I would never allow that to happen.
Murphy was pure. Innocent. Murphy was going to have a good life – I would make damn sure that happened.
“We shouldn’t be here, buddy,” I whispered to him in a barely audible voice. “We gotta get going.”
I looked back over my shoulder at Penn – handsome as hell and so peaceful. This time I didn’t even bother whispering. I simply mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”
9
Penn
I hadn’t slept so soundly in years. Partially, it had been exhaustion. Anne and I had quite the enjoyable workout session in my bed. But more so, it was just Anne – period.
She was amazing.
I’d given her a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in when we were finally ready for sleep. The shorts had slid straight down her legs even after the drawstring was as tight as it could go.
She’d laughed it off, telling me that my t-shirt nightgown would be more than enough fabric for her to sleep in. When she insisted on returning to the guest room to sleep with Murphy, I insisted on accompanying her.
I hadn’t actually known how that would go, but she’d agreed instantly. Something about being close to Anne and keeping her safe made me feel... complete.
She snuggled into me, Murphy snuggled into her, and I had my first ever flash of what having a family – my own family – might be like.
Awesome.
The only thing sweeter than going to sleep with Anne and Murphy was knowing that I would wake up to the same adorable picture.
I turned toward her, ready to kiss the living hell out of her face – but she was gone. So was Murphy.
They’re probably downstairs eating breakfast. I bet Betsy is going overboard with the pancake animals for Murphy.
It was just now 7:30 a.m. That had to be it. Murphy had woken, and Anne wanted to let me sleep, so they went off exploring. Whichever family member nabbed them first had almost certainly directed them to the breakfast dining room.
I jumped out of bed, convincing myself no panic was necessary. Anne had been different – good different – after we made love. She’d let me in.
In multiple ways.
I had a feeling that things were going to be different for us from here on out. I bounced down the main staircase, happier than I’d been... maybe ever.
We’d just had to burn through that first layer of ice. And there’d definitely been enough heat last night to do that.
I felt the ridiculous urge to skip but I buried it. Strolling into the bright, giant room that Betsy always served us breakfast in, I immediately realized that Anne and Murphy were not present.
Just Payden. Only Payden.
“You see Anne and Murphy this morning?” I tried to keep my voice casual.
She wouldn’t just leave. Not after last night. She wouldn’t.
Payden shook his head, downing a gulp of orange juice. “I’ve been up since 6:30. Went out to help the guys with the morning chores. Didn’t see her anywhere.”
“Was her truck still here?” I felt mildly angry and moderately scared. I wasn’t exactly sure which emotion was currently winning out.
Payden shrugged. “I didn’t go down that far. Just to the barns. Why are you freaking out?”
Payden doesn’t like drama. His brow furrowed while he took a bite of bacon.
“I’m not freaking out,” I replied swiftly, in a pitch that clearly indicated that I was freaking out.
“Okay. If you say so.” Payden’s attention went back to his breakfast.
I took off running across the house and back up the staircase. My hand was reaching for Dad’s office doorknob when he pulled the door open himself.
“Penn? Good morning, my boy. What’s wrong?”
There was no point in saying “nothing”. My father had seen the worry on my face the second his eyes fell on me.
“Have you seen Anne this morning? Or her little boy?” Panic had made me stupid.
“Anne has a little boy?” Dad’s eyes were wide.
He didn’t go to the campfires, and he’d been in bed for hours by the time we hoofed it up to the house. Dad hadn’t even known Murphy existed.
But he did now.
“Yes, Dad. He’s three – shaggy blond hair – his name is Murphy.”
“Why are you describing him as though you’re an Amber Alert?” Dad’s head tilted as he stared at me. It was beyond annoying. He was trying to read me – to read the situation.
He was always trying to read everything and everyone.
“I wasn’t. I didn’t mean to. They stayed over, and –”
“Now they’re gone?” My father finished the sentence for me.
“Why would you just assume they’re gone?” I nearly barked at him.
Dad shrugged, and in that instant he looked exactly like Payden. “Why would you assume they’re gone? Maybe they’re out petting the horses.”
I would have loved for that to be true, but I instinctively knew it wasn’t. Anne wasn’t the type to just go exploring an entire ranch with her toddler child and no one else.
She was the type, though, to think her way out of letting herself be happy and relaxed. She was definitely the type to leave before she could “be a burden” to anyone.
The girl had to understand at some point that she was wanted – by me – here and everywhere else.
“Fuck.” I put a hand to my forehead.
“Penn, you know I don’t appreciate that word. Say it all you like, just not around me.” My father had said this to my brothers and I so many times that I was considering having it engraved on his tombstone someday.
“Okay then. Frick.” I held my hands up. “Better?”
“No. You’re behaving very unlike yourself. This girl has you in a bit of a tizzy.” My father shook his head with concern.
“Yes, Dad. I’m all ‘tizzied up’.” There was a reason kids moved out of their parents’ houses. I had my own wing for God’s sake, yet still, the Pacific Ocean wouldn’t have kept my dad from somehow invading my private life.
Then again, what was he supposed to do when one of his son’s nearly ran him over in “a tizzy”?
I took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little worried. I really care about Anne, Dad. And I’ll watch the f-bombs if you can maybe stop referring to her as ‘that girl’.”
“Of course, Penn. I apologize. I didn’t realize that you and Anne had gotten quite so close so quickly. But she seems like a lovely girl.” Dad paused, and I knew there were many more things that he wanted to say. And ask. And advise. “Maybe Preston saw her? He got in awfully early this morning. I heard him drudge by my office sometime around 5:00.”
“You were up at five?” I wasn’t surprised so much as I was trying to keep up. My father’s sleep schedule was ever-changing. He called it part of “the creative flow”.
“Indeed. New ideas.” He tapped the side of his head and smiled.
“Pres still sleeping?”
“Well, he isn’t due in the ranch office until ten, so I would say yes. It’s safe to assume that he’s soaking up every last minute of sleep possible. Wake him at your own risk.” Dad walked away then, his chuckles echoing off of the stupidly high ceilings.