Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(53)

The familiarity of my hometown wrapped around me as we arrived in Bozeman. These were the streets where I’d learned to drive. We passed my high school and the restaurant where we’d always celebrated Dad’s birthdays. We rode by stores and buildings that hadn’t been there during my youth, the changes I’d missed living in the city.

I’d always pictured coming back here and having a family. I’d hoped one day to return to Bozeman and go house hunting with my husband. I’d wanted to send my kids to the same school where I’d gone.

Being here was bittersweet. The memories swirled together with dreams now gone. A pang of sorrow hit and I pushed it away, not wanting to think about my lack of husband and children.

I didn’t need them to be happy.

But I wanted them all the same.

When we reached an intersection, I pointed for Dash to take a left. Then I navigated us through town and toward Amina’s address. I’d pulled it from public records one day and had jotted it in my yellow notepad in preparation for this trip.

Dash slowed down on the residential streets as my eyes scanned house fronts for numbers.

“There.” I pointed to a pale peach two-story home.

We parked and I climbed off the motorcycle first, removing my helmet. Dash simply stood and raked a hand through his hair to tame the windblown mess. Two swipes and it looked perfectly disheveled. I pulled my hair tie off my wrist, twisting my mane up into a knot.

“This was her house?” Dash pointed to her place.

“It’s cute.” Her home was located on a pocket park. Bordered by five nearly identical homes, the park had two picnic tables and a playground for kids. The block formed a horseshoe around the park. In front of Amina’s home, there was a For Sale sign freshly staked into the green grass. “I hadn’t expected it to be listed already.”

“Now what?” Dash asked.

“Now”—I held out my hand—“you give me my phone and we go house hunting.”

One call to the realtor and she was on her way to show us into the house.

“Didn’t waste any time getting it on the market,” Dash said as we sat at the picnic table, waiting for the realtor.

“It’s not like she’s coming back. I’m sure her daughter or whoever is settling the estate wanted to get it up this summer so it would sell before winter.”

“Yeah. Nice place.”

“It sure is. All this is new from when I grew up here. This all used to be farmland.”

This subdivision would have been on my short list as a mother. It was exactly the kind of place I would have wanted to have my kids grow up in, where we’d know the neighbors and the children would all play together on Saturday afternoons.

My place in Clifton Forge was a single-story home, like all the others on the street. There was minimal yard area. The HOA took care of shoveling snow from the sidewalks. I’d moved in and learned that I was the youngest person on the block, surrounded by elderly couples and a retired widower.

As the street’s new spinster, I fit right in.

A car door slammed. The realtor from the sign smiled and waved as she came our way. “Hello.”

“Hi.” I smiled. Dash and I both stood, and when we were on our feet, I slipped my hand into his. The arm attached stiffened.

Good to know how he feels about hand-holding. There was no time to let that irritate me because the realtor was speed walking our way, her hand held out the entire time.

After introductions, she led us into the house. “Your timing is perfect. We just put this on the market yesterday afternoon. This neighborhood is so desirable right now. It will go quick.”

“It’s adorable.” I smiled up at Dash, pretending to be the happy couple. When the realtor stepped up to the door, I squeezed his fingers. “Don’t you just love this porch, honey?”

“Uh . . .”

This guy. I’d held his hand and his brain had short-circuited. I rolled my eyes and mouthed pretend.

“Right.” Dash’s tense arm relaxed. “It’s perfect, baby.”

The realtor stood and pushed the door open to let us inside first. Then she flipped on lights behind us as we let ourselves wander.

“This is three bedrooms, two and a half baths. Open concept, as you can see. It was built six years ago and has only had one owner. She took incredible care of the place, and the seller is interested in selling it furnished.”

“That might be great, wouldn’t it, sweetie?” I asked Dash.

He threw an arm around my shoulders. “Sure would be. We’ve been wanting new furniture. That couch looks a hell of a lot nicer than ours.”

I faked a laugh, stepping out of his hold to look around. My eyes searched for pictures, any clues to Amina’s life. It wasn’t easy with the realtor hovering, but luckily, her phone rang.

“Would you mind if I stepped out onto the porch to take this?” she asked, already moving that way. “Feel free to show yourselves around. I’ll catch up.”

Dash closed the door behind her and we both watched as she walked toward the park, her phone pressed to her ear.

I hustled over to an end table and opened the drawer. Empty. Then I hurried to the next, doing the same. It only had the remote for the television. The kitchen was my next stop and I started with the drawers in there too.

Dash followed, glancing over his shoulder to the front door. “What are you looking for?” he whispered.