I didn’t put those there.
My sketchbook lies open and my heart pounds as I move to it with apprehensive steps. The drawings on the open pages come into view. Shyann nude in the river. Her light eyes stare back at me from the page along with a warning. Scribbled in childlike handwriting . . .
Time for another sacrifice.
I drop my sandwich and grab my hat and keys.
Shyann.
Everything is a blur as I race down the dirt road, sending a wall of dust into the air. I pull up to the Jennings home and desperately search for her truck, but it isn’t there.
I speed toward the highway, my pulse pounding in my throat, and hit the pavement with a squeal of my tires. My stomach growls again and hunger combined with worry for Shyann makes me dizzy.
She’s not at the diner, and a quick pass by the Jennings office and there’s no sign of her truck. My worst fears unfurl and I blink hard to keep my focus on the road and not give in to terror.
My head swims as I whip my truck around the corner and a little farther down the road to the three-acre lot we’re building a two-story home on. Immediately I see Nash’s truck and hop out to go fumble through some made-up excuse for being late and frantic.
Lying is something I’ve always been good at.
It’s kept me out of the mental institutions, and if I pull this off, I can stay in Payson and keep my job. I just need to know she’s safe.
A few of the guys give me a quick chin lift and Stilts crosses to meet me halfway through the site. “Hey, kiddo. Feelin’ better?”
“Uh . . .” Feelin’ better? Was I sick? “Yeah . . .?” I search for Nash or Cody, hoping they’ll be able to tell me if Shy is okay.
He throws a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at someone who must be somewhere in the vicinity behind him. “Heard what happened.”
Great, you mind filling me in?
“Oh yeah?” I’m cautious, not sure if we’re talking about the same thing, but either way I need answers.
He leans forward. “Must say, happy to hear you knocked that little shit Dustin down a few notches. Kid needs to get his ass beat.”
My eyes grow wide and I nod. It’s all I can do because screaming, What in the hell are you talking about? would draw too much attention. If what he says is true, that means I was out.
Out as in gone, and out as in out in public.
“Anyway, too bad about the food poisoning.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “You’re still looking a little run-down. Might wanna take another day.”
“Another day . . . yeah.” My voice is vacant and the room spins.
“Whoa, easy there.” He grips my shoulders, his bushy dark brows settling over concerned eyes, and encourages me to sit. “Put your head between your knees, or . . . shit . . . Can we get Lucas some water or something?” he calls over his shoulder.
I stare off in front of me but see nothing. This isn’t like a blackout where I go from light to dark like a flick of a switch. This is—
“Lucas . . .?” A soft, feminine voice rings in my ears seconds before my field of vision is filled with liquid-blue eyes. “I got ’im, Stilts.”
Shyann. She’s okay. Just seeing her alive and healthy clears my head a little.
My eyes dart to Stilts’s retreating feet and then back to her. She’s wearing a baseball hat backward and there’s white paint splattered across her cheek and some on a few long pieces of black hair that escaped her hat. Maybe it’s just the relief at seeing she’s okay, but in this moment she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Hey . . .” She cups my jaw and forces my gaze to hers as her eyes search mine. “Lucas . . . right?” She angles her face away, but only slightly, like she’s bracing for something.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” She lets out a long breath and her expression relaxes. “You’re back,” she whispers, and a tiny smile tilts her lips, but I can’t return it.
She knows.
I survey our surroundings, and once I’m certain we’re alone, I ask what I’ve been dying to know. “What happened?”
“Are you okay to walk?”
I nod.
She helps me to my feet, and I sway.
“Lucas, are you sure you’re okay? When was the last time you ate?”
The last time I remember was . . . “Tacos.”
Her head jerks. “Tacos? With me?”
I nod again. “Yeah.”
She frowns and dips her shoulder under mine, wraps her arm around me, and holds me to her. “Come on.”
We walk through the half-constructed home into the back that opens to dense forest trees. I’m grateful that she’s strong, and as we pass by a few of the guys, she makes it look like she’s holding on to me rather than holding me up. If I didn’t feel so weak, so confused, I’d absorb the feel of her soft body pressed against mine, the warmth of her at my side. After a few yards through the brush, she stops at the base of a large Douglas fir.
“Here.” She guides me to the ground, where I drop with my back against the trunk.