Page 101

“Mr. Shaw, have you been drinking?”

Bron stills. His dark, murderous eyes blink. “What? It’s six in the morning. Why would—?”

Brewer takes a step closer. “I’m going to ask you to come back to the station with me.” He glances at Bron’s truck. “Did you drive under the influence?”

“I’m not drunk!”

He’s not. I know he’s not and so does the sheriff but Bron seems to have forgotten that, in Jefferson, Everly is one of theirs. The sheriff may not pass code in the big city on a good day, but he’s not about to let anyone disrespect her.

I appreciate that.

“Sheriff, Bron wouldn’t—” Lachlan begins only to get silenced by the hand Brewer puts up.

“Hands behind your back, son.”

Sputtering and darting outraged glances between the sheriff and his dad, Bron doesn’t move. But Brewer isn’t playing.

He grabs the kid by the elbow and yanks him forward.

It’s the best moment of my life as I watch with my arms folded, grin a full garden in bloom across my face, as Bron is hauled to the sheriff’s cruiser and slammed into the hood. The thwack of his scrawny body hitting metal sings through me.

Lachlan hurries after them, trying to reason with the law man, but Brewer has his cuffs snapped into place with a beautiful crack of steel.

“Stop resisting, Mr. Shaw, or I’ll add resisting arrest to the list.”

Without giving Bron a chance to comment, he shoves the shit stain into the backseat and slams the door.

“Sheriff Brewer, I can assure you Bron hasn’t been drinking,” Lachlan urges.

Brewer moves away from the cruiser where Bron’s face is a pasty circle through the glass and stops when we’re standing together a good distance away.

Still, I meet Bron’s murderous sneer with a smirk that has the fucker’s lip trembling and his nostrils going wide. The sight of it, of his indignation, only fuels my joy.

The sun may not be shining, but it’s already shaping up to be a beautiful day.

“Mr. Shaw, I appreciate you trying to be a good father, but this might be a good time to sit this one out. See, I was on the phone with Miss Cavanaugh when it started. Poor girl was scared something fierce and I don’t blame her the way he was unleashing the devil on her door. The things I heard this morning from the warmth of my bed ... well, like I said, if Everly was my daughter, your son wouldn’t be getting removed in a cruiser.”

That wipes the grin off my face. My head turns to where Everly is standing small and pale on her front porch. Her usually soft, hazel eyes are on the cruiser with a blankness I don’t think I’ve seen on her. It’s the mask of someone indifferent to the scene before her. The quiet calm of ... something. Something Ican’t put my finger on, nor am I given the chance to figure it out when her head turns.

Our gazes lock across the blooming predawn. There is strength and quiet determination in her eyes that has me forgetting everything else, but the distance between us.

I close it in five long strides. My feet climb the steps until I’m under the awning with her. Water cascades off me to drench her bare feet, but she doesn’t back away.

Her head tips up and our eyes meet. Hers are the soft velvet of acceptance and uncertainty. It’s such a vulnerable gesture I have to restrain myself from pulling her to me right there.

As if sensing my need to hold her, Everly turns and steps back into the house. I follow her over the threshold and into the foyer but stop a little inside to keep from trekking puddles through her home.

“Evie—”

I don’t know who moves, but she’s in my arms. Hers are around my neck. Her legs around my hips. She’s unbothered by the stream of water pouring off my clothes, soaking hers as she stamps her face into the curve of my neck.

“Van...”

My heart shatters at her breathless whisper of my name. My hold squeezes her closer.

“I got you, baby.”

Her back shudders with a broken inhale, the tremble of it echoing through me like a second heartbeat. I tighten my grip, one hand splayed across her spine, the other cupping the back of her head, fingers threading into her rain-damp hair. She clings to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to the earth, like if she lets go, she’ll drift away.