Forever Wild (The Simple Wild #2.5) - K.A. Tucker Page 0,43

out of something that nearly killed him.

“This is a nice surprise.” Jonah leans the mantel across the stone and then marches over to offer his hand and a solemn, “Thank you, Roy.”

Roy accepts it without hesitation.

Oh, how far you’ve come, curmudgeon. There was a time, not even a year ago, that Roy sneered at that same friendly gesture.

Now, if he’d just come around to reconnecting with his daughter.

I have hope for him yet. It’s a matter of me figuring out how to maneuver around that conversation.

First things first, though, I need to speak with Delyla. I responded to her email this morning. I told her, yes, I’d love to talk to her. When, is the issue. Certainly not today. And the next six days will be a madhouse around here, getting ready for the wedding. I need time with her. Time to explain the complexities of a seemingly simple man like Roy Donovan. Time to prepare her for the kindness buried beneath the scowling exterior.

Time to make sure she can’t hurt him. I find myself, more than anything, wanting to protect this lonely man who hides from his past, deep in the woods.

“Well …” He turns and takes a step toward the door.

“Where are you going?” I blurt.

“Home.”

“You’re not staying for dinner?”

“Nah. I got chores to do. I just came to drop that off.” He does another scan of the tree, the table, the half-eaten gingerbread house that’s been moved to the kitchen counter. “You folks have yourselves a good night.”

Even though I should have expected this, my disappointment surges.

“Glen texted me,” Toby calls out, his phone in his hand. “They were expecting Kelly back by now, too, and she’s not answering her phone, either.”

“Okay. Let me see if they’re at the cabin before we sound the alarms.” Agnes disappears out the door again.

Roy watches her go. “What’s that about, now?”

“Mabel went out for a ride with Glen Prichard’s daughter,” Toby explains, collecting a carrot to peel. “They should have been home an hour ago and no one can get hold of them.”

“Huh.” Roy frowns. “Heavy squalls movin’ in from the west. Easy to get lost out there in that.”

Is he thinking about that night all those years ago, when his mother went out for food in a storm and never came back?

“They’re probably over at a friend’s house, hangin’ out, and lost track of time.” But Muriel’s furrowed brow says she’s not buying that.

Is she thinking about that night all those years ago, when her son stayed out hunting alone and never came back?

Dread crawls up my spine as I begin to appreciate why Jonah’s pacing like a caged animal, and how dangerous a situation this might be.

After another beat, Roy walks out the door without a word, in typical Roy fashion.

Five minutes later, Agnes returns, her face lined with worry. “No sign of them there,” she confirms.

Jonah curses under his breath. “Okay. I’m gonna go and look for them.”

“Toby—” Muriel beckons, but he’s already dropping his task and heading for the door.

To Agnes, Jonah promises, “Don’t worry. We’ll find her. No matter how long it takes.”

This is reminding me all too much of that night back in August when I sat in this house, powerless, waiting to hear about Jonah, unable to do anything. I thought I’d lose my mind.

I can’t do that again.

“Wait!” I rush for my coat and gloves.

I warm my hands by the fire as I listen to the buzz of voices around me, feeling like a visitor in my own house. Agnes is off to one corner, on the phone with the state troopers, giving as many details about Mabel as she can recall—her height and weight, what she was wearing. Muriel has dug up a map of the area from her glove box and Jonah is marking with a yellow highlighter the trails we spent two hours combing in the blistering-cold wind. Toby is rounding up a small army of friends—all of whom grew up with him and Kelly’s father—to congregate by the hangar with their snowmachines in twenty minutes. Teddy is at home, gathering supplies so they can join us in our search.

It’s almost six p.m. on Christmas Day. Dinner is getting cold in casserole dishes and on platters. If it were under any other situation, I would feel bad for all Simon’s hard work gone to waste. But all I can think about is how dark and frigid it is out there, and how Agnes cannot lose her child to the