Page 4

Kingsley

—Eight Years Ago—

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The double-car garage blocked the house from Kingsley's view. He put his finger to his lips, signaling Kenna to stay quiet and not give him away.

The voices of her foster parents floated through the air quietly and then disappeared. He stuck his head around the corner, making sure they were in the house, and then motioned for Kenna to hurry toward him.

Her expression changed to excitement, and she ran, almost colliding with him. "You found me."

"Told you I would." He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. "Go on inside and make some excuse to come out again, and we can talk for a few minutes."

"They won't care if I hang around outside. They're going to some party tonight anyway." She walked backward. "Just don't leave. I'll be right back. Stay there."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

He nodded, easing her worries. From the start, he saw through her attitude to the scared girl, lost in the system. It'd taken her a good year before she started talking to him about what went on in her life. Until recently, she viewed him indifferently, much like her social worker or a teacher at her school.

Five minutes later, she came running around the corner of the garage and thrust a candy bar in front of him. "I took one for you, too."

"Thanks." He ripped open the wrapper and looked at the bar. "What is this? Oatmeal?"

"Granola."

He grunted. Since he'd eaten most of his meals at the bar in Gem Haven since he was little, he'd never eaten one before. He took a bite and latched on to the chocolate chip inside the dry crunch.

"Do you like it?" Kenna broke off a piece and put the other half of the bar in her back pocket.

"It's okay." He pointed at her hip. "Why aren't you eating yours?"

"I'm saving it until later." She wrinkled her nose. "They're leaving me meatloaf from last night to eat while they go out." She shuddered. "I hate meatloaf."

He rewrapped his granola bar and handed it to her. "You can have part of mine, too."

"Thanks."

"How's school?" He tilted his head. "Have you made friends?"

She shook her head.

He looked across the street at the other two-story houses. "Nice neighborhood. I bet there are kids around here you could play with."

"I'm thirteen. I don't play." She brushed off her hands.

"What do you do after school?"

"Draw."

"Yeah?" He leaned against the garage. "What kind of things do you draw?"

"Lots of things." She moved beside him and put her back against the building. "Trees and horses."

"You like horses?"

She looked at the ground. "What happens to horses if their owners don't come back?"

He looked away, feeling the desperation in her question. Without asking, he knew she must've had a horse before the state took her into the system.

It was a hell of a situation. He swallowed, thinking of something that would make her feel better.

"My dad paid to have my horse stabled, but nobody is paying the bill," she whispered.

"To be honest, I don't know." He exhaled. "I can find out, though. Do you know the name of the stables?"

"Maryhill Stables." Kenna turned to him. "Can you really find out?"

Even better, if he could track down the horse, he'd pay to have it boarded until he could figure out a way to reunite Kenna with her horse. Maybe that would put a smile on her face.

"No promises, but I'll try." He caressed her cheek. "What's your horse's name?"

"Luxy."

It would be easy to call the clubhouse, talk to Razz or Snack, and find out in a matter of seconds if an abandoned horse was left at the stables. But he had a feeling nothing good would come from his phone call. He wouldn't break Kenna's heart and leave her to deal with another disappointment.

"Why do you keep coming to see me?"

He chuckled. "Everyone needs someone in their life that's always there. I'm your person."

"For how long?"

"For however long you need me."

"Are you a social worker?" She tilted her head.

"Do I look like a social worker?" He grunted in amusement when she wrinkled her nose. "Nah, just someone who will make sure you're safe and taken care of."

"Why?"

"Because you need me."

Her brows pinched, and she studied him. Kenna wasn't going to take him at face value. She was smart and had a good head on her shoulders.

Unfortunately, life was often cruel to those who could see beyond what was happening around them.

"What happens when I get moved to a different foster family?"

"I'll find you."

She shook her head and looked away from him. "No, you won't."

He'd prove to her that she could count on him. It'd take time but he wasn't going anywhere.

Being a Stafford meant you never walk away from promises. And when a favor was owed, it got paid.

"Kenna?" yelled a woman.

She flinched. "That's my foster mom."

"You better go before you get in trouble."

She hesitated. He motioned his chin, sending her on her way. Hidden out of sight, he put a cigarette in his mouth. Once it was clear, he'd leave.

A car engine purred. He glanced around the corner of the garage and caught sight of a vehicle backing out of the driveway. Stepping into the shadows, he waited until they drove away before walking into view. He'd parked his Harley at the corner next to the curb so as not to bring attention to himself.

The sunset cast a long shadow ahead of him as he walked down the concrete driveway. As he reached the road, a screen door creaked open behind him.

"Kingsley!" Kenna's voice carried across the yard, filled with urgency and a hint of desperation.

He turned to find her booking it across the grass with her slim arms swinging. In view of the neighbors, he needed to get her inside before someone questioned why he was visiting a young girl when her parents weren't home.

"Can you give this to your brother? Maybe he could give it to my sister." She held out a notebook. "Tell her...tell her I love her."

"I'll make sure she gets it." He took the book and held it to his heart. "Go inside, lock the door, and I'll see you again soon."

The tension in her slim shoulders eased. With a small wave, she turned and ran to the safety of the house. He took a deep breath and walked away.

At the corner, he stopped at his motorcycle and thumbed through the book. Even in the dim light, he could make out rather good drawings of what could only be Kenna and her sister, her horse, and depictions of their life together.

He closed the pages and slipped it inside his duffle. Those girls never asked for the life they were given.