Southern Secrets (Southern #7) - Natasha Madison Page 0,5

the car, all of us looking down and lost in our own thoughts. We see police tape at the front of the lane, and when I look to the side, I see Asher and Ethan wrapping the same tape around a couple of trees. Willow and Emily get into the back seat of the car as I pull open my door, but I stop, looking across the street. Though there are rows and rows of blooming trees, all I can see is black smoke, but for some reason, I feel eyes on me.

"What is it?" Chelsea gets back out of the car and looks at me, her eyes turning to see what I’m looking at.

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head and getting in the car. I close the door and fasten my seat belt. "I guess I’m just feeling out of it," I say, and my eyes try to look into the dark forest, but all I can see is darkness.

Chapter 3

Asher

I walk toward Jacob’s truck with my head down. I don’t even think about what I’ve lost, not when I looked over and saw Amelia with tears running down her cheeks. It made my stomach sink and burn. I wanted to go and comfort her, take her in my arms and tell her how sorry I was. The guilt that this accident could have been my fault rushed through me. We both looked at the blaze as the firemen tried their best to put it out as fast as possible, everyone working together.

"Asher," Jacob calls my name softly, and I look up at him. "If you want to sit this one out …"

I shake my head. "Sitting around and dwelling on this isn’t going to do anybody any good," I say.

"We’ll replace everything," Ethan says, putting his hand on my shoulder and squeezing. "Or we’ll try to anyway."

"You don’t have to do that," I say. "I never had much to begin with." I shake my head, looking back at the barn. "Besides, you guys lost more than I did." I look at him, and he just looks back at the place where the barn used to stand. The orange flames burn through what remains on the ground.

As far back as I can remember, everything I’ve ever owned has fit in one plastic bag. It was a white grocery store bag with two handles. Until this fire, I still had the bag with me. I could never just throw it away. Instead, I tucked it under the clothes I had.

I was placed into foster care when I was four years old. My mother dropped me off at the babysitter with a kiss on my head, telling me she would see me later.

"There is nothing else I can do," the babysitter hissed at her husband, who was sitting beside me on the worn brown and yellow couch. She picked up the phone again. "This isn’t funny. If you don’t call me back in the next thirty minutes, I have no choice but to call the cops."

I looked from the babysitter back to the television, my stomach rumbling from not eating since I had been there. "Would you feed the kid?" her husband barked when my stomach kept interrupting what the guy on the television was saying.

With a huff, she grabbed me by my arm and brought me back into the kitchen. She set me at the table and said, "Your mother will be here soon." I just nodded and looked over at her. I waited and waited while she made mac and cheese, and for a four-year-old, it felt like forever, but she finally placed it in front of me.

Hearing a knock on the door made me look up, and I suddenly remembered how happy I was, knowing that my mom was there. I ran to the front door, only to be confronted by two police officers. They came in the front door and then went into the kitchen while I was told to sit on the couch. I couldn’t really hear anything but their mumbling. Another knock on the door made me get up, thinking for sure this was my mother.

The door opened, and a woman came in, dressed in a long skirt and a white shirt. I remember looking at her and wondering if my mom sent her to come get me. Her friends were always picking me up and taking me places.

The woman went to the kitchen, giving me a sad smile on the way there, and I