Page 27 of Prodigal Son

He ignored her and kept walking. The familiar sting of rejection awakened old pains. Her newfound confidence wavered and something ugly filled her in a rush, tears brimming at her eyes. “Fuck you, then,” she muttered, putting up walls as a defense mechanism to protect her from further rejection.

“I guess I’ll take care of the fire…” She glanced over her shoulder and her voice faded away.

The flames shrank into a small flicker, no bigger than a candle on a birthday cake. She frowned and stepped closer. A second ago it was a raging inferno.

She inhaled and the wind stopped, the rain pulling back into the sky. Her breath held in her lungs as if time and nature stood still, waiting for her to exhale. Her eyes widened. Nothing moved. Not the wind, the rain, the trees, the earth, or even the fire.

“Whoa.” The whispered word expelled her breath and a gust of wind cut through the woods lifting her hair off her shoulders as the fire burst back to life. Flames stretched six feet high with the roar of a blowtorch, knocking her off her feet onto her ass. She crab-crawled backward, afraid her clothes might catch fire.

“Holy fuck!” As she sucked in a breath the flames shrank back to a flicker. “That’s not possible.” Her frantic stare searched the shadows, wondering if Trent was messing with her. Maybe he was playing with Zoey’s hairspray again.

“Trent? Zoey?”

No one was there.

Heart pounding, she stared at the little flame. Tightening her lips, she blew out a small breath and flinched when the fire blazed upward. Rather than sticking around to see how that was possible, she twisted and scrambled to her feet, racing back to the street.

Both Trent and Zoey waited inside the car, out of the rain. She ripped open the passenger door and clamored inside.

“Watch the mud,” Trent warned.

Juniper panted. “Just go.”

Zoey frowned at her. “You okay?”

“Fine. Just way too fucking high.”

Trent didn’t do his usual chuckle as he started the car, and she remembered his hurt hand, unsure where that left them as a couple.

CHAPTER 9

A soft drizzle accompanied Cain on his walk home. His thoughts replayed the exchange at his brother’s house, gnawing away at his insides until even the act of breathing rubbed him raw.

The houses were dark and silent, supper resolved and many already retired for the evening. The moon glowed low behind the trees, long shadows crawling over the earth. Candles illuminated the windows of his grandparents’ home as he crossed the prairie. Only then did he spot Cybil playing on the dark porch with a corn husk doll.

And there it was. He shut his eyes for the briefest moment, savoring the innocent sense of nostalgia he’d longed for. Although Cybil had not lived on the farm long, Cain had taken a great liking to her and often worried over how she was adapting. Now, in her traditional Amish clothing surrounded by the safety of the farm, he felt great relief that she’d been adjusting fine in his absence. Perhaps part of his worry was actually the unfamiliar longing of missing someone.

Cybil sat on a quilt, no shoes on her stocking-clad feet, and her wild blonde hair uncovered, not a single part of her seeming to mind the cold, despite her rosy red cheeks. The gate hinge creaked and her gaze snapped up, fixating on him.

Such a haunted stare shouldn’t belong to a child, yet she had seen unnamable horrors for a girl of only eleven years, and her eyes wore the wisdom of such trauma.

He lifted a hand. “Remember me?”

Her intense stare softened the moment she realized it was him and not his twin brother Adam. She breathed in a silent gasp and the doll fell forgotten to the planked floorboards, as she barreled down the walk and launched herself into his arms.

Her bunched gown and long cloak smelled of cold weather and tree sap. Warmth spread through his chest as he shut his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of her fine hair.

“You’ve grown.” She was too old for dolls, but small enough that others might mistake her for much younger.

She hugged him with a ferocity that couldn’t be faked, and he thought … this is love. He needed a welcome like this after the week he had.

As she pulled away, she looked at him, tears of joy in her baby blue eyes. Her cool fingers cupped his jaw, frowning at the stubble, her palm brushing over the prickles.

“Should I try to grow it in?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

She scrunched her nose and shook her head.

He laughed, setting her back on her feet.

---