Page 87 of Wild Eyes
Two sets of blue eyes that match my own stare at me from across the table. I don’t know why I feel like I’m in trouble, but I do.
It’s quiet for a beat, then Emmy shrugs and goes back to her plate of food. “Fair. I wouldn’t want to sleep in the bunkhouse either. Auntie Rosie’s mouse lives there.”
Skylar and I lock eyes.
“You knew about Auntie Rosie’s mouse?”
Emmy freezes, turning big baby blues up at me. “Oh no. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
Skylar tries and fails to bite down on a giggle.
I’m about to express all the ways I’m going to get back at Rosie for playing house with a goddamn rodent on my propertywhen Skylar cuts me off. “It’s okay. Scotty and I will become friends this week.”
Ollie’s brow furrows. “Wait. You’re going back out there?”
“Yep.” Skylar shrugs.
“Why?”
She smiles a practiced smile, one I recognize from the glossy pages of magazines in the grocery store checkout line. Not the one she gives me when we’re alone. “Because you guys have a lot going on here. I don’t want to intrude.”
My son turns to look at her. “You’re not intruding. We like having you here.”
She blinks down at him, a sheen in her eyes.
“You should just stay. There’s a room for you and everything.” He turns to me. “Right, Dad?”
I watch them across the table, both wedged in beside her like they want to be close to her too. Like they’re just as inexplicably attached as I am.
It’s new and foreign and…right.
That’s why I stare straight into her amber irises and say, “Stay.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SKYLAR
I wokeup nervous about today’s meeting. But the headline sitting in my inbox really turned my day around. It read:
BREAKING NEWS: Sources say Skylar Stone lives in fear of being attacked by lake trout.
I really had freaked out. And the kids had laughed so hard that it was worth coming across as the ultimate city girl. The memory will always make me smile. It’s one I’ll cherish forever.
So now I sit across from Ford and his daughter, Cora, in the cozy living room area set up at the back of their office feeling more confident than ever. It’s a charming atmosphere with a wood-burning stove in the corner and a wall covered in shelves and records behind them.
On the coffee table between us, sheets of paper are spread out.
“No.” Cora shakes her head as she tosses sheets down one by one. “No. Nope. Hell no.”
She continues flicking through them, and I can’t keep the amusement off my face as I watch Ford stare at her with afurrowed brow. I’ve been observing them together for an hour now, and they are a marvel.
Both so similar. Both so dry. I could watch them all day.
“Where did you find these songs, Ford? Teenyboppers R Us?” She doesn’t look at him as she says it, just groans and discards another sheet with such force that my lips twitch.
“These are from well-respected songwriters.”
She rolls her eyes from beneath her heavy, black bangs. “Well, they don’t have my respect.”
