Page 13 of A River of Crows

“You got your dad's office. Still smells the same. Like old coffee.” Sloan sat in a chair on the other side of Noah’s desk. “How is he . . . your dad?”

Noah smiled. Sloan tried not to stare, but he looked even better now. The dark smooth skin and perfectly squared jaw were just as she remembered, but he was bigger now, his black polo strangling his biceps and tight against his chest. And the beginnings of a mustache suited him. Sloan allowed herself to look into his eyes; they had always been his best feature. Not only their deep brown but the inner smile that seemed to reflect from them. Sloan had never seen kinder eyes.

“Dad’s real good. Fishing a lot, enjoying retirement. You should stop by and see them. That would make their day.”

“For sure.” Sloan looked down at the threadbare carpet. “I need to thank them for all they've done for my mom and for handling everything with the house.” She let her eyes rise to meet his. “And you. I wanted to thank you.”

Noah stood and walked to the coffee pot on his windowsill. “We’re glad to help. It's the least we could do.” He held up the pot of coffee. “Want a cup?”

Sloan shook her head. “No, pretty sure I'm the one who's done the least that can be done.”

Noah kept his back to her as he filled his cup. “Well, you needed to get away.” Frustration laced his voice.

Sloan rubbed her hands on her thighs. “It was complicated.”

Noah sat back down in his chair. “I know. I know.” Some warmth had returned to his voice. “I'm sorry we weren’t able to talk her into staying at the home.”

“Well, thanks for trying. She’s worse than I thought, Noah. She’s claiming Ridge is still alive. This is going to be an interesting summer.”

“You're staying all summer?” Noah's coffee cup hid his expression. “What about Liam?”

“It didn’t work out.”

Noah set down his cup. “Sorry. I hadn't heard.”

“It's fine.” Sloan noticed the photo on Noah's desk for the first time. A casual family portrait taken in front of an ornate Christmas tree. A beautiful wife and two children, a boy and a girl, wrapping paper strewn around them. She wasn't sure whether she should be happy for or insanely jealous of Noah's picture-perfect life.

She picked up the photo. “Beautiful family.”

“Thanks. Hudson just turned four; Julianne is two.”

“Sounds like you've got your hands full,” Sloan said because that seemed like something normal people would say.

“They’re both pure energy, for sure. But I work so many hours; it’s Vickie you should feel sorry for.”

Sloan looked at the photo again. Looked at Vickie's beautiful smile, beautiful husband, and beautiful Christmas tree. No, she didn't feel sorry for Vickie. Not at all.

“So that's why you're here?” Noah reclined in his chair. “To say thanks?”

“Thanks and sorry,” Sloan whispered. “Sorry for running away like I did.”

“Sloan, I already told you. We were glad to look in on Caroline.”

“I'm not talking about Mom.” Sloan's mouth felt bone dry. “I'm sorry for running out on you.”

“Oh.” Noah let out a breath that rattled his lips. “That.”

“I was miserable in Mallowater.” Sloan saw hurt spread across Noah's face. “I mean, everything was miserable except for you. You and your family saved my life all those years.”

“We were friends.” Noah spun a pencil on his desk.

“Most friendships don't come at such a cost,” Sloan said.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Sloan shifted in her seat. “Your poor dad was dragged through the mud for standing by us. We were outcasts.”

“You were victims,” Noah said, emphasizing each of the words.

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