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There was a separate section on my father’s criminal case. It had dragged on far too long and included so many of his excuses and false statements.My wife had a mental illness. She came from a violent family and could be volatile. I needed to protect myself so I could be there for my daughter.Nonsense justifications as he blamed her for her own death. His arguments failed and he ended up with a life sentence. Good riddance.

Seeing my history broken down into a few bleak lines of black ink separated by cold topic headings made my stomach heave. The report went on for ten pages but said nothing. It spelled out my boring life and the trauma that shaped it. The“recommendations” section at the end was the most enlightening part. It actually saidinappropriate mate for subject with political aspirations. It said a lot of shitty stuff, but that line stood out.

Harlan had been a busy boy since I got to town. To say I was irritated didn’t come close to covering my rage. This jackass commissioned a report about me for the sole purpose of confirming I was wrong for Jackson.

Under the demeaning and infuriating file was a second folder. This one was thicker and a bit imposing. I opened the cover, thinking it contained more information about my life, and...shit.

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

But he did and I needed to warn Gram and Celia right now.

Chapter Forty-One

I drove straight to Gram’s house. Bolted in the door then slammed to a halt. Gram and Celia sat at the kitchen table. They’d been smiling and talking when I burst in. Now they stared at me in charged silence.

I wasn’t sure how to start but Celia saved me the trouble. “Are you wearing a robe?”

“Am I...” I looked down.Oh, shit.

“Why in the world are you running about town half dressed?” Gram, always one to get right to the point, threw that out.

The last fifteen minutes played in my head. I’d read the report then found the second one and left Jackson in bed. Alone. Without an explanation for my absence and grabbed the robe. That’s all I wore. Really, that was it. Nothing underneath. No underwear or shoes.

No, this wasn’t embarrassing at all.

Push through. That was the answer. “What I’m wearing doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.” Gram nodded in the direction of the empty chair across from her. “You can’t just flit around like that. You’ll get sick.”

She was worried about my catching a cold. Interesting. If they’d put together my near-naked state this morning and myleaving with Jackson last night, and what that meant, they hadn’t spit it out yet.

I needed to take control of the conversation and direct it away from the robe question. “We have an emergency.”

Gram snorted. “Clearly.”

Do not take the bait. Do not take the bait.

“Would you like a scone?” Celia didn’t wait for an answer. She got up and brought back another plate.

“I’m not...” When she put the scone in front of me my hunger surged. “Well, yes, but that’s not why I hustled over here.”

I didn’t run but I came close to a jog, which was way faster than my usual speed. I sure sprinted from the driveway to the porch. Also “borrowed” Jackson’s car, which might not go over well. That’s how serious this mess was.

“Please tell me you didn’t jump around on the streets wearing that.” Gram shifted in her seat, looking under the table. “Where are your shoes?”

Excellent question. Why didn’t I slip them on?

That stupid report. Actually, reports. I saw the words. Panic swamped me when I realized how grave the situation could get. The need to protect overwhelmed my need for clothes.

Celia guided me to an open chair. Even stopped to pull the lapels of Jackson’s robe closer together and halt the unintended peep show. “Let’s get you some coffee. That will help.”

She said the magic word—coffee.

“Why does she need help?” Gram looked toward the door. “And where is Jackson?”

“He’s in bed.” Too much information. “I mean, I assume he is. He’s a grown-up. He can do what he wants in the morning.”

Why couldn’t I stop talking?