He got into the passenger side of a truck, and a moment later, it took off. At the end of the driveway, the taillights blinked red, before turning onto the road that led to the highway.
She looked around the RV, despair creeping in. No loan meant no generator, no underwear…no food. And then she thought about Declan sleeping in a comfortable bed, taking a hot shower, and feasting like a king.
Okay, you know what? Fuck this.
Fuck him. How does he get off doing office work while I break my back weeding?
She quickly packed her suitcase, grabbed her purse, and headed out of the Airstream. Her wheels clattered across the asphalt and rocked over the lawn. When she found the front door locked, she headed around the house to the kitchen. Locked.
Phinny eyed the balcony above the terrace. If she climbed onto the counter of the built-in grill, she could reach the uneven stone of the house’s façade. Perhaps, if she got her footing, she could heave herself over the banister. That shouldn’t be too hard.
But wouldn’t that sliding door be locked as well?
Only one way to find out. Setting her luggage and purse on a chaise lounge, she hiked herself onto the counter. Easy enough. Now, she just had to channel her inner rock climber. She’d never been much for outdoor adventures, but she had to get into that house, and she didn’t see another way. Let’s do this.
Finding a rock that protruded enough to get a grip, she got a foothold after one try. Victory. Now, for the next—
“What’re you doing?”
Heat sped through her at such an alarming rate, her palms went clammy, loosening her hold. Looking down, she found a little girl with dusty jeans and riding boots staring at her. “I’m trying to get on the balcony.”
“Why?”
“Because the house is locked.” Yeah, that wasn’t creepy at all. “Hello, I’m Phinny.” Her fingers began a slow slide. It was time to get down. “Kurt’s daughter. I flew all the way from London to get here, but nobody seems to be home right now to let me in.”
Plaid ribbons wrapped around the tips of her pigtails. She couldn’t have been older than eight. “Are you the one that made Kurt sad?”
“I…don’t think so?”
“I have to go pee pee, and my mommy doesn’t want me to go in the bunkhouse, so I can let you in.”
“I would love that so much. Thank you.” Getting back down was a bit trickier, but she eased her feet to the counter and then jumped to the slate deck.
“Are you playing Spiderman?” the little girl asked.
“It would seem so.”
“I don’t like to play games like that. I like to ride horses. Kurt was going to teach me to be a barrel rider like my mommy, but now he’s dead, so he can’t.”
It was like a punch to the chest. The air left her lungs, leaving her gasping.
He’s dead.
Phinny focused on the mountains in the distance, as waves of grief rolled over her.
I’m never going to know my father.
“Come on.” The little girl headed to the door, pulled a key from her pocket, and inserted it. As she walked inside, she pointed to a closed door. “I’m allowed to use this bathroom as long as I don’t bother Kurt or anybody.” She disappeared inside while Phinny continued into the enormous, clean, and well-equipped kitchen.
The air conditioning immediately dried her skin, the salt leaving it tight. Starving, thirsty, Phinny went right to the refrigerator to find it bursting with food. She peeked inside the pantry to see shelves jammed with boxes and bottles.
Yep. The puck chaser had been living like a king, all right. “That fucking fucker.”
“You said a bad word.”
Phinny swung around. “I did. I’m so sorry. I’m just really frustrated.”
“My mommy says instead of getting angry, get busy.” The little girl scratched behind her ear. “I have to go now. Bye.”
“Bye. Thank you for letting me in.” She watched until the girl left the house. Then, alone, she went back to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of chilled white burgundy, and yanked out the cork. She didn’t even check the contents of a glass storage container before pulling it out, popping the lid, and picking up chunks of chicken with her fingers. The tang of the vinaigrette made saliva spill into her mouth, and she gorged on cubes of feta, bits of crisp red onion, salty olives, and red peppers. Delicious. Once she’d finished, she wanted more. But as hungry as she was, she felt sticky and gross and needed to shower first. Bottle in hand, she rolled the carry-on into the living room.
Whoa. This is not how I remember Kurt’s house. Hadn’t it been darker? She recalled a more lodge-like décor with wood paneled walls and dark furniture with tartan throw pillows. Or had her mind patched together images from magazine and movies over the years?
I just don’t know. Taking a swig of wine, she crossed the spacious, gorgeously decorated room, heading for the stairs. Down the long hall leading toward the back of the house, every door was open except for one. Curious, she turned the knob.
Locked. Huh. She glanced around. This must be his office.
Nothing for me there.
Carrying on, she started for the stairs when her gaze snagged on the massive stone hearth. Specifically, the row of framed photographs lining the mantel.
With sudden purpose, she found herself needing to see those pictures. Dropping her purse right there on the floor, she made her way over to get a closer look.
She saw a steely-eyed Kurt in his hockey gear.
Another of Kurt and his teammates hoisting the Stanley Cup.
She picked up a striking shot of cowboys herding cattle. She could feel the movement of the beasts, the energy of the men as they held their lassos high in the air. Setting it back, she skimmed ahead, unable to help herself from searching for a photograph of her.
Her gaze caught on the hockey boys. Four of them. Tall, gangly, laughing, happy teenagers looking like they held the world in the palms of their hands.
The scream of rejection ripped across her body like icy cold storm winds.
This is it. The absolute proof he’d traded her for them. Her mum always said Kurt was all about hockey. He hadn’t known what to do with a little girl who wanted to stand on a step stool and make biscuits alongside her nanny. Or have a tea party with her stuffed animals. She’d needed her long hair detangled, and she’d wanted bows and shiny, patent leather Mary Janes.
These boys slammed into each other on the ice. They had cuts and bruises, scrapes and black eyes. Kurt had liked them better.
Even though this picture was taken more than ten years ago, she recognized Declan. With casual stances and easy-going smiles, the other boys had their arms wrapped around each other. Declan stood slightly apart. A shadow crossed his features, but it didn’t hide the smile that lit his eyes. He might not be touching them, but he belonged.
She drew a sharp breath. And I don’t.
I don’t belong here.
Any doubt Declan might’ve planted in her mind about family and legacy got yanked out by the roots.
Of course, I’m going to sell this place.
It means nothing to me.
“Remember our ‘Wyoming State Rodeo?’” Jaime said with a big grin. “I thought my dad was going to have a heart attack when he saw us riding that damn hog.”