Page 23 of Anchor Point

“No. I lied and told her I was meeting friends.”

At least she was honest about lying. In some fucked-up way, I respected that. It was how I’d lived my youth.

“So, what made you lie to your mom and then ride all the way out here to the middle of nowhere, alone? Which isn’t safe, by the way. How old are you, anyway?” The words came out stern, almost gruff.

“I’m fourteen. I wanted to meet you.”

I had to hand it to her. She was forthright. And also the exact right age to be mine.

“You did?”

She swallowed, glancing out to the pond beyond the house while she fiddled with a turquoise ring on her finger. Then she looked right at me.

“I saw an article online. You guys raised a bunch of money for a firefighter who had cancer.”

That was totally not where I expected this conversation to start.

I waited and let her continue. “The guy who had cancer was the cousin of one of the girls at my old school. She was bragging about it in class and was really thankful. And then after he died, they reposted that article online, and I made the connection with the town. So, when we moved here, I figured maybe you’d want to know that, about the family, and I found you.”

Okay. Part of that might’ve been the truth. Probably.

But I sensed there was more to this story that she didn’t want to say out loud.

She was back to fidgeting, not meeting my gaze. “So I did some digging and figured out where you lived, then rode out.”

Did some digging? How? Where? Definitely more to this story.

“Well, that’s awfully nice of you to come out here to tell me. I appreciate that. I remember that fundraiser. He was a nice guy. We miss him.”

She nodded.

I waited patiently. I could wait all day if it gave me a chance to study her.

“So, yeah. Anyway. I was just out exploring and realized I was close, so I thought I’d drop by.” She stood and hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “I guess you have things to do, so I’ll just be on my way.”

She bent to scratch Buster’s ears again. “He’s a great dog. Before Mom was chief, she was gone every third day. Who helps you with him when you’re on duty?” She stood again, glancing into the house. “You have a roommate or something that helps you? A girlfriend?”

She was fishing.

I chuckled because she was so unexpected and mischievous. I didn’t know her end game, but I appreciated the effort she was making.

I snapped my fingers to get Buster’s attention and give her some space. He bounded over to me as if just noticing that I was available for attention. “Buster is a roamer. When I’m not here, he hangs out at the neighbor’s house. We sort of have joint custody, though I do get stuck with the vet bills.”

“So… no girlfriend?” The amount of hope in the words was surprising. I needed to steer us away from this conversation, but for some weird reason, I shook my head no.

“You headed back to town now that I’ve answered all your burning questions? It’s a haul. You don’t want it to get too late and cause your mom to worry.” Plus, I needed to man up and figure out just how to address this elephant. Because Rosie being here meant she thought she knew me. And I thought I knew her, and yet, here we were, bouncing around this subject and not confirming anything or really talking about the real issue at all. I really needed answers from Olivia.

“Yeah, I guess I better go.”

She slipped her other arm into the strap of her backpack and tugged the straps to secure it. I wanted to offer to give her a lift, but it wasn’t a smart move to offer a fourteen-year-old girl I’d just met a lift. Any number of accusations could come from it.

I turned, bracing both hands on the porch rail as she bounced down the steps. She was so young and full of spirit. She paused at the bottom to look around my property, her eyes wide and curious. Taking in my workshop, the deer feeder in the food plot beyond the workshop, the small pond in the distance. “You’ve got a really great place here. Any fish in that pond?”

I grunted in acknowledgment.

“You think I could come back sometime, and you teach me to fish? Some of the boys in my old school talked about it all the time. They’d go with their dads to the marshes and always had the best stories. I’ve always wanted to learn, but my stepdad wasn’t into it.”

How the hell was I supposed to answer this? The hope was back, and it killed me to even think of telling her no. If she knew who she was to me, and she was as brave as I first thought, why didn’t she just ask me outright if I was her father? I felt like that’s what she wanted to ask, but what if she didn’t really know? I certainly couldn’t be the one to tell her.

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