ladder. It was foldable, sturdy and lovely all the way around. Alwin was a miracle worker to get it installed this quickly, and so was Ava for thinking of him. It should have occurred to Bailey, but she hadn’t been herself lately. Not since she’d met Cameron Locke.
It was like holding sunlight. Everything about her was bright and beautiful and warm. She was so soft, and when her scent washed over him, he wanted to forget all his responsibilities and take her to bed for a week. Or stay right where he was and hold her as long as she’d let him. He needed to kiss her. When was the last time he’d been this desperate for an innocent taste? Was it the first time he’d seen Davide? He felt twinge of guilt that the impulse was that strong. Stronger. Who was this woman who’d dropped into his arms? Why did he want to keep her? Why did she feel like home?
“Stop it,” Bailey snarled softly at the vision, clinging to the ladder with both hands for support. “I don’t want to know this.”
She needed it to stop before she collapsed in a worthless heap on the floor. They’d gotten their point across. They were attracted to her, even believed they liked her. But they would still leave. “So get out of my head.”
There had to be a way for her to control this. Maybe a memory of her own to ground her. Something painful that was the complete opposite of the tender thoughts and endearing emotions she was getting from both men.
She took a deep breath and scratched at an old wound in her mind. She knew the one. The memory she always avoided, but never forgot.
A teenager standing in a dying garden in front of a dark trailer. She was hungry, needed new shoes and the electricity had been turned off, but it was the first time she’d cried in the months since her mother left.
She’d been so stupid, believing that if she neglected the flowers, her mother would somehow know. That she’d have to come back and take care of them, because she loved them. But they’d withered and died. Like she would, if she stayed where she was, expecting something to change instead of making a plan to take care of herself.
She should have known better. Selfish people never thought about what happened to the things they left behind.
It wasn’t pleasant, but it was effective. She could almost feel the link dim. It wasn’t gone completely—she could still sense it—but it was turned all the way down. Had she done that, or was it them? She supposed it didn’t matter. The intensity had receded enough that she felt more like herself again. She would be able to deal with whatever came next. One problem at a time. One step at a time.
She started the climb, making her way into the now-populated attic. Her fear of heights was thankfully gone for the moment. Maybe it knew she had more pressing things to deal with right now.
“Third time’s the charm,” she muttered to herself, ready for anything.
Chapter Twelve
She was so not ready.
“Am I turning in the right direction, Will? Wouldn’t want these poor young souls getting stuck because I turned right instead of left,” Mr. Olyphant said, slowly lifting one foot and then the other. Was he dancing, or did he have gum on his shoes?
Ms. Littleton was doing something similar, with a little more grace but a lot more hesitation. “Do extraterrestrials have ghosts? They must, don’t you think? We are all made up of the same substance.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mr. Olyphant answered. “I saw a documentary about what ETs would have to look like if they lived on other planets and that did not look like the same substance to me at all.”
“I suppose you’re right. Ghosts are better. At least they show up where they’re supposed to.”
Bailey rubbed her eyes, but her guests were still there. Still burning braids of white sage and moving around the big man in the center.
Kaya’s grandfather, Will, was a striking older man who seemed to prefer the windblown look for his short white hair. His cheekbones could cut glass, but instead of being intimidating, he looked amused to Bailey. Kind and patient, and definitely enjoying himself.
They were standing in the middle of the attic, in one of the only spots not crowded with boxes and knickknacks, broken lamps and old trunks. It would take her days to