somewhere new. When my wheels spun and caught again, I thought, If I can handle this road, I can handle any road.
But I liked my road. I liked the way the string of a stone wall sang of early settlers, the way fallen trees lay in the woods and became homes for squirrels, fishers, and foxes. I liked the weave of the road as it climbed around rocks and gullies. I knew every one of these curves, which was a good thing tonight, since the rain had given way to fog, and visibility was nil.
But the cabin had lights. They were on timers so that my pets wouldn’t be alone when I couldn’t get back until dark. Muted now by the fog, the swath of those lights was dispersed at first but grew focused as I neared. They were welcoming. They were mine.
And there was another thing—my cabin. It had character and charm. Sure, I could find another home with character and charm. But why did I have to do that? I had come here first. I had a right to stay.
Edward was the one who should leave. He had known I was here but had come anyway. He had never been cruel, but how else to explain it? Did he have a sick need to punish me more by making me see Lily’s face wherever I turned? If so, then the pain would be compounded knowing that in killing our daughter, I had turned a loving man into a shell.
He had to leave. Had to leave.
Would he? Logic argued against. The Devon Inn and Spa was far bigger than anything I owned here. He could try to sell it. But that would take time. My cabin, on the other hand, would sell quickly. From a purely practical standpoint, if one of us left, it would be me.
The unfairness of that rankled. This was my road, my cabin, my town.
Pulling up beside said cabin, I killed the engine and sat for a minute. My body felt strange—used in new places, bone tired in others—but my mind was the problem. It had been through a wringer, and the wash was far from done.
Then I heard Jonah’s bark and felt a pang of guilt at having been gone so long. But he didn’t bolt for the woods when I opened the front door, simply joined Hex and Jinx crowding my legs.
They were my home. Warmed by that, I leaned against the door to shut it. Smiling at their antics, I set my bag aside and, pausing only to shrug off my wet coat, knelt to hug, rub, and scratch. If I had to move, these creatures would come. But why should any of us be forced from a place we loved?
A male voice answered. “Hey.”
My head flew up, and my heart stopped.
10
It took me several seconds. The man rising from the sofa looked so like my father that, at first, I feared he had come back from the grave to haunt me.
But no. Not my dad.
“Liam,” I breathed, pressing a hand to the thud of my reviving heart. “What—w-when—how did you get here?” I hadn’t seen a car, though I did now see the muddy boots that lay strewn beyond the cats.
“I was doing just fine”—he picked up where he might have left off had there not been four years of complete and utter silence between us—“until I started up your hill.” He approached with a scowl. “What kind of road is that anyway?”
The cats ran away. Keeping an arm around Jonah, I sank from my haunches to the floor. “Dirt.”
“Not dirt. Mud. I skidded off into the trees and couldn’t get back, so I hiked the last stretch. I’m assuming someone can tow me out in the morning. Hell, towing cars must be a way of life up here. I carried my backpack, but the rest of my stuff’s out there … wherever.” The last word trailed. He was studying my face. “Geez, Maggie. You look awful. Bad date?”
I might have laughed, if I wasn’t still so close to heart freeze. My eyes surely showed the wreck of my life, and what Edward’s hands had done to my hair, the rain made worse. But I wasn’t sharing any of that with Liam. It was none of his business. Nothing in my life was his business. He had made his choice.
My younger brother by five years, Liam had the red hair and freckled skin that our paternal great-grandfather had brought from Ireland