and your people for a job well done,” he’d said, this deceptive warmth shining in his dark eyes. “It’s high time you enjoyed the good life. Is this the missus?”
Dad watched nervously as he plodded across the room, grabbed Mom’s hand, and laid a kiss on the back. Mom just looked like she was about to throw up.
“Charmed,” Clay grunted, flicking a feral tongue over his lips before looking at Dad again. “You’ll always have a place with the boys, if you ever need it again. Let me know if country livin’ gets boring, Nelson.”
Then came the moment I wish I could forget.
He turned, stared, and winked at me, those bear-like brown eyes so dark, so hard to decipher.
No, I didn’t know what was going on, but Mom’s sick, strained expression told me all I needed. It also warned me to keep my mouth shut.
So I did, keeping one hand on my hip, softly pinching the skin under my jeans until it bruised.
The same spot aches now, remembering that day.
We’d moved to the farm the same week. Though the place was worn down and needed a lot of money and time to fix it up, it was ours.
We built Sellers’ Pumpkin Patch into a profitable business. Things were good, very good, until my last year at college, when Mom was diagnosed with cancer. Her health insurance soon maxed out and Dad wound up making a call to Clay Grendal for help.
Dad would do anything for her, and he swore to drive her to the Mayo Clinic one state over for the best treatment available, even if it cost a fortune.
I’d been there again when Clay showed up, this time at the farm, sporting another fat bag bursting with cash. He’d acted sincere, concerned for my mom.
Dad was relieved, and the money made her final days fairly peaceful.
That’s why I’d never said a word about how Clay looked at me, this lecherous gleam in his eye.
How he ran a hand down my arm when my parents were out of the room.
Every last bit of me cringed, knowing what this wolf wanted.
I still haven’t said a word about it, or the other things that happened.
The ‘bad luck’ started after Mom died.
Little things at first. Petty vandalism—someone driving through the pumpkin fields and then the corn maze right before Halloween, our peak season.
The next year, it was worse.
The barn and gift shop caught on fire. Since it was ruled arson, insurance wouldn’t pay.
They wouldn’t cover the cost of all the items that were stolen, either. By fall, we couldn’t even buy a new insurance policy. Not that it mattered, there wasn’t much left to insure, and Dad was in no state to rebuild anything himself.
I knew it was Clay. Dad insisted it wasn’t, it couldn’t be, he’d never...
Oh, but he would.
And he did.
Dad’s eyes were opened when the demon visited us one night, asking for his payment, flashing this violent sneer as he mentioned our run of hard times.
Ugh.
So much for my appetite.
Tobin’s chicken soup tastes divine, but I can’t bring myself to eat another bite.
I dump out the remnants in the bowl and go to bed, hoping I’ll be able to sleep and come up with a plan in the morning.
Dad’s right about one thing—we can’t drag anyone else into our problems. Even if we’re broke, desperate, and for now, effectively homeless.
I also know Dad needs a doctor. His cough keeps getting worse, and he’s getting smaller and greyer by the day.
It’s times like this, back when I was little, that Mom would bring me a candle and a soft, angelic smile. She’d stroke my head and speak her catchphrase.
“If you’ve got a light, you’ve still got a wish.”
But what do you do when the only light you’ve got is borrowed from a generous stranger and you stopped believing in wishes years ago?
What do you do when there’s no fight left in a battle that was always lost?
4
No Easy Way Out (Ridge)
Tobin finishes filling a steaming cup of coffee on the table just as I walk into the kitchen.
A little white bottle of pain relievers sits next to it, waiting for me.
“I don’t need those,” I say with a snort. “Didn’t get that plastered last night.”
“Oh? Not even for your morning after headache?” He folds his arms, a smirk barely hidden on his face.
I’m still amazed he hadn’t seen through my acting last night.
I pick up the coffee and take an angry slurp, eyeballing him the entire time. He huffs out a