Page 52 of Protecting What Is Mine

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Mollie

I check the rearview mirror, probably for the hundredth time, making certain Hank is still behind me. After bringing me back to my car, he graciously agreed to follow me home. In part I think because he knows I’ll need all the backup I can get if I’m going to convince Sam that staying at Hank’s is the right thing to do. And if I’m being honest, also because he’s smart enough to know his truck offers the most cargo capacity—and three women can pack an awful lot of crap when they have no idea how long they’ll by gone and zero time to plan.

I flip on the signal and turn into the neighborhood, reciting my spiel aloud a one more time. “Sam, at this point Clint has demonstrated he’s more than willing to show up here and terrorize us any time the mood strikes. And now he’s showing up at my work and threatening me. Oh, and um…your dad is apparently out of jail and back in town.”

Something about that still needs polished, doesn’t it?

I turn into the driveway and pull in as close as I dare to Sam’s car so as to leave what room I can for Hank’s truck. I park and lean against the door while I wait. It’s not long until I hear the low rumble of his exhaust and then see him crest the hill. Hank pulls up and all but passes the place before he stops and backs in to the gap of driveway I left him. When he’s parked, the truck is almost perfectly squared, like he’s done this a hundred times before.

“You’re going to have to teach me how you do that someday,” I say as he climbs down from the cab.

“You want to learn how to drive my truck?” Hank asks with a wide smile.

I bashfully smile in return. “Would that be okay with you?”

“Hell yeah! Few things hotter than a pretty little girl driving a big manly truck.” Hank reaches for my hand as he approaches, and without so much as slowing down, pulls me off the car and toward the house. “Come on, let’s get this show on the road.”

Sam calls from the kitchen when I open the door. “Mol, that you?”

“Yeah.”

A few seconds later she appears in the dining area, wiping her hands with a dish towel. “Oh, now I see why you’re so late coming home,” she says with a nod to Hank. “You two have a delightful afternoon?”

I glance at Hank and can’t help but smile. He hides his smile much better but squeezes my hand to let me know he’s enjoying the same thoughts.

“Well, the afternoon was good, but work? Not so much.”

“That stinks.” Sam sets the towel on the dining table. “Was it busy all day or something?”

“A little, but that wasn’t the problem.” I look down the hallway. “Where’s Nessa?”

“This time of night?” Sam’s brow crinkles as she thumbs behind her. “She’s in her room, hopefully falling asleep. Why? What’s going on?”

I look to Hank for moral support. “You should probably sit down.”

Sam takes a half step back. “Whoa. Are you?” Her hand covers her mouth. “Did you get her pregnant?” Her words fly at Hank like daggers.

“What the hell?” Hank’s mouth drops open. “No. What are you trying to jinx us, or something?”

“Phew.” Sam’s hand moves from her mouth to her forehead. “Well if it’s not that, then what on earth is the big deal?”

Still holding his hand, I pull Hank to the dining table and slide back a chair “Again, I think you may want to sit down for this.”

Sam looks me over, but then does as I suggest, sliding out her chair and taking a seat. “Alright, I’m sitting,” she says with frustration.

I take a deep breath. “When was the last time you heard from your dad?”

Sam recoils. “Roger?” She taps her index finger against her lip while she thinks. “A few months before he went to prison, I think. But hell, at this point your guess is as good as mine, babe. By all indications, he never could care less about me or what I did. I guess…eventually, the feeling became mutual.” She raises a brow. “Why? Is he dead?”

Nervous, I look to Hank for support. “Well, no. Based on the conversation I had with him at Belle’s, I’d say he’s very much alive.”

“He’s out?” Sam’s eyes flit back and forth between Hank and me. “And he’s here? In Logan county?”

I slide my hand across the table to hers. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you. I’m sure it’s a lot to process, but yeah, it looks that way.”

Sam sits quietly for a minute, staring off into space. Finally, she turns back to me. “And he just showed up at the diner? For lunch?”

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