Page 31 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“And you never knew any of your mom’s family? She never talked about her own parents or siblings or where she was from?”

I hesitated. This was probably another one of those moments Kate would call the “natural” point in the conversation to share information. But I wasn’t ready to divulge that particular detail, not when it sat like a thing with feathers on my chest, fluttering with precarious hope. Telling her would make it real, and then I would have to do something about it. For now, I just wanted to hope. I needed that.

“No, she never said,” I told her.

Technically true. My birth mother had never talked about her hometown, other than to say with much derision that it wasn’t worthy of her time. So, it wasn’t a lie. At worst, it might be called withholding. But that was hardly a crime.

Anyway, I didn’t know for sure that my mom’s family was in Hart’s Ridge. And even if they were still here, maybe they didn’t want anything to do with Allison Darlington’s cast-off kid.

“Well, Max, that sucks donkey butt,” Kate declared, making me grin in spite of myself. “And I’m sorry that I don’t have anything wise to say. Can I buy you a cookie? It won’t make you less of an orphan, but at least you’ll be an orphan with a cookie.”

My stomach made it known that a cookie was exactly what it wanted. “Thank you. I would love a cookie. But I’m going to take it to go.”

She looked at me quizzically. “To go?”

I grinned, slow and full of promise. “Yeah. I have a date to plan.”

It didn’t take me long to formulate a plan of action. Unlike Kate, I had been on a fair number of first dates. Dinner and a movie was always a safe bet. We would start the evening at Dreamer’s Café—I had only been in Hart’s Ridge a month, but that was long enough to learn that Dreamer’s had the best food in one hundred square miles—and follow that with the romantic comedy that was playing at the local theater.

I took out my phone to text Kate the details, but before I could hit her name, it rang. Goat’s Tavern flashed across the screen. I answered. “This is Max.”

“Hey, Max. This is Luke. From Goat’s Tavern. You left a folder here. I found it under the bed.”

My brow furrowed. I had left something behind? That wasn’t like me. I wasn’t forgetful and I wasn’t careless. Fastidious was how more than one person had described me, and I fully leaned into that. “I did?”

“Yeah. It says ‘Budget’ on it. I didn’t open it, but seeing as you’re the principal, I’m guessing it’s important and probably confidential.”

“I’ll be right there. Thanks.”

I hung up the phone, perplexed. Losing a financial document was a serious problem. I couldn’t remember seeing a folder like Luke described, and I was certain I would have noticed if something were missing. Maybe the folder belonged to the room’s prior occupant? I would have to find out.

It was late afternoon when I parked in the gravel lot outside Goat’s Tavern. The lot was nearly empty—it was too late for the lunch crowd and too early for the bar crowd.

The gravel crunched loudly under my feet. Then suddenly, the sound got even louder. I looked up, expecting to see Luke, but instead, the world flipped upside down as my legs were kicked out from under me. I landed on my back, the wind knocked out of me, staring at the blue sky above and a goat proudly trotting away, his tail raised high, and a long baaaa trailing behind him like a victory knell.

A shadow fell, blocking the sky and the goat, and I looked up to see Luke and a uniformed police officer.

“Max Darlington?” the officer demanded sternly.

I narrowed my eyes. I had spent enough time in the juvenile foster system to have a deeply rooted suspicion of police. I didn’t have to tell the officer my name unless there was a reasonable suspicion that I was committing a crime. Hard to rationalize, flat on my back as I was. “Am I under arrest?” I asked lightly.

The officer cocked his head, studying me. “Why? What did you do?”

As if I would tell a cop anything. Regardless of guilt or innocence, your words could be used against you to bite you in the ass. “If anyone needs arresting, it’s that goat.”

The officer looked like he didn’t disagree.

“Don’t even think about it,” Luke warned the officer. He offered me a hand and hauled me to my feet. “This is Eli Carter, the entire police force of Hart’s Ridge.”

I nodded in acknowledgment but still didn’t confirm my own name. Eli took note of that, giving me a second, more thorough searching look. I kept my expression blank.

“That goat is going to get you sued someday,” Eli told Luke.

Luke grinned. “Nah.” He tapped the wooden sign. Beware of Goat. “I’m covered.”

I was pretty sure that wasn’t how the world worked, but whatever. I was under no obligation to disabuse Luke of his wrongness. It wasn’t my ass on the line. “Where’s the folder?” I asked.

“Come have a beer with us.” Luke must not have heard me, because he was already heading inside, tossing the invitation over his shoulder and walking away before I could protest.

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