraid she might be in danger.

He’d spoken to the detective on her case back in Seattle. It sounded bad. Very bad. It obviously hadn’t been just a random attack. There had been phone calls leading up to it—threats, harassment. And then, on the night at the gallery, the attacker had told her that it wasn’t over.

No, this definitely wasn’t a time when either one of them needed the distraction of a relationship.

Three minutes later, he stepped out onto the landing, securing the buttons on a crisp white dress shirt, his hair combed back, shoes on his feet.

Well, just because he wasn’t looking for a relationship was no reason not to look his best.

He’d stopped to knock on Dakota’s door. “Ready?”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” the teen muttered, the steady thump, thump of music carrying through the wood paneling.

Gabe descended to the ground floor and headed straight for the kitchen, where he found Molly pouring a stockpot full of clam chowder into two large soup tureens.

“Hold that, will ya?” She handed him the stockpot, hot pads and all, and scraped the last drops of soup into the serving dish.

“That’s an awful lot of soup for the four of us.”

“We have additional guests coming for dinner.”

Gabe’s gaze drifted around the kitchen.

A smirk lifted one corner of his sister’s mouth. “She’s out on the porch, taking in the sunset.”

“Who?”

Molly shook her head. “Don’t play dumb with me. You had your hands on her long enough to grow roots.”