Page 22 of All Along The Watchtower

My exhausted brain tried to work through the implications of that. If they’d died before Peyton was born, that meant somehow Casey had lost both her parents less than a year after leaving Hatterwick. She’d been on her own in the world with a baby at eighteen. That had to have been incredibly difficult. So why the hell hadn’t she reached out? I would’ve been there. I would have done the right thing.

But I said none of that to this child who had no reason to believe me.

“When did she die?” I fought to keep my voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside me.

“Three months ago.”

“And since then? Who have you been living with? Who’s been responsible for you?” The questions tumbled out before I could stop them, each one weighted with the guilt of not having been there.

Those green eyes shuttered, and her fingers tightened on the mug until her knuckles went white. “A foster family.”

I bit back the eleven thousand questions I wanted to ask about that. If something had been going on there that had prompted her to run away to find me, she sure as fuck wouldn’t be going back. The protective instinct that had slammed into me the moment I’d learned she was mine roared to life. We’d have time to address… whatever might have happened. Right now,she needed to know she was safe, that she wouldn’t have to run again.

I drew a steadying breath. Time to be practical about this situation. If she’d been in foster care, then she’d have a caseworker at social services. No doubt they’d be looking for her. We’d need to notify them she was safe while we started the process of testing to prove paternity.

“Peyton, we need to contact your case worker. Let them know you’re safe while we sort out?—”

She shot up from the table so fast her chair clattered to the floor. Before I could blink, she’d yanked open the back door and bolted. The flash of her dark blonde hair whipping around the door frame sent my heart into overdrive.

“Shit!” I jumped up to follow, but Keeley had the same idea. The dog’s scrambling paws tangled with my feet, and I stumbled, catching myself on the kitchen counter. The edge bit into my palm as I pushed off, losing precious seconds. By the time I righted myself and made it to the door, Peyton had vanished into the crisp morning air.

“Peyton!” My shout echoed off the neighboring houses, desperation clawing at my throat.

The late morning sun beat down on a maze of backyard fences and garden plots. No sign of which direction she’d gone. Bree’s cottage sat in the middle of the village, surrounded by other homes, making it impossible to guess which route she might have taken. My mind raced with possibilities. She could have ducked between any of the houses, taken one of the footpaths to the beach, or headed toward the commercial district. Ten years of military training, and I couldn’t even keep track of one scared teenager.

The dull thud of my heart turned into a desperate pounding. Less than twenty minutes. I’d had my daughter in front of me for less than twenty minutes, and I’d already screwed up. Made herrun. Just like her mother had apparently run all those years ago, taking any chance of me knowing Peyton with her.

CHAPTER 11

BREE

Morning sun streamed through the windows of the Brewhouse, casting long shadows across the empty tables. It was too early for customers, too early even for me to be here, normally. Running a bar meant I kept late hours, which meant I usually slept in.

Not today.

My phone sat silent on the counter. No texts. No calls. No updates.

The quiet gave me too much space to second-guess the fact that I’d left Peyton and Ford alone. She’d been through so much already. Lost her mom. Traveled across the country alone. And Ford… well, he had about as much experience with kids as I had with deep sea diving. It wasn’t like I had a ton, either. But I’d been her, once upon a very long time ago. And I hadn’t been willing to trust anyone further than I could spit.

I grabbed a cloth and attacked imaginary water spots on the glasses, arranging and rearranging them behind the bar. The kitchen staff would arrive soon. Mandy always showed up first, usually bursting through those doors like a hurricane of gossip. If word had gotten out about Peyton, she’d know.

The coffee maker gurgled in the corner, filling the air with its rich aroma. I’d already prepped everything for lunch service thatcould be prepped, short of actual food. As my short-order cook, Bonita, had informed me in no uncertain terms, that wasn’t my purview, and I didn’t chop correctly. Which meant there was nothing left to do but wait.

I wandered through the building, checking the gauges on all the brewing tanks and chasing imaginary dust bunnies, before ending up back at the bar.

Maybe I should text Ford. Just check in. Make sure everything was okay.

I picked up my phone, then set it back down. No. They needed time to figure this out on their own.

The kitchen door banged open, making me jump.

“Jesus, Mandy. Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

But it wasn’t Mandy. Ford ducked inside, his tall frame filling the doorway. Alone.

My stomach dropped. “Where is she?”

“I fucked things up.” He raked his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. “She bolted. I’ve been looking for the past half hour, but I can’t find her.”

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