Page 8 of When You Got a Good Thing (Misfit Inn 1)

Xander gave thanks for that every day. “Are you here long?”

“Have to head back tonight. We’re at a critical stage in the project just now, and I’ve got to be on site tomorrow.”

“Got time for a beer before you go?”

“Depends what time I finish up here.” Porter sighed. “Can’t believe this, man. Joan was a force of nature. It just seems so senseless.”

“It is senseless.”

They both turned at the quiet voice.

“Maggie.”

Xander wondered if she noticed the softening in Porter’s expression and tone.

She’d lost the suit jacket since the cemetery but looked no less professional in the slim skirt and blouse, all that pale blonde hair gathered in a roll at her nape. Xander imagined she dressed much the same for the boardroom or her high-powered clients in LA. He wasn’t sure exactly what she did for a living except that it used that terrifying brain of hers.

“It’s Margaret these days.”

“Old habits die hard,” Porter replied.

Maggie winced. “Well, I suppose it’s better than Mudbug.”

“I was fifteen and stupid.”

Porter had been fifteen and in love with her, Xander knew. Not that Porter had ever felt comfortable acting on it while living under the same roof.

“Brother’s prerogative, I guess.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

They both watched as she moved on to greet other guests.

“Brother,” Porter grumbled.

“So that’s still the way the wind blows, huh?”

Porter twitched his broad shoulders in irritation. “Doesn’t matter. She’ll be headed back to California soon enough.” But his eyes followed her as she circulated the room. “Let’s go get some food.”

Athena had taken over in the kitchen, overseeing the spread of food with a surly air that didn’t invite conversation. The big farmhouse table groaned under the weight of all the dishes, and Xander had no doubt more would be forthcoming from those who hadn’t yet been by. Pru fussed by the stove, making more iced tea. Catching sight of him, she shot a panicked look toward the back door. Following her gaze, saw Kennedy picking her way across the lawn.

At the table, Porter held out a plate.

“I’ll get some in a bit. I need to do something first.”

“Xander.” Hands knitted, Pru stepped in front of the door.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m just going to check on her. That’s all.” Before she could protest further, he slipped outside to follow.

Xander had no idea what he was going to say. Some dim part of him knew this was probably a bad idea, but he could no more stay away from her than a moth could a flame—even knowing he was likely to get burned. But she wasn’t alone down at the overlook. Ari sat on the long bench set beneath the spreading branches of an oak. Xander stopped, wondering whether he should head on back inside.

“I always used to like to come out here to think when I lived here.” Kennedy’s voice floated back on the faint breeze as she sat. She didn’t touch the girl, didn’t encroach on her personal space. They both just sat, looking out toward the lowering sun. In another hour it’d be full dark.

“You don’t have to talk,” she continued. “I know you’re sad and scared, and I know you don’t really know me. But I just wanted to say that I’m here for you, if you ever want to talk. Sometimes talking helps you feel less alone.”

Ari looked over at her for a long moment before turning her gaze back to the mountains. “That was nice, what you did today.”

Kennedy’s only acknowledgment that the girl had just spoken for the first time in almost a week was to glance over. “What was?”

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