“He sure does, and he’s pretty to look at, too.”
She eyed him for a minute, wondering if he was channeling her mom somehow. “Maybe a little too pretty.”
He chuckled. “He’s clearly crazy about you.”
God, she hoped so, because she was having trouble imagining her life without him. “He seems to like me, but ‘crazy’ is a strong word.”
“Why else would he subject himself to a place like this?” He held his hands wide. “Especially knowing he’d be spending most nights in the same tent with your old man.”
Guilt sucker-punched her out of the blue. She turned away, unable to hold his gaze as the truth of what she’d done welled up her throat.
Jesus, what an asshole she was.
Quint had known about her lie since its inception. Yet he’d followed her here, anyway, waiting for her to tell him the truth dayafter day.
She grimaced, holding the sudden ache in her side.
She’d let her obsession with her career outweigh everything else.
Actually, it wasn’t her career; rather, her preoccupation with furthering her mother’s scholarly reputation.
What an idiot! Quint was alive and breathing, kind and loving, sexy and funny.
Her mom was gone. Well, sort of gone. Certainly unable to hold her hand anymore when she felt alone, or stare up at the stars and daydream about what had been and what was to come.
Angélica turned back to her father, who was stuck traveling through this world alone, half of his heart missing. Every now and then she’d catch him sitting alone in the dark on her deck, staring up at the moon with watery eyes.
Was proving her mom’s theories worth losing Quint, too? Her heart was certainly in his corner these days, bouncing happily, cheering for him.
Her father watched her with a narrowed gaze. “What’s going on in that head of yours,gatita?”
Should she tell him about her mom’s ghost?
Would he believe Angélica? And if he did, how much would it hurt him again if he couldn’t see her mom? Couldn’t touch her? Hear her voice?
It’d taken him years to reach the point where he could talk about losing his wife without tears in his eyes. If he knew his wife wanted to channel with Daisy just to try to rekindle the flame that had burned between them for so long, would he be heartbroken all over again? Or would he want to use Daisy in the same way Angélica’s mom had talked about at the fire last night just to feel closer to his wife?
That wouldn’t be right, especially since Daisy seemed to be warming up to him more and more. Although maybe Angélica’s mom was causing some of that fire to grow hotter inside the channeler.
Shit.
This was nuts.
Angélica needed to focus on the task at hand—figuring out what this damned site was long, long ago.
“Nothing, Dad,” she said, shooing a fly away. “I’m just worried about you and your ankle. If you injure it further inside the ruin, I can’t carry you out. I might be able to drag you, but only so far, and it’ll be dark soon.”
“Damned old ankle.” He scowled toward the shadowy interior. “How about if I just peek inside from here with the light? Then we won’t be going against your promise to your loverboy, and you can stop mothering me.”
“Deal.”
She lifted the rice paper to the lichen-covered carving on the left of the entrance, getting to work rubbing the charcoal over it. Without brushing the stone off first, she probably wouldn’t get much definition, but it was worth a shot.
Her dad eased closer to the entrance and shined the light inside. He sniffed several times, and then sneezed.
“You smell something?”
“Not really, just dust.”
