Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“I just need—”
“How about what she needs?”
God, he hoped Kerris needed him. As badly as he needed her. Desperation and desolation muddled Walsh’s thoughts. He, who had persuaded sheikhs out of oil holdings in their families for generations, couldn’t convince one middle-aged woman to let him into a cottage that had been in his own family for more than a hundred years? Nothing had worked, so all he had left was the truth.
“I can’t lose her again.” He said it so softly that the rain now coming down steadily almost drowned it out. “I waited once before. Tried to leave it up to her to fix things, and it got so messed up she married my best friend.”
Walsh flinted the stare he leveled back at Mama Jess.
“I will not let that happen again. I don’t care if you make me wait out here for a week.”
Mama Jess’s mouth softened, but she still didn’t make a move to open the door.
“Let’s make a deal.” She gestured toward the porch swing. “Sit down.”
Walsh remained rooted right where he stood. The swing was at least eight feet farther from the door than his current position.
“What kind of deal?”
Mama Jess smacked her lips together, impatience marking her smooth brown face.
“Boy, just sit down.”
He settled on the wooden seat beside Mama Jess, pushing his back into the corner and keeping his eye on her. She reminded him of his mother. They were as physically dissimilar as two women could be, but Walsh knew wily when he saw it. He’d lived with it, been raised by it. Had loved it. Mama Jess’s eyes held the same shrewdness his mother’s had. He swallowed the hot lump in his throat and braced himself for terms he probably wouldn’t like.
“I’ll let you know when she’s ready.”
“I’m supposed to trust that you…that she—” He stopped, breathing through his nose and out through his mouth once, a huff of anxious air that deflated his chest. “Okay. You’ll let me know if she’s not healing right? If she needs anything? Financially, medically—anything?”
“She won’t need anything.”
“You will let me know.” He bolstered the words with a stony glare that set terms of his own.
“I’ll let you know. She does care about you, you know.”
That was a crumb, a bone thrown, an insult to what he had with Kerris.
“She cared about me the day she married my best friend, so forgive me for not putting much stock in that.” Walsh’s bitterness and regret popped out like a jack-in-the-box. He tried to tuck them both neatly away before continuing in a more even voice. “Do we have a deal, or what?”
“And you won’t contact her until I contact you?”
“This won’t work.”
“Walsh, you let her do the work on herself now, or sign up for a lifetime of trouble.”
Walsh stiffened, his nervous movements slowing to nothing. There was that word—that elusive word he’d never thought would ever apply to him and Kerris.
“Did you say ‘a lifetime’?”
“If you play your cards right, maybe.” Mama Jess rationed a tiny smile for the first time since he had banged on the door.
With just a nod and without another word, Walsh stood and walked down the porch steps toward the dark Mercedes idling in the driveway, his pace not rushed despite the rain pelting his head and shoulders. He’d forgotten Uncle James was even waiting. His tunnel vision had blocked that out. Blocked out the fight with Cam. Blocked out Jo’s disapproval and disappointment. Single-mindedness had possessed him, but he came back to himself with every step he took away from the cottage and toward the car.
Kerris had months of rehab ahead of her, and probably needed some therapy for all she’d been through, Amalie and Cam notwithstanding. The road ahead of her for the foreseeable future was rough, and more than anything, Walsh wanted to walk it with her. But he got it. She needed to do this alone. He made a promise to himself, and even though she couldn’t hear it, a promise to the girl behind that door. This would be the last time he walked away from her. After this, never again.
After this, she owed him a lifetime.
Chapter Twelve
Walsh stood on the steps of the other house where he had grown up. This one, a three-story townhome in TriBeCa, had stood empty since his parents’ divorce. Walsh had loved growing up in New York City, just as much, if not more than, he’d loved growing up in Rivermont.
Martin came down the stairs and into the foyer to face Walsh.
“Thanks for coming, son.”
Remembering what he was here for, Walsh reached inside his suit jacket pocket for the small bag he’d retrieved from Uncle James to pass on to his father.
“No, problem, Dad. From the estate.” Walsh extended the bag, watching his father’s features twist with pain before shuttering into the aloof mask he usually wore. “I was surprised you chose to meet here instead of the office.”