He battled his temper.“Olivia is just getting over a cold and Jillian is sick now.”
“All the more reason to get them somewhere warm and in the sun.You know salt water is so healing too.They’ll both be better in no time.”She gave Rhys her most charming smile.“Please, Rhys, they’re my daughters, too, and I missed being with them for the holiday.I just thought this trip would be the perfect way to end their winter break.”
The girls looked between their parents, torn between eagerness and uncertainty.
“Please, Daddy,” Jillian said, coughing.
“It’s warm there, Dad,” Olivia whispered.
“And we’d be back before school starts,” Jilly added.
“Tell me the truth,” Rhys said, putting a hand on Jilly’s head.“How do you feel, honestly?”
Jillian clasped her hands in a prayerful pose.“Not as bad as I did yesterday.And tomorrow I bet I’ll be all better.”
Rhys sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair.“You’ll need passports.Sunblock.A summer wardrobe.”
“I have their passports from the last trip, and it’s a private plane, Roger’s own plane.There is plenty of room for two beautiful little girls.”She flashed a smile at her daughters.“We’ll have the best time.Anything we need we can buy there.It’ll be an adventure!”
*
Catriona had beenstanding near the stairs, still in her robe, frozen through the exchange.The words barely reached her, but the meaning did.The girls.Gone.Her job.Done.
The house that had felt so alive and festive these past days would be quiet again—still, echoing, the way it had been when she first arrived.
She stepped back before anyone noticed her, climbed the stairs quietly, and dressed in her warmest, most comfortable things she owned—flannel-lined jeans, a thick squishy sweater, her comfortable fleece-lined boots she’d brought.
Downstairs, she could hear them—the girls’ chatter and excited flurry of questions, followed by Lyndsey’s distinctive Texas drawl, her laughter bright, easy, and impossibly confident.And then Rhys’s low voice, his words measured, slower.
Cat couldn’t stay here, not while they discussed, not while they needed privacy.Pulling on her coat, she slipped out the front door, walking past the black car, running, Roger at the wheel on his cellphone with someone.
She put her head down and walked; the cold cleared her mind almost instantly.The lane was quiet; the world was still.She started toward Bakewell, her boots crunching the frozen ground, mist rising from the wide-open field.
She didn’t know what she’d do in Bakewell—get tea, wander in shops, or walk along the river.She just knew she couldn’t be at the cottage.She needed to disappear.She needed space.As well as time to process everything happening.
She’d known her time here would end.She’d told herself it was temporary—just a job to tide her over, a stop between one life and the next.But standing in the crisp silence of the Derbyshire morning, Catriona realized she’d done the very thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do.She’d let herself belong.And now she had to let go.
Catriona had been sitting at a corner table in the Rutland Arms for nearly forty minutes, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that was lukewarm, if not cold.Outside the window, the village stirred—a few couples walking dogs, children kicking at the patches of old snow in the square.
Her phone buzzed once, vibrating against the wood.
Rhys.
She hesitated before answering.“Hello?”
“Where are you?”His voice was low, rougher than usual.“The girls said you went out.”
“I’m in Bakewell,” she said.“At the Rutland Arms.”
A pause, and then he sighed.“Stay there.I’ll come to you.”
The line went dead before she could reply.Cat sat very still, the muted hum of the pub around her—the clatter of crockery, the murmur of a radio behind the bar.She wanted to prepare herself, but there was no preparing for this kind of quiet unraveling.
Rhys arrived ten minutes later, hair damp, jaw smooth, coat open.He spotted her at once and crossed the room.“May I?”he asked, and when she nodded, he slid into the seat across from her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he exhaled.“They’ve gone.”
