“I don’t know her mother, do I?”
Of course, she didn’t know Leticia. It wasn’t her department that rolled up in a black sedan in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. One minute he’d been juggling a baby and a bottle and two toddlers fighting over a bear, and the next, she was justgone.
He hadn’t even put the baby down.
He’d hated himself for that. That when his wife got taken away, he froze. The house had gone quiet afterward, except for the crying, and his own heartbeat pounding like a hammer in his throat.
This woman standing in front of him now, with her big eyes and her perfect posture, she didn’tlooklike the people who took Leticia, but she carried the same energy. The same calm detachment. The same scent of intrusion disguised as help.
He knew it wasn’t fair. Hell, he knew nothing about her. But all his body seemed to know was that someone from the bureau had just walked onto his land again. Asking questions. Looking around. Opening up wounds that had barely scabbed over.
He swallowed the memory down. “Well, what did she ask you then?”
“She didn’t exactly ask me anything.”
Ethan stepped in closer, the protective part of him flaring up again. “What are younot saying?”
“She admitted something.”
His whole body tensed. “What kind of something? You won’t report whatever it is she said.”
“Relax, Mr. Hale. She did not do anything criminal. And I’m not in the habit of arresting children.”
He let out a short breath. He didn’t trust anyone from the bureau. Not even the nice, fussy ones who cried over chickens and admitted they were in over their heads. She didn’t look like she was lying, and hell, he was tired of suspecting everyone.
“You can change your clothes,” he said after a beat. “We’ll talk about it inside, and then I’ll call you a ride.”
It was a small thing, but he meant it. Sometimes kindness was the only damn thing you could afford to give.
She must have sensed the shift in him because when he turned to head back to the house, she reached out and touched his arm. “She’s been using the well, Mr. Hale. Your kids are using magic. And it hasn’t been formally audited in two decades, so it’s not safe.”
His brows pulled together.
“You deserve to know what’s happening in your home,” she added. “But I want to be clear, I’m here to audit your well, not dismantle your life.”
He turned away, heading toward the porch. His hand hovered over the railing like he needed something to steady himself. Truth was…he did. “I’m afraid you already have.”
Chapter 8
Honey
Honey stood awkwardly in the hallway of the Hale family house, hands clasped in front of her. The soft yellow paint on the walls might have been cheerful once, but now it just looked tired. At the far end of the hallway, a gallery wall of family photos climbed toward the ceiling—snapshots framed in mismatched wood, faces caught mid-laugh or locked in big, messy grins.
Honey kept her eyes trained firmly on the floorboards beneath her feet. She didn’t dare wander closer to look for signs of the girls’ mother. Wondering about her was unprofessional, and she had no business squinting at a photo lineup to piece together a story that wasn’t hers. Besides, her temporary truce with Ethan felt too fragile and poking at the woman’s absence seemed like a good way to shatter it.
Ethan’s patient voice drifted out from the bathroom, narrating each step of handwashing to Melly as if it were her first time, but fatigue creeped into his tone as if he’d done it ten times today already.
“Turn the water on. Not too hot, there you go. Okay,soap—nope, more than that. Good. Scrub—tops and bottoms. Sing the ABCs if it helps. Now rinse. And dry.”
Honey had cleaned up and changed into clothing Ethan had pulled from a box shoved in the back of his closet. The oversized knit sweater smelled faintly of lavender and dust, and the sleeves dangled past her wrists. The jeans were worn thin at the knees but buttery soft. Not exactly professional for a wishing well auditor, but she had to admit, it was cozy.
Emma and Brooke came into the hallway at the same time. Emma stopped short, her eyes scanning Honey from head to toe.
Her brows drew together. “That’s my mom’s.”
Honey looked down at the sweater, smoothing her palms over the pilled fabric. “Oh,” she said gently, “I didn’t know. Your dad gave it to me, and I—” She hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry. If it bothers you, I’ll change.”
“It’s fine.” Emma’s voice was clipped. “Family meeting’s in the living room.” She turned on her heel and walked away.
