Page 51 of Mountain Daddy

“Fifteen thousand.” I set the cup down. Lean against the counter. “That's what you owe.”

“It's not your problem.”

“I'd like to make it my solution.”

“No,” she’s quick to say. “I don't need your help.”

“Your pride won't feed your son.”

The words hit her like a slap. She flinches.

“What if I don’t want your help?” she hisses with anger, having been hurt.

“But you doneedhelp, don’t you?” I ask simply. “I can get you suppliers. Renovate. Expand. Make Sugar and Spice something this town actually lines up for.”

“Why?” Her voice is small. Sharp. “Why the hell would you care?”

Because I walked in yesterday and saw our son.

Because I haven’t slept since.

Because the sight of him nearly brought me to my knees.

I don’t say any of that.

Instead, “I’m investing in clean businesses. Laying down roots.”

Her eyes widen. “You can't be serious.”

“I don't joke about business.”

“People don't just hand out business investments to waitresses they slept with.”

“No,” I agree. “They don't.”

“So why are you here? Really?”

The question I've been expecting. The one I've been preparing for.

“I'm looking into legitimate investments.” The lie slides out smooth as silk. “Things with good cash flow and community connections. Your bakery would fit right in.”

She stares at me like I'm speaking a foreign language.

“Clean businesses,” she repeats slowly.

“Clean money. Clean books. Clean reputation.”

Her laugh is sharp. “Since when do you care about clean anything?”

Since I killed a man and brought heat down on myself. Because Chicago went to hell and I need a place to lay low in.

Because I found you again.

“People change,” I say instead.

“Do they?” She crosses her arms. “Because the man I saw in that alley didn't look like he’d want to settle into Fern Hills and take on a bakery to expand.”

There it is. The real reason she ran.

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