Page 13 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Chapter Eleven

Webb

I 'd told Gabby I was checking the traps, and that was technically true because I did check one on the way out. But mostly, I needed a signal and a quiet place to take Marcus’s call. He didn’t like sending texts when things got serious—which meant this was serious .

I walked a little past the creek, near the old fence line where the trees thinned out just enough to catch a bar or two and dialed his number. He picked up fast.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Marcus said without preamble. “Matty tracked down Clayton Barris.”

I stopped walking. “The guy Maddox left in charge?”

“Yeah, he’s been keeping a low profile, but Matty’s contact in Tallahassee spotted him. He’s rattled, so something’s definitely going on.”

“What kind of something?”

“Looks like Maddox got spooked because he took off faster than expected. Word is that a federal audit's brewing. Someone dug into his city contracts, and it’s looking like the paperwork doesn’t hold up.”

I swore under my breath. “And Gabby’s files?”

“Probably the match that lit it. Barris might know more than that now. We don’t know how much he’s been involved, but he’s nervous. That might be bad, or it could be useful.”

That shifted everything. I thanked Marcus, promised to update him if we got any kind of contact from Barris, and ended the call.

When I turned back toward the cabin, I cut through the far side of the clearing, and that’s when I saw Gabby sitting on a flat rock at the edge of the tree line, holding a plate and whispering into the bushes like she was hosting a secret forest podcast.

Then came three raccoons, little masked troublemakers creeping from the undergrowth and waddling toward her like she was the trash-fish messiah. I stopped and just watched, wondering what she was going to do.

She tossed a piece of something shiny and smelly—sardines, by the look of it—and muttered, “You’re drinking shitty, pissy water, Steve. You’re better than this.”

I had no idea who Steve was, but I assumed it was the boldest raccoon currently slurping away like he’d paid for the buffet.

Gabby didn’t notice me at first. She was too focused on talking to them softly like they were old friends as she began telling them about not wanting to die.

That evolved into her telling him about how she was being hunted and about not slipping in the outhouse and being found by a park ranger named Doug.

It was the kind of moment that would’ve looked unhinged to anyone else.

But to me, it was pure Gabby. Honest. Weird. Endearing. And kind of heartbreaking.

I accidentally stepped on a branch. The raccoons bolted—all four paws and no hesitation—into the bushes like furry little bandits on the run.

Gabby whipped around and glared at me. “Jesus, make a noise or something,” she hissed, clutching her chest. “I thought you were a bear. Or a ranger. Or a judgy bear ranger.”

I didn’t smile, not quite, even though I wanted to. “I didn’t want to interrupt the group therapy.”

She looked down at the plate in her lap. “They're going through something. And frankly, so am I.”

I moved closer and crouched beside the rock. “Well, I’ve got something that might help. I just got off the phone with Marcus.”

Her face sharpened. “What is it?”

“Matty found Barris.”

Her eyes widened. “Maddox’s guy?”

“Yeah, and he’s scared. Word is that Maddox is in deeper trouble than we thought. There’s a federal audit starting on his contracts, permits, andshady paperwork. The works.”

Gabby blinked, taking that in.

“If what you found ties to that, you’re not just a loose end. You’re the whole thread.”

She exhaled like it physically hurt to process that. “And Barris?”

“He might might break if he’s not loyal. He's definitely nervous right now, and nervous people talk.”

She looked down at the empty plate. “Guess that means we’re done playing dead in the woods.”

I nodded. “Almost.”

She glanced toward the trees where her furry audience had disappeared. “I was just telling them I didn’t want to die. You know, to raccoons or corrupt developers.”

“That's reasonable.”

“And then you showed up like some kind of serious news fairy. With gunmetal eyes and terrible timing.”

I looked at her—really looked at her. Her eyes were tired, her skin still sunburned, but her voice was steady, and her spine was straight. Gabby was still here and still standing, looking ready to fight.

And I’d be damned if I let Maddox or anyone else take that from her.

“We’re getting close, nutter butter.” I hadn't planned my next insanity-related name for her, so that was the best I could do at such short notice.

She nodded, quiet but sure, and for the first time in days, I felt like we weren’t just reacting anymore. We were preparing.

“Come on.” I nodded toward the trees. “Let’s go skip pebbles.”

Gabby looked at me like I’d just invited her to wrestle an alligator.

“Why would I willingly approach the bayou?” she asked. “That’s where all the things live. The slithering, sneaking, bite-you-for-fun things.”

I shrugged. “You live here now, might as well enjoy some of it. Besides, you can scream at some frogs again. It’s therapeutic.”

She narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t some sneaky survival test, is it?”

“No,” I drawled. “Just skipping rocks, like normal people.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Well, you’re about to learn.”

And, to her credit, she stood up, dusted off her shorts, and muttered, “If I get eaten by a water monster, I hope you feel so guilty.”

The bayou was peaceful at this time of day, with sunlight filtering through the moss-draped trees and casting dappled light on the water.

The surface moved slowly and quietly, broken only by the occasional ripple from fish—or whatever else might be lurking just beneath.

We stood near the edge, where the earth was packed and flat, perfect for tossing stones but not ideal for standing barefoot, especially if you were Gabby.

She kept eyeing the water like it owed her money.

“Here.” I handed her a flat stone. When she just stared at it, I explained, “Skimming’s about feel. Grip it between your finger and thumb like this.” I demonstrated. “Then keep your wrist loose and flick it low and smooth, like you’re swatting a mosquito sideways.”

She did exactly none of that on her first try. The rock plopped into the water like a dropped potato.

She glared at the water. “Okay, I hate this.”

“Nope, try again.”

She let out a frustrated groan but picked up another rock anyway.

This one was flatter, smoother—maybe it'd bring her better luck.

She gave it a determined flick across the surface of the water.

It skipped once with a satisfying plunk, gave a second, half-hearted bounce that barely counted, and then surrendered to gravity, sinking with a quiet glub that somehow felt personal.

Her face lit up like she’d just seen fireworks. “Three skips! Did you see that?”

“Not bad for a beginner.”

We kept at it, tossing rock after rock. I told her about my grandfather, Hurst, and how he’d taught me how to do this when I was seven.

He swore a five-skip toss meant you were ready to marry, but I was still skeptical about that.

I also described the competitions we used to have at every family cookout, with all of the Townsend cousins lined up, our pockets full of river stones, and our unearned confidence.

Gabby laughed genuine, belly-deep laughs. Throughout my story, she missed half her throws from watching the water too hard and waiting for snakes or “swamp ghouls,” as she called them, but she never stopped trying.

“I used to want an emu when I was little,” she told me suddenly, mid-throw.

I stared hard at the side of her face. “An emu?”

“Yeah, they're big, weird, and aggressive birds, but I thought it would protect me. Or ride me into battle. I was unclear on logistics,” she shrugged.

“Sounds about right.”

She grinned and picked up another stone, her tongue poking out as she aimed. Then she threw it. It skipped once, twice...and nailed a massive frog floating belly-up near the reeds.

She gasped and let out a quiet scream. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I killed it! No, maybe it was already dead, and I disturbed its funeral float. Webb, get in there, we have to do frog CPR!”

I took a step back. “Frog CPR?”

“You have to do something!”

“I am not?—”

But then, as we both stared in horror, the frog moved. Or, more specifically — something moved it. A smooth swish just under the surface that caused a small ripple. Then, the frog’s limp body disappeared beneath the water without a sound.

Gabby turned to me slowly. “What. Was. That.”

“Probably a fish,” I said quickly. “Or a turtle.”

“Or a Kraken.”

I started to laugh—I couldn’t stop it—but she was already panicking, rifling through the gravel and picking up the biggest rocks she could find.

“No. Nope. I am not going out like this, do you hear me?” She chucked a rock the size of a grapefruit into the water with a splash that nearly reached the bank.

“Come out and face me, you slimy murder noodle.”

Another rock sailed through the air, arcing with just enough spin to give it promise.

It landed with a sharpsplashright where the dead frog had been moments before, like a clumsy, watery tribute.

The ripples spread outward as if the bayou itself was reacting to the oddly timed ceremony.

She stared at the spot, half expecting the frog to float back up like some kind of amphibious ghost seeking revenge.

Not getting the reaction she wanted, she yelled, “Leave the frogs alone!”

I doubled over, clutching my sides, full-on laughing now, with tears leaking from my eyes as Gabby launched rock after rock with all the fury of a woman fighting invisible swamp demons.

She threw one so hard she spun herself around and had to grab my arm to keep from tumbling straight into the marsh.

“I’m not dying in flip-flops, Webb! Not today, at least.”

“You really need new shoes or to wear those boots you had on.”

“I need emotional armor and a frog rescue team!”

Her response was so emotional and irrational, I couldn't help the burst of laughter that came out of me. My stomach tensed so hard that I couldn’t breathe.

And through the chaos, through the crying laughter and the panicked rock flinging, I realized that I hadn’t felt this alive in a long, long time.

She was still flinging rocks like her life depended on it, hair wild, cheeks flushed, yelling threats at unseen aquatic monsters like she’d just declared war on the entire bayou.

I couldn’t stop laughing. It came in waves, real, shoulder-shaking, gut-punching kind of laughter. The kind I hadn’t felt in forever.

Gabby, in full meltdown, wasn’t even fazed by it. If anything, my laughter just fueled her righteous rage.

“You think this is funny,” she panted, flinging another stone with alarming strength, “but that thing—whatever it was—ate a dead frog. What kind of sick underwater funeral crasher does that?”

“A fish,” I gasped out.

“A big fucking demon fish,” she corrected, throwing one last rock that bounced once on the surface, skipped impressively, and then thudded into a tree root with an echoing thump.

Then she collapsed on the bank beside me, arms sprawled, chest rising and falling.

And in the silence that followed, the only noises the soft wind, rustling leaves, and the water lapping the shore like it hadn’t just tried to assassinate a frog, I felt it settle.

Peace. It was brief and fragile, but it was real.

She tilted her head toward me, cheeks still pink. “Okay,” she panted breathlessly, “so maybe I overreacted.”

“Maybe,” I echoed, still grinning.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “But it was totally worth it.”

And it was. It really was. But as I looked at her—at the sunlight dancing through the trees across her skin, the subtle twitch of her smile still clinging to her mouth—my gut twisted.

I knew something she didn’t. Things were about to change.

Maddox’s man was still looking for her. They were probably getting closer every day. Barris, who was jumpy and unpredictable, was somewhere out there, maybe deciding whether to save himself or stay loyal to a sinking ship.

And Marcus, Matty, Remi, and a few other trusted people were deep into the weeds now, digging through Maddox’s old deals, finding files that stank of bribery, missing money, inspectors gone quiet, and building permits that led to nowhere.

They were going to send it to the people already working on Maddox’s case. People who, until now, only had whispers. The evidence Gabby found had lit a match, but what the others were uncovering could burn his whole damn empire down.

And as much as I didn’t want to ruin this moment—her laughter, her joy, and the ease in her shoulders I hadn’t seen since she got here—I knew I couldn’t keep playing it down.

I was going to have to tell her soon. And when I did, that smile might not come back for a while.

So, I let her have it, this ridiculous, perfect moment. Her feet kicked out in front of her, absurd flip-flops askew, hair full of leaves and righteous vengeance.

She caught me watching her and raised a brow. “What?”

I shook my head, smiling faintly. “Nothing, I'm just glad you’re here.”

Her expression softened. “Even though I might’ve just summoned an ancient water beast?”

“Especially because of that.”

She laughed again, quietly this time, like it was just between us and the trees. And I promised myself that she’d get more moments like this.

Whatever it took.

Even if I had to fight the damn Kraken myself.