As we head back to the kids and the horses, I take her hand to steady her.
“You okay?”
“…I don’t know. All this stuff about the house, the Babins… Holy shit. I really had no idea. And I still don’t get what Gramps wants me to find.”
“I know. Have you thought about asking your mom? If you’ve hit a wall, it can’t hurt to reach for new directions.”
“Easier said than done. But maybe.” She looks pained.
The kids chatter about the ice cream flavors on the menu, bringing us back to the present, but I can tell she’s stuck on Edith Griffith’s words and the biting mystery in that house.
“You were right about the police report, at least,” she says softly. “I know we don’t have any proof the Babins intruded, but if they tried to burn the house down…” Her voice trails off.
Yeah, fuck.
My blood boils.
“Don’t worry. If they ever show their faces again, we’ll be ready,” I promise. The weight of it pounds in my ears like a war drum. “No one’s getting hurt under my roof, duchess.”
A holy vow, and I mean every venom word.
Not my kids.
Not myself.
Definitely not this strange, beautiful woman.
11
TAKE ME HOME (MARGOT)
Ihate to admit Kane was right.
He was right about a lot of things, but especially about the corner I’m in. And the only way out is to call Mom.
I’ve wasted a ton of time trying to figure out what Gramps left for me and where.
No progress.
If there’s a chance Mom knows anything, I just need to summon the courage to ask.
I’ve been putting it off for a while, but with the tea Edith Griffith spilled about the Babins, it’s obvious there’s a lot I don’t know about this house and the family history.
No, I’m not expecting miracles.
Not in this family.
Mom and Gramps were estranged for my whole life, but maybe she rememberssomething.
I mean, she knew her own mother and loved her until the day Grams died. And before the adult blunders, before the grudges ripped them apart, she knew and loved PopPop, too. No matter how much she likes to pretend she never did.
Honestly, I think she might’ve changed her name years ago, if it didn’t win her so much easy respect. It’s even weirder that she kept it after she married Dad, and it’s the whole reason we’re still Blackthorns.
But still, it’s worth a try. It’s worth the drama.
If she drops one teensy little nugget that leads me in a new direction, it’ll justify picking at old scar tissue.
It’s evening now, the sky half-dusky with a vibrant orange sunset fading behind the trees.
