Page 11 of Forsaken Hearts
The older woman looked up and smiled. “Hi there.”
Arms folded tight over her middle, Summer crossed the yard. “You shouldn’t have done this, but thank you. I’ll try to pay you back—”
Even as she said it, her stomach dropped.
I can’t pay all the rent at once either.
She couldn’t say the words out loud because that made them real, and now she was promising to repay groceries she couldn’t afford on top of rent she didn’t have.
Granny’s smile faded into confusion on her weathered but lovely face. “Pay me back for what?”
Summer blinked. “The groceries you had delivered to my porch.”
The woman straightened, one gloved hand gripping a little garden trowel. “I didn’t have groceries delivered to your porch.”
Summer glanced back at the house, unease crawling over her skin. “You didn’t?”
“No.” Granny’s eyes sharpened, all sweetness gone in a blink. “You go inside with Ben. I’ll go get the gun.”
Summer issued a shaky little laugh that didn’t hold any humor at all. “Are we shooting good Samaritans now?”
“Depends who’s calling themselves one.” Granny headed for the back door with more speed than a woman her age should have, leaving Summer standing in the yard with the cold seeping through her thin sweater and the taste of fear turning bitter in her mouth.
She should feel grateful. But she’d learned the hard way that nothing came free—not help, not kindness and not a man showing up at the right time and looking at her like he wanted to stay.
Everything came with a price.
And now Summer had a kitchen full of groceries, a son eating cereal for supper…
And no idea who she owed.
Chapter Three
Pope hadn’t stepped foot inside the Stockyard in months, and now that he was here, he was pretty sure coming had been a mistake.
The second he walked through the heavy wood door, his nerves snapped tight under his skin, every instinct split between wanting to see Summer and wanting to avoid the encounter completely.
The place looked the same as always—warm lights, country music, packed tables. The smell of fried food and beer hung in the air, but it didn’t feel the same walking in without the anticipation of her tracking his movements and catching his eye.
Now he had no idea what would happen if they locked eyes.
No clue how he was supposed to play it off in front of the people that urged him to come along with them tonight. The long tables near the back were crowded with half the damn crew from the Black Heart Ranch—the Malones, some guys on the security team, a ranch hand or two and a few veterans from the therapy program.
Fern, Crew’s pretty little lady who was responsible for building the community garden on the ranch, had dragged him onto the dance floor, and the couple seemed to be holding their own among the line dancers.
Pope stood near one of the tall tables, nursing the same beer he’d been holding most of the night, trying to appear social enough that nobody questioned him. Every so often somebody pulled him into conversation and he managed to respond likea functioning human being before his attention went right back toward the room, the kitchen doors, the bar.
Toward her.
Hell.
He had to distract himself, but the only other thing on his mind was cornering Crew and asking why the hell he’d been talking to Rhae about him. But there hadn’t been any opening. Not with this many people around. Not with Rhae herself here tonight, sitting with Willow and a few other Malone ladies.
Not the place.
Pope lifted the beer again, mostly for something to do with his hands.
Then he saw Summer.
