Killman Creek (Stillhouse Lake #2)(9)

Boot barks. It’s a full-chested thing that hits me in ways that make me want to run, but I don’t. Barely. Boot stands up, flows down the stairs, all sleek fur and muscle, and circles around me. I stay still, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. Finally, Boot comes to a stop in front of me and sits.

“Uh . . .” I say. Which is genius. But I can’t think of anything else. My mouth is dry. I’m afraid to even look at the dog. “Hi?”

I slowly, slowly lower my bag to the ground. Boot doesn’t move. He stares at me as I hold out my hand to him, then turns and looks at Mr. Esparza as if he’s saying, Is she serious with this crap? before sniffing my fingers and giving them a dismissive little lick. He snorts, as if he doesn’t like my bodywash or something, and then turns and flops himself down in the shade to put his chin on his paws. He seems thoroughly disappointed. I guess he was looking forward to a good, solid fight to start his day.

Boot and I have a lot in common.

I keep my head down and don’t look at Mr. Esparza at all as I say, “Can I go inside now?”

“Sure,” he says. He sounds calm, and ever so slightly amused. I keep my eyes on Boot as I pick up my bag and walk slowly across the open space to the steps.

“Good dog,” I tell Boot. He looks away, but he gives me a little twitch of a tail wag. Then I’m up the steps. There’s an old weathered chair, and a shotgun still braced in the corner by the door. I have an almost crazy urge to touch it, but Mom would go apeshit if I do, so I just open the cabin door and step inside.

“Great,” I say sourly, looking at my options. It isn’t big. I guess it’s fine; there’s a fire burning in the hearth to take the chill off, and the sofa looks big and comfy. So do the chairs. A little dining table next to an equally little kitchen, everything neat and clean.

There are three doors off the main room: bathroom (one, oh God), and two small bedrooms. I throw my bag on the first bed I see and collapse facedown on it. Take in a deep breath.

It smells like pine and crisp linen, and I hug the pillow for dear life. That, at least, is right. Very right.

“Hey,” says Connor from the doorway. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Don’t care,” I mumble into the pillow. “I claim this land for Atlanta.”

“Don’t be a b—”

“If you say the word I’m thinking, I’m going to kick your ass, Connor.”

“Meanie,” he says instead, which is kiddie enough to make me laugh, especially the dignified way he says it. “I need to sleep somewhere.”

“You get the other room,” says Mr. Esparza from behind him, and a quick glance shows me he’s smiling. “The bigger room, since Lanny already picked this one.”

“Hey!” I get up fast, but I’m too late; Connor is already scrambling for the other room. I glare through a veil of black hair at Mr. Esparza. “Not fair!” He shrugs. “Wait . . . where are you sleeping?”

“Couch,” he says. “It’s okay. I’m used to worse, and it folds out into a decent bed.”

He thinks like Mom, who always takes the room closest to the door . . . putting herself between us and whatever might be coming.

“Hope you don’t snore,” I shoot back.

“Oh, I do,” he says. “Like a wood chipper. Hope you have earbuds.”

I think he’s kidding. Maybe. I don’t want to ask in case he isn’t. I just flop back on the bed like I’ve been shot and stare at the ceiling. Pretty bland. The room is . . . blah, but clean, and it smells nice. I have a couple of personal things in the bag. Connor has a buttload of books. Maybe I can steal some.

Mr. Esparza turns away, and I see Mom stepping inside the main room with Sam Cade. “Javi, you’re sure this is okay?” She suddenly sounds uncertain. Which is not like Mom. “I know this is a ridiculous favor to ask. I’m putting you in danger, and putting you out at the same time . . .”

“It’s fine,” Mr. Esparza says. “Be nice to have some guests for a while. Look, this cabin might look like a shack, but it’s reinforced. I’ve got alarms and lights. I’ve got Boot and guns and training. They’re going to be okay. I’m going to see to that.” He pauses, and I see the look he gives Sam. I’m not sure what it means. “Going after your ex is a dumbass idea, Gwen.”

“Yeah, it is,” she says. “But I spent years hiding, and look what happened. He manipulated me. He put me right where he wanted me. But he’s on the run now, and hunted, and I am not letting him come after my kids again.”

This is the first time I’ve heard Mom say it so directly. I mean, I know that’s on her mind; she needs to be between us and him. I get it. I’m just worried about what is going to happen.

Mom comes into my room and sits down on the bed next to me. I don’t want to have The Goodbye Talk, so I start unpacking.

“You always unpack first thing, everywhere we go,” Mom says, and I hesitate as I’m folding up a shirt. “Did you know that?”

“Whatever,” I say. I open the dresser drawer. It’s empty, lined with cedar that wafts up in a warm cloud. I’m going to smell like a tree. Awesome. I stash my pile of underwear and socks, then put shirts in the second drawer.

“Connor never does,” Mom says. “He leaves everything in the bag.”