"So what?" I ask, shrugging. "Then we know. She killed herself, and that's all there is to it."
"And if it's a suicide, it means that our mother killed herself because she couldn't live without the asshole," Killian says. "It means that all that time, all those years she was with him, all those years he kicked the shit out of us as kids, she didn't leave him. That she wanted to be with him. That's what it's going to mean if you find out that she committed suicide. Do you really want to find out the answer to that question?"
"She was weak, Killian," I say. "That never really was a question. I'm not doubting that."
"But if she offed herself over that asshole, then it's more than just she was weak. Do you fucking get that? It means she loved him the whole time. Do you feel what I'm saying?"
"I get it," I say. "I just don't think that's what happened."
Killian rolls his eyes. "You think someone killed her?" he asks. "Why?"
"I don't know why. That's what I want to know."
Killian shakes his head. "Shit, Luke, you never could settle for doing what anyone told you to do, without asking 'why' a thousand damn times."
"Remember in sixth grade when Ms. Hasley kicked me out of class for arguing with her about the field trip?"
"Fuck," Killian says, laughing under his breath. "Of course I do. I was the one who had to pick your damn ass up from school and take you home. You would have gotten your ass beat too if I hadn't covered for you. At least Ms. Hasley didn't send a note home."
"She knew what the asshole would have done if he'd have found out."
"I reckon so," Killian says. He drains the rest of his bottle and stares ahead for a long time, silent. "So you really think something's going on?"
"I don't know," I tell him. The honest truth is that I have no fucking clue. But my gut says something's not right with her death. And if something's off with hers, it has to do with the asshole's death too, since he didn't die that long before her. They have to be connected. But I definitely don't tell Killian that part of things. "Maybe. Maybe it's nothing."
"Yeah, well, I've got to go back out to the rig this week," Killian says. Killian is a roughneck, has been working on oil rigs since he turned eighteen. Just like the rest of us, he got the hell out of West Bend as soon as he could.
I've passed through West Bend before, come through the area to snowboard, or on a smokejumper contract. But this trip is different. This is the longest I've stayed in West Bend since I left.
I tell myself that fact is entirely about my mother's unexpected death and not at all to do with the smokin' hot redhead who owns the orchard.
CHAPTER TEN
Autumn
Yanking the cidery door open, I walk inside, grateful for the rush of warm air when I enter the building. I push a rogue strand of hair away from my face and tuck it back into my ponytail. "Damn, Mary," I call. "It's starting to get chilly out there in the mornings."
The sound of her laughter reverberates through the front room of the distillery, and the door to the back room swings open as she walks through the doorway, Luke trailing behind her.
"Autumn," Mary says. "Luke was just telling me the funniest story about –"
"Yes," I interrupt, my tone harsher than I intend it to be. I swallow hard, hoping I sound more business-like than jealous. Because I'm totally not jealous, and have no reason to be, I remind myself. "I didn't realize you were in the cidery today, Mr. Saint."
Luke shouldn't be in the cidery. He should be outside in the orchard, overseeing the workers. Or repairing a fence or something. Like the last time – standing in the sun, sweat glistening off his shirtless chest…
On second thought, it's good that Luke Saint is in here. Fully clothed and not doing manual labor.
"I was looking for you, actually, Ms. Mayburn," Luke says, emphasizing my name. My face flushes warm at the way my name rolls off his tongue, slow and warm. Intimate.
I tell myself that the way it sounds is all in my imagination, not intentional on his part, merely an inappropriate fantasy of mine.
But when my eyes meet his, even standing here on the other side of the room, it doesn't dilute the sensation. In fact, arousal practically floods my body, the intensity of his gaze causing heat to flow through my body.
Mary stands beside Luke, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to another as she looks back and forth from me to him. Clearing her throat, she gestures toward the door. "You know, I actually had something to get outside," she says, before she scurries past us and out the door.
I'm suddenly embarrassed by Mary's obvious discomfort, as if it somehow makes whatever attraction between Luke and I that I swear is only in my head suddenly real. Now I'm the one shifting my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.