Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(51)
I marched to the loft, the scent of Memphis’s soap in the air. There was an empty laundry basket on the counter so I swept it up and filled it to the brim. Diapers. Formula. Shampoo. Clothes. If I had to move her into my place one laundry basket at a time, so be it.
When I made it home, Memphis had moved to the living room. Drake was sucking down a bottle and she was curled into the corner of the couch, shrinking into the cushions.
Fuck those people.
“What are their names?” I asked, setting the basket down and taking the seat beside her. “Your parents. What are their names?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“So that when I curse them, either in my head or out loud, I can be precise.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Beatrice and Victor.”
Fuck Beatrice and Victor. “What am I missing, Memphis?” Because there had to be more to this story. Why had she declined her mother’s calls? Why had her mother kept calling? Why had they come to Montana to try and drag her back to New York?
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But if I had to guess . . . I’d say they found out about Drake’s father.”
“You ready to tell me about that?”
“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
“Soon, honey.”
Dread crept into her expression.
A knot formed in my gut.
Another woman with secrets.
I guess I did have a type.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MEMPHIS
Knox rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door, then walked to me at the counter, setting down a steaming mug of coffee. “Here, honey.”
“Thanks.” I put my brush down and gave him a smile through the mirror. My hair hung in damp strands down my back and the plush white towel I’d cinched around my chest was so big it hit me at the knees.
He dropped a kiss to my bare shoulder and gave me a look that said today wasn’t going to be the relaxing, stress-free Sunday I’d hoped for. Our Saturday hadn’t been a lot of fun either.
“I called the hotel. Talked to Mateo. He checked in a couple with the last name Ward last night.”
My hands fisted. “They didn’t leave.”
“Nope.”
“Well . . . shit.”
“Pretty much,” he muttered.
Of course they’d be at The Eloise, polluting what was mine. There were a few motels in the area but none were as nice.
What were my parents doing here? Why the phone calls? Why the private investigator? They’d turned their backs on me when I’d needed them most, yet now they showed. Now? Maybe I could believe there wasn’t some ulterior motive if only Mom had visited. It had been her calling for months. But for Dad to make the trip to Montana, there was something else going on.
There’d been desperation in his voice yesterday. Urgency.
“I need to talk to them,” I grumbled.
“Give me ten to shower. Then we’ll go.”
“Wait.” I held up a hand before he could take off his shirt. “I’d better talk to them alone.”
“No.”
“Knox—”
“No, Memphis.”
I stepped closer, fitting my hands to his ribs, feeling the tension in his body beneath the long-sleeved thermal he’d pulled on this morning after rolling out of bed. “I love that you’re ready to follow me into battle. But I know my parents. I know my father. If you’re there, he won’t tell me the truth. He’ll be on the defense.”
Knox dragged in a breath, his nostrils flaring. Then his frame relaxed and he wrapped me in his arms. “I don’t like this.”
“Me neither.”
“I’m not staying here. We’ll go in together. Drake and I will hang at the restaurant.”
I nodded, burying my face in his chest, drawing from his strength. “Okay.”
He kissed my forehead, then we both flew into action, me blow-drying my hair while he showered.
He’d taken seven trips to the loft yesterday, each time under the ruse of getting something for Drake. He’d leave with my empty laundry basket and return with it overflowing.
My shampoo and conditioner were in the shower. My other toiletries were in a drawer beneath one of the double sinks. My clothes were hung in his closet. My panties, socks and bras were in the dresser. And nearly everything of Drake’s was in the guest bedroom.
In a single day, he’d practically moved us in.
We were moving at the speed of light, and even though my brain screamed for me to slow him down, my heart refused to put up a fight. Instead, I’d just helped him organize.
If we fell apart—God, I hoped we didn’t fall apart—I’d be moving into town. So what was the difference between moving out of his place or the loft?
While I changed Drake out of his pajamas and into an outfit, Knox reloaded the diaper bag. When I stepped outside, ready to head for the Volvo, Knox’s truck was running, the cab warm, and the base for Drake’s car seat was secured in the back.
The drive to town was silent. This was the first time I’d been a passenger in ages, and seeing Quincy from this angle was different. Or maybe today as we drove, I saw it for what it had become.
Home.