Rowan closed her eyes a second to steady herself.
How long before it got worse? How long before the story turned completely against her? How long before someone at Refuge Cove saw these headlines?
And underneath it all, one question pressed harder than the rest.
What was she going to do about it? Because she couldn’t stick her head in the sand forever. She would eventually have to deal with this.
Wes sat at the small table near the window in his room at Hollow House Bed and Breakfast, a mug of coffee within reach and his phone in his hand.
This part of his morning rarely changed. Bible first. That was how he started his day right. Then headlines.
Curiosity didn’t drive him to the news updates so much as habit and awareness. He liked to know what was happening beyond whatever job he was working. His father, a successful businessman, had instilled that habit in him.
Most days, none of the headlines stuck.
Today he couldn’t say that.
One in particular had caught his attention.
It was about Rowan. How she’d gone missing. How people were worried.
Wes read the article once, then he read it again, slower this time, taking in the phrasing and the tone as much as the content.
Abruptly left.Concern from the crew. Pressure. Erratic behavior.
He leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening.
Rowan hadn’t just taken a break or stepped away for a few days.
She’d run.
That fit what he’d already seen. It explained her sudden appearance here and her skittishness.
But it didn’t give him a why. And the why was always the most important part.
Wes set his phone on the table, then picked it up again almost immediately. He pulled up Rowan’s name and number. He didn’t even know if this was her current phone number or if she’d changed it.
He started to call her, to ask questions, to make sure she was aware of the headlines.
Just as quickly, he stopped himself.
Calling Rowan right now wasn’t the correct move. If she hadn’t spoken up yet, pushing her into it wouldn’t help. It would only make her shut down, and he had no interest in forcing that kind of reaction out of her.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he considered what he did know.
Rowan was here, and she hadn’t come back without a reason. Everything about the situation pointed in the same direction—that whatever she’d left behind in Hollywood was continuing to haunt her now.
He frowned and glanced at his dog. Remington lay stretched out near the table, head lifted now, watching him with steady focus.
Wes reached down and rested his hand against the dog’s neck, grounding himself in Remington’s slick fur and solid presence. The routine of that contact helped clear his head enough to move forward instead of circling the same thoughts.
Remington had a way of doing that. Most people thought that Wes had rescued Remington. The truth was that Remington had rescued him in so many ways.
He stood and grabbed his keys, mentally running through the plan as he started toward the door. He’d already told Caleb he’d be back today to take measurements and look more closely at the expansion area. That had been part of the job from the start.
Now the urgency felt different.
It felt personal . . . even though it wasn’t.
