I want to slap the stupid smirk off her face. “You mean illegally,” I clarify. What does she know about this? It’s not a question.

“Now, Shannon,” Effie says, her voice gratingly pretentious as she tries, and fails, to sound caring. I’m not falling for it for a minute. “Mr. Kensington is offering you a marvelous deal. You really should consider the –”

“The only thing I’m considering,” I say hotly, holding my hand up as I interrupt her, “is whether or not I should call the cops.”

“Now, now,” Kensington interjects, sounding a little panicked. “Let’s not be hasty. I’m prepared to give you some time to think about my offer. But Miss Harper,” he continues, his voice suddenly very serious. “You may want to consider my offer very carefully. Your daddy didn’t, God rest his soul.”

Effie makes the sign of the cross and bows her head.

Something he said makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “What do you know about my daddy’s death?” I ask, gripping the edge of the bar tighter.

Effie and Harold exchange a glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by me. “Now, Miss Harper, let’s not get over-excited,” Harold says cajolingly. “I didn’t wish to alarm you.” He turns to Effie and offers her his arm. “My dear, I believe we should leave Miss Harper to go home. She did mention the bar is closed.”

“You’re right,” Effie agrees, beaming at me once again. “Have a wonderful night, Shannon. Do give my regards to Ethan and his son. News really does travel fast around here.”

“You have three weeks to decide, Miss Harper,” Kensington says over his shoulder.

I stare at them in silence as they leave the bar, letting the front door slam behind them.

I feel the fight go out of me as my legs give way and I sink to the floor behind the bar, still clutching the letter. The coldness of the floor causes me to flinch as it touches the bare skin of my thighs.

“Oh, Daddy,” I whisper, tears pricking at the edges of my eyes. “Why? Why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell me?” I put my head down on my knees and let my tears fall freely. I cry for myself, for Stone, Zeke, Grace . . . but most of all, I cry for my daddy. I wish he were here now; he’d know exactly what to do. And what did Harold mean about Daddy’s death? Did he have something to do with it? Everyone had always assumed his death had been a tragic accident . . . but what if it wasn’t?

I don’t know how long I stay in this position, but eventually the tears dry up and I feel nothing but an overwhelming sadness. Daddy put himself in this position, and now he’s brought me into the middle of it. I’m only thankful that my baby sister, Natalie, is away at school and not here to witness any of this.

I lock up the bar and stand directly outside the door, staring at my car. Do I dare drive home? I’m extremely tired and drunk, but not drunk enough not to know that would be a huge mistake.

I start walking down the darkened empty street, pulling my jacket around me tighter as the first drops of rain fall against my cheek. Those few drops quickly turn into a downpour and I struggle to jog through it, the heels of my boots sticking in the mud of the wet dirt road. I stop briefly to take them off, holding one in each hand. The temperature seems to suddenly drop ten degrees, and even though I’m walking quickly, I can’t control the chattering of my teeth. I’m never going to make it home at this rate. I see a light at the corner of my right eye, and I instinctively turn my head to see the stables.

My feet slow and I pause at the side of the road, glancing around. It’s dark, with no one in sight. They’re all smart enough to be tucked up in their warm houses. Why did I drink so much?

I turn in the direction of the stables and pick up the pace. As I run across the slippery grass, my right leg skids out to the side and I quickly put my hands out as I feel myself fall.

I land heavily and an intense pain shoots through my right leg. I lean forward and breathe heavily as the rain hits the back of my head, plastering my hair to my neck. Ugh, talk about frizz.

I try to stand up and immediately sink back down, crying out as the pain in my leg intensifies. I lean forward and tentatively touch the rapidly swelling skin around my calf, letting out an ear-piercing scream as the muscle protests the disturbance. The pain is so intense that I bend over at the waist and lose the alcohol from my stomach into the wet grass.

Movement is impossible; the ground is much too slick for me to hobble the rest of the way to the stables. I fumble around for my purse to grab my cell phone, letting out a curse as I realize, in my drunken state, that I left it on the doorstep of Saddles as I locked up. The rainfall increases and I lie back on the grass, letting the rain wash away the fresh tears that pool in my eyes. I’m tired, so tired. The pain in my leg is slowly numbing.

I feel nothing as I close my eyes.

My mind is still reeling from the events of the day. I’d gone to the bar to find Shannon, and instead I found a wife and son.

A son. I still can’t believe it.

I lift a bottle of beer to my lips as I sit outside on the porch. It’s raining heavily and I’m only wearing a black tank top and blue jeans, but I barely feel the wind as it rips across my bare shoulders.

It’d been difficult to watch Zeke and Gracie say goodbye. A man wouldn’t be human if he didn’t get a little choked up watching his dying wife say her final goodbye to their son. I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat as I think about Grace. We hadn’t been together very long, but we’d been married fourteen years. How had they been living all these years? Had they been happy? A pang of guilt slams into my chest, leaving me breathless. I should have been there.

I swallow a mouthful of beer, glancing over my shoulder as the front screen door opens. I watch warily as Zeke steps outside, letting the screen slam shut behind him as he watches the steady downpour of rain. He hasn’t spoken a word since Grace left four hours ago, and he hasn’t said a word to me at all. “Hi, Zeke,” I say gruffly. He doesn’t look at me. “We don’t get too much rain here,” I continue, silently willing him to look at me. “But when it rains, it pours.” I chuckle at my little joke.

Zeke still doesn’t speak, doesn’t move his head in my direction at all. I sigh and drop the empty beer bottle into the grass, pushing myself up to my feet. As I pass by Zeke, I put my hand on his shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting, but honestly, I’m not sure if he even notices. I open the screen door and walk inside, grabbing another bottle of beer from the fridge on my way past. I open it and take a long swallow as I pause, wincing as I survey the cluttered living room. I hate to admit it, but I’m embarrassed. It will be forever known that my son’s first impression of his father is that he’s a messy, alcoholic dickhead. I swallow another mouthful of beer as I walk back outside. Zeke has moved to the small, two-person porch swing. I’m tempted to join him, but somehow I think I wouldn’t be too welcome. I take my seat on the steps, trying to ignore the biting chill of the rain as it hits my hand. What am I going to say to him? What can I say to him? The boy has lost his home, his mother and everything he knows in just one day. I wish Shannon was here; she always seems to know what to do.

Fresh guilt churns in my stomach. Shannon.

I was so overwhelmed—first at seeing Grace, then finding out I was responsible for a son I never knew I had—that I’d barely given her a thought all night. She has no idea what’s going on, probably thinks I’m some kind of womanizing bastard. How the hell am I supposed to tell her? Will she ever look at me the same way again? I stand up so quickly I almost spill my beer. “I have to make a phone call,” I mutter to Zeke as I pass him. I know he won’t answer me, but right now I don’t care. I need to talk to Shannon, find out if she’s all right. I walk inside the house and place my beer on the coffee table as I sit on the couch. Impatiently, I ruffle through the papers strewn on the table, searching for one in particular. I find it and close my eyes in a quick, silent prayer of thanks that Keets thought to give me Shannon’s personal house number, just in case there were any issues at the club. I reach for my cell phone on the table and dial the number, waiting impatiently as it rings. And rings . . . and rings. Feeling hollow, I hang up and sink back against the cushions, rubbing my hands over my face. I’ve fucked up, again. I have to find a way to make it up to her, to prove I’m not the bad guy she thinks I am. My hands drop from my face as I hear the front door slam. I look up in time to see Zeke disappearing into his room, closing the door behind him. Great. Could things get any more complicated?