Page 25 of His to Love
He laughed, but it was cold as ice. Ice trickled down my spine. “I know.”
“Then why wasn’t he investigated?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Do you knowwhoJimmy Galecki is? How many men in the department are in his pocket or on his payroll? Do you have any idea the influence your father has with men in this city? How much influence you have because of your name?”
I did. I’d always known it to some extent, but I had only experienced the benefit the name could bring, not the destruction. Although what he said made sense. I often searched for news of my father and our family online. Nothing was ever mentioned, not even about the DPD investigating him.
“I’m sorry.” I wiped the first tears from my eyes away and turned, putting my back to the rail. “Now you know.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I have an aunt in Colorado. I’ve been there, working on her farm.”
An odd sound came from beside me. When I turned my head, I saw just the hint of a smile that matched his incredulous look. “Farm?”
I rolled my eyes. “Everyone knows my mom comes from a hippie family. Her sister has a goat farm.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, interrupting, but clearly amused. “You’ve been living on a goat farm?”
Most of the tension and the anger dissipated with just that question. I imagined what he was thinking. I thought the same thing for the first several months. Me? A girl who had a cotillion. Who began having her hair dyed and highlighted at the age of thirteen, along with weekly manicures, and had closets full of designer clothes?
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I protested.
Tyson’s grin only grew wider and he stepped in front of me. “I think I need to hear more about your life on a farm.”
Slowly, I nodded. Then I reached out and placed my palm in his extended hand. Somehow knowing that one action would change everything. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Chapter 6
While the stress eased off my shoulders, finally having answers even though I knew we had more questions between us, I could feel Tyson pulling away from me with every step we took. He led me farther north from my hotel to Harbortown, where most of the streets were lined with townhouses, some walk-up brownstones, and local restaurants. I loved it here because there wasn’t a chain or franchise restaurant in sight. My eyes widened as I saw a familiar place, one where we used to eat.
“Cherry Yo-Ville?” I asked. It could have been a coincidence.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft, proving it wasn’t a coincidence after all. From the look in his eyes, I could tell he clearly remembered the times we used to eat here. He looked down at me and tightened his hand around mine. “I didn’t even realize where I was headed.”
Then his eyes hardened again and he tugged me inside. I knew we still had a lot to discuss, but there was one thing I could no longer deny:
Even with the unknowns, I hadn’t felt more at home in the last ten years than I did when Tyson was touching me in some way.
I frowned as I thought about the way he so quickly changed his emotions and clenched my teeth together while we grabbed our bowls. We were silent while we loaded them up with different frozen yogurts and waited in line before piling on the toppings. The entire time, Tyson stood close, not touching me, but I could feel his presence like a wall of fire at my back or by my side.
“What’s going on with your mom?” he asked once we were seated at the table.
“Not much to say. This is her third time fighting breast cancer, and it’s metastasized to her brain. Her body can’t handle it anymore.” I closed my eyes and inhaled briefly, fighting back tears. “There’s nothing they can do for her.”
“Blue—,” he began, his voice full of pity or sympathy. I hated the thought of either.
The sight of her in her bed, so small, frail, and pale, flashed in my mind’s eye, and I quickly changed the subject. Talking about my mom wasn’t something I wanted to continue.
“So, you know what I’ve been doing for the last ten years.” I took my first bite of a mixture of birthday cake and Oreo yogurt and closed my eyes, savoring the flavors. As good, if not better, than I remembered. “What’d you do after college?”
He paused, his eyes glancing to his food before coming back to mine, but I caught the tightening of his jaw. Then he smiled, and it made me feel all funny. “I think we need to talk about this goat farm far more.”
My lips pressed together, a spoonful of fro-yo hovering at my closed lips, and I arched my brows.
When I realized he was going to completely ignore my question, all the warmth I had been feeling earlier began to cool. But I couldn’t stop smiling as I thought about the farm, and I let him distract me, even though I knew he was hiding something. I hoped like hell he’d tell me when he was ready.
He listened intently while I told him about my first few months on the farm, where I had spent more time facedown in mud and running from the few chickens in Eleanor’s chicken coop than I did providing any real help. He listened to my stories of farmers’ markets and learning how to make goat milk and cheese. How we made our own candles.
