If my memory is correct, Rebekah’s mother was educated and did her best to teach her two girls. I think her name is Eve. Richard is her dad’s name. He was an angry man who did nothing but bitch and complain. He thought girls were useless and didn’t send them into town to attend the public school.
Granted, we also didn’t go into town, but our parents both had advanced degrees and home-schooled us without a problem. Part of living off the grid, like a lot of people who have land in this area of the country do, is just that: staying off the grid. People do so for a variety of reasons.
“Are you still living with your parents?” I ask her.
She looks down. “It’s just me and my dad now,” she mutters almost too softly to hear.
“Where’s your mom?”
“She passed two winters ago. Pneumonia.”
I wince. “I’m so sorry. That must have been hard.”
“I guess I was the same age as you when your parents died,” she whispers.
“True. It’s never easy.”
“Too bad my dad didn’t die with her.”
Now I’m even more concerned about her. I inhale sharply, uncertain how to respond. I hate her tone and the implication. “Where’s your sister?”
Rebekah shrugs. “Left one night after Mom died and never came back. My dad says she ran off with a boy.”
“She would have been twenty. Old enough to make up her own mind.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you not believe him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t think it’s possible she knew any boys, so that part was probably a lie, but she might have run away.” Her voice dips lower and she mutters, “I wish I could run off.”
This conversation has gotten extremely maudlin and serious. My hackles are up.
She sits taller. “I’m really sorry about your parents. They were good people. I loved them. They didn’t deserve to die in a fire. I never got to tell you that.” Her lips are trembling.
I set down the package of cheese I’m holding and round the island. After turning her stool in my direction, I wrap my arms around her and hug her close, rocking her gently. “Thank you,” I whisper.
There’s nothing else to say. It was tragic. The fire started in my parents’ wing of the house. Asher rescued Adrian, Aaric, and me. But it was too late to save our parents.
We paid for an investigator, but the cause of the fire was never determined. In our grief, after the funeral, the six of us scattered around the country.
I find myself wishing I could continue to stand here and hold Rebekah. She fits nicely in my arms. It’s an odd feeling. I don’t usually get sparks with women. But I have to let her go. Any longer and it will get really awkward.
As I release her, I stroke a hand down her hair. “You always had the prettiest curls I’d ever seen,” I comment.
She scrunches up her nose. “This ugly mop? I hate it. It’s unruly, and the color always got me teased.”
I furrow my brows. “By whom, firecracker?” To my knowledge, she didn’t leave the homestead enough to know other people who could have teased her.
She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. I hate that you have such a strong aversion to one of your best attributes.”
Her breath hitches as her brows draw together. “Don’t make fun of me.”
I shake my head. “Sweetheart, I would never make fun of you. You were the sweetest child I’d ever seen, and now you’re a stunning woman. I bet heads turn when you go into town. I’m surprised you haven’t been snapped up by some hunk and landed at the chapel yet.”
I’m not kidding, though the idea doesn’t sit well with me. I’m mesmerized by Rebekah. I want to know more. And I will. I’m going to ask a million questions until she answers all of them. So far, she’s dodging me, and I want to know why.
