Even if I couldn’t have her, if I couldn’t kiss her or touch her or pull her into me and shield her from every unwanted harm — just looking at her was a blessing. I felt her presence swell into my chest, filling me up in some way that I never would have realized before.
Because I didn’t know I was empty.
Not until she poured into my life.
Ruby Grace’s content sigh brought me back to the moment as she shifted, rolling onto her side and propping her chin up with one hand. “So, what made you think of Stratford Lake for our friend date?”
I took another bite of the sandwiches we’d bought from the lake’s convenient store, speaking around the mass of meat and bread in my mouth. “My dad used to bring all of us out here. It’s one of my favorite places.”
Her face sobered. “And you brought me?”
I shrugged. “I thought maybe it could become one of your favorite places, too.”
A soft breeze rolled over us, brushing Ruby Grace’s wild hair back over her shoulders as a soft smile found her face. I marveled at the deep blue water of the lake behind her, the beige sand, the warm glow of the sun drifting in and out of the clouds. It was the kind of view an artist would stop time for, pulling out their easel or camera or pen and paper to capture the moment in whatever way they could.
“What was he like?” Ruby Grace asked. “Your dad?”
I smiled, stealing a strawberry from her plate and popping it in my mouth. “He was the original trouble maker. I remember Mom always yelling at him for something. But, not in a way that they were actually fighting. It was more like this adorable, you annoy me but I love you anyway kind of yelling.”
Ruby Grace smiled, running her fingers over the sand at the edge of the blanket. “So, I guess we have him to thank for the notorious Becker brothers running amok, huh?”
“Oh, definitely. But, it’s not like we go looking for trouble,” I pointed out. “We were just taught from a young age not to put up with anything that’s wrong. So, whether that means sticking up for ourselves or for our brothers or a friend or even a complete stranger, that’s what we did. It’s what we do.” I shrugged. “Dad never raised hell unless there was something to raise hell about.”
“Like the way Patrick Scooter was running the distillery?”
I blanched, heart stopping in my chest as I watched Ruby Grace in a new way. She was the mayor’s daughter — young, affluent, far removed from the distillery. I knew everyone in the town had some sort of tie to Scooter Whiskey, but it surprised me that she knew anything about the inner workings of the place.
“Yeah,” I finally managed. “Exactly like that.”
“My dad hated it, too,” she said, dragging her index finger in a heart shape over the sand before she erased it with her palm. “He said Patrick was tarnishing the brand, taking out all the honesty and down-home history that made the whiskey special. He said Patrick was going too mainstream, trying to be something Scooter Whiskey wasn’t.”
“That’s how my dad felt, too. And he had all these ideas about how to keep the same traditions, but liven up the brand, too. He was smart. He had research and industry surveys. He knew what he was talking about.”
“But Patrick wouldn’t listen.”
I nodded. “He seems to still have that problem.”
Ruby Grace watched me for a long moment, her fingers paused in their current doodle in the sand. “The fire your dad died in… your family doesn’t believe it was an accident, do they?”
I swallowed, watching a boat in the distance as I tried to figure out how to respond. The answer was easy — no, we didn’t believe it was an accident. But, admitting that was admitting that we had conjured some conspiracy theory, that we thought the Scooters were crooked, that someone had it out for our dad. It was essentially admitting insanity, and I didn’t want to do that — especially when Mom’s reputation and heart was on the line.
“We believe there’s a lot we don’t know about that day,” I decided on, and before she could respond, I changed the subject to her. “What’s your dad like? It had to be kind of hard, growing up as the Mayor’s daughter.”