Page 49 of The Perfect Hosts

Lucy shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s a nice night.”

“Where’s Wes?” Madeline asks. She hates that she needs to ask her sister about the whereabouts of her own husband.

“Doing Wes things,” Lucy says, taking a long pull on the beer. Once she swallows, she scoots over on the porch swing as if inviting Madeline to sit beside her. “Don’t you want to guess what your dear husband is up to?”

Madeline does not. She does not want to play these stupid head games with her sister. “Listen, Lucy, I’m tired. Are you going to tell me where Wes is or not?” she asks, arms crossed.

“Fine,” Lucy says, her voice thick. “They found Dix,” she slurs. “Wes drove to Salt Lake City to see him. Isn’t that a refreshing concept? Someone looking out for their sibling?” That’s when Madeline spies the beer bottles at Lucy’s feet. She’d been out here for a while. “Come sit down, Mads,” Lucy says, patting the space beside her. Madeline fights theurge to settle next to her sister on the swing, to lay her head on Lucy’s shoulder, like she did when she was little.

“Did Wes say when he was coming home?” Madeline asks, begrudgingly. “My phone got lost in the explosion,” she adds by way of explanation as to why she hasn’t gotten this information from Wes himself.

“He said tomorrow, if all goes well.” Lucy adds another bottle to the pile at her feet. She checks the watch on her wrist. “Make that today.”

“Christ,” Madeline says, rubbing her forehead. “He has a head injury, Lucy. How could you let him go off on his own like that? He shouldn’t be driving. He could hurt someone.”

Lucy shrugs. “He insisted. And you, better than anyone, know how stubborn Wes can be. If it’s any consolation, he seemed fine. But what do I know?”

“Listen,” Madeline says, her voice taking on a resigned note, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything that happened back home. I said some things I shouldn’t have. Can’t we just forget about it?”

Lucy opens her mouth to interrupt, but Madeline doesn’t give her the chance. “You can have Sonnet back. And I’ll talk to a lawyer, find a way to get you your share of the money. I know Dad left the money and horses to me”—Madeline can’t help but get that dig in—“but I also know he wouldn’t want this for us either.”

Lucy shifts in her seat, planting her feet on the porch floor so that the swing stops swaying. She leans forward, elbows on knees, and looks up at Madeline. “You know that my dad’s trust is rock solid. Do you think you can give me a horse, my horse for that matter, and I’ll just go away? Uh-uh,” Lucy says shaking her head. “You said things I’ll never, ever be able to forget. And you know me. I can hold a grudge.”

Madeline holds up a hand. “Come on, Lucy, I’m offeringyou a way out. I’m giving you Sonnet, I’ll get you the money. Why can’t that be enough?”

“You know why,” Lucy says, grabbing Madeline by the wrist, the slur in her voice replaced with steel. “And who the hell is this Mellie person? And why is she staying here?”

“Mellie?” Madeline says, shaking off her sister’s hand. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know, but she’s around here somewhere,” Lucy says. “Do you really think it’s a good idea inviting a stranger into your house at a time like this?”

Madeline hates to admit that Lucy is right. Having Mellie here when things are so chaotic isn’t helping her stress levels, but what else could she do? The poor girl is all alone and pregnant with nowhere to stay. “She’ll only be here for a few days. Just until she finds a different apartment.”

“Uh-huh,” Lucy says, nodding her head. “Right. But my advice would be to send her on her way as soon as possible.”

“Everything okay?” comes a voice from the dark. Madeline lets out a breath, relieved to see the silhouette of Trent standing a few yards away. Madeline has always liked Trent. He’s a hard worker, is at once gentle but firm with the horses, always has their best interest in mind. She worries about him as a sister would a brother, as she has heard he can be reckless in his personal life—a hard drinker, messy relationships—but he always gets the job done. She also thinks Trent may have a bit of a crush on her.

Lucy gives Madeline’s wrist a final squeeze before releasing her. Trent’s eyes flick between the sisters. “Madeline?” Trent prompts.

“Everything’s fine,” she replies.

Lucy rises from the swing, her foot banging against the empty beer bottles, sending them scattering. “Yes, everything is fine. Everything is always fine with Madeline Drake,” Lucy says, her voice sharp with sarcasm. “I’m going to bed.”

Lucy brushes past her and moves down the porch steps, and Madeline can feel Trent’s eyes on her. Her face burns with embarrassment.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay.” Together they step from the porch and walk toward the rear of the house. Trent rests a hand lightly on Madeline’s elbow, and she’s grateful for his proximity. The last few days have left her reeling, bereft, bruised, and strangely alone. Madeline feels a surge of anger toward Wes. He should be here.

At night, even in mid-May, the smell of snow can drift down from the mountains, and Madeline breathes it in—the crisp, clean air that has replaced the sooty stink from the explosion. A wolf howls in the distance, and the spell is broken. Madeline rushes to the door.

She tugs on the sliding glass door, half expecting that Lucy has locked her out of her own home, but it slides open with ease. “Come on in,” Madeline invites, and Trent follows her inside. She flips on the lights. Her house feels strange to her now, different. A man has died here. A woman has died just outside these windowpanes. “I’ll be right back. I just want to grab a sweatshirt.”

She moves to the stairs; the landing above is curtained in darkness. Madeline stops short as she puts one foot on the first step. Upstairs is where Dalton Monaghan died. Their baby’s nursery is splashed with his blood.

“Madeline?” Trent says, watching her with concern.

She can’t move. Her foot is glued in place. Madeline knows that Dalton can’t hurt them any longer, that the danger has passed. But has it?