He could, and he would.

He wasn’t going to fuck it up twice.

Chapter 21

Abilene passed a listless morning, nearly grateful that Mercy was fussing up a storm at every turn. It took her mind off her own discontent, whenever she had a spare second to remember how she and Casey had parted last night.

I told him how I felt, and he bolted. The old Abilene would have beat herself up over that, blamed herself for scaring a man away. The new Abilene would count it as a blessing, she imagined, because she had no room in her life for a guy who wasn’t ready to be what she needed. She couldn’t say that was much consolation, given how disappointed she felt, but she made it a goal to try to get there, mentally, in time.

It was nearly one before Casey got back to the farmhouse—and nearly the end of Abilene’s patience, which had been fraying steadily under the weight of her hurt feelings.

“There you are,” she said when he found her in the den, bouncing a red-faced and deeply annoyed infant.

“Here I am. And yikes. Somebody woke up on the wrong side, huh?”

She’s not the only one.

“Want me to try anything?” he asked.

“Knock yourself out. She’s clean and fed and burped, and she slept almost nine hours straight through.”

“Well, that’s probably the issue, now, isn’t it?” Casey asked the sputtering, seething baby as he lifted her from Abilene’s arms. “You’re much too well balanced, aren’t you? No outlet for your tiny well of rage.”

“Something like that.” Abilene watched with mingled frustration and awe as Mercy quieted in seconds, face going placid, blue eyes glued to Casey’s.

“Show off,” she grumbled, though she was grateful for the quiet.

“That’s better, huh? How about I put you in your rocker?” He laid the baby in her seat, and Abilene held her breath, waiting to see if she started up again. Wonder of wonders, she looked as calm as could be.

“Hallelujah.” She dropped her head against the couch’s back.

“Your ex came by the bar while I was taking stock,” Casey said, sitting on the next cushion.

Her head snapped right back up. “He did?”

“Don’t worry—it was fine. He was after a job, actually.”

She blinked. “Really? What, bartending?”

“No, cooking, once the restaurant opens.”

“Oh. He did a lot of that in prison.”

“Said he valued his spinal health over a paycheck from the quarry, and I can’t say I blame him.”

“So you said yes?”

“No, no. I told him I’d talk to Duncan and to you. If all three of us are comfortable with the idea, we’ll consider him.”

“I don’t think I’d mind,” she said, mulling. “It might be awkward, is all.” But probably not terribly. James wasn’t possessive or jealous. Not once an affair was over. You were either all in with him, or else you got the typical frosty reception he reserved for strangers and acquaintances. Only if you were his lover—or his enemy, or indeed his child, she imagined—did he bother getting wound up about you.

“It wouldn’t be for a few weeks still,” Casey said, “if it did even happen. Plenty of time to see how the two of you are getting along.”

She nodded. “It’s good to hear he’s looking for legal work, at any rate.” He seemed to be respecting her rule.

“I’ll talk to Duncan then, see what he thinks.” He rubbed his thighs, then met her eyes with caution in his own. “So, what are you doing this afternoon?”

“Just this,” she said, nodding to the baby.

His lips thinned to a pensive line. “Hang on a sec.” He stood and strode off in the direction of the office, and Abilene heard knocking, then faint talking. He was back inside a minute and lifting the rocker.

“What are you up to?”

“Christine’s going to watch Mercy for an hour or two. You and I have something we need to do.”

If not for last night’s talk, she’d have assumed he meant sex—men rarely moved with such purpose if they weren’t about to get lucky. “What?”

“We need to talk,” he said simply, disappearing down the hall with the baby.

“About?”

Casey either didn’t hear or didn’t care to reply. When he returned he was patting his pockets, pulling out his keys. He eyed her clothes. “Grab a sweater and jacket and your mittens. We’re going for a little ride.”

She was tempted to resist, but in the end, the baby was fed and in good hands, and she was more curious about what he needed to say than she was stubborn about last night.

Once she’d changed, she met him by the front door and they got their shoes on.

“Safety first,” Casey said, and handed her Raina’s helmet. She strapped it on as they headed for his bike.

“Where are we going?”

“To the place I always went to when I needed to get my head on straight about shit.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll see.” He mounted the Harley and she got on behind him.

He rode them west, toward town, and then straight through it—all the way down Station Street, across the train tracks. He took a left on Railroad Avenue, passing the motel, then onto the quiet route that ran beside the foothills. Maybe a mile out of town, he eased them to a stop on the shoulder and climbed off.

Abilene did the same, unsure why this spot was significant to him. All she saw was a load of scrub brush and sage, a whole lot of desolate badlands to the east, and rising red rock to the west.

“Follow me.” Casey headed toward the hills.

“This is where you come to think?” she asked, following his path between the boulders and brush.

“Just trust me.”

She did, even as this mystery excursion had her scratching her head. They hiked for five or ten minutes up into the hills, until she was short of breath and warm enough to unzip her jacket and fist her mittens.

“Just about there,” he said, kicking his way through a tangle of brush.

At long last, they stopped, and she followed his lead when he turned and sat on a flat outcropping, facing east.

“Okay. I see it now.” She took it in—the whole of Fortuity was laid out before them, all the way out to Three C and the open range beyond. She oriented herself by the church in the center of town, finding Benji’s and the diner, even the house she’d rented a room at, a little ways south.

“I haven’t been up here in over ten years,” Casey said, squinting against the sun, studying the landscape. “This is where I’d go in high school to smoke weed and think deep, philosophical thoughts. It’s where I was sitting when I decided to leave town.”

“Oh.”

“It’s funny . . . When I made that decision, a decade ago, now, this view seemed like everything I needed to know. Like I was looking at the future—at my hometown, the place I’d get stuck in forever if I didn’t escape. It looks different now.”

“How?”

“Lots of ways. I think before, I looked at this place and I thought about what kind of a life I could have, and all I saw was my dad’s legacy. Or lack thereof. I think I thought, if I don’t get out of here, I’m gonna be nothing. I’m gonna wind up working at the quarry, like every other nobody.” He waved his arm south. “I’m gonna live in some little house, a few blocks from where I grew up, and in fifty years I’m gonna die and wind up in that graveyard.” He flicked a hand to the northeast.

“And what do you see now?”

“I see memories now. I see the garage, and all the streets I drove down, the creek where we used to swim. I see Big Rock, where I kissed a girl for the first time when I was fourteen. And the train tracks that I followed when I tried to run away and find my dad when I was six. And I see the future, too. I see the bar I was barely old enough to drink at when I left town, and now it’s mine.”

She nodded. “That’s all very nice, but what did you bring me here to talk about?”