was Ryder’s turn to sink into a chair. “Shit.”
“You already said that once.” She stood, paced into the kitchen, then back. “Why didn’t you use something? I mean, you’re you.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t think... I never thought we’d...” He broke off, words failing him. “It’s you.”
“What does that mean, it’s me?” Her hands were on her hips. “You were all over me.”
“I was trying to get you out of there—”
“For sex.”
He shook his head.
“But...but you kissed me,” she argued, a range of emotions crossing her face. She stopped pacing, to glare at him. “Wait, back up. You came to get me because Jasper called. Then you saw me with Troy and went all caveman? Is that what you’re saying? You didn’t want Troy to have me, but you didn’t want me—” She broke off, red-faced and trembling.
He didn’t say a thing. She was right. Initially, that was what had happened. He opened his mouth, took one look at her, and closed it again.
“So, I was this pathetic—” Her voice broke. “You were trying to stop some sleazy hook-up guy and I—I forced myself on you?”
“You didn’t force anything.” But now wasn’t the time to tell her he’d always wanted her. “Annabeth—”
She held her hand up. “I really appreciate the ride home, Ryder, but I need you to go.”
“Wait.” He gripped her shoulders. “What if you are preg—”
“Do not finish that sentence.” Annabeth glared up at him. “It’s just...sex, right? Tonight didn’t happen. You picked me up and brought me home. The end.”
“Now, Annabeth—”
“That’s it,” she cut him off.
“Wait.”
“No!” she yelled.
He stared at her, gritting his teeth. God, she was stubborn. And beautiful. And soft...and warm. His stomach tightened.
“Just go.” Her voice was shaking. She was shaking.
Leaving didn’t feel right.
“Please,” she added. “Go.”
“I’ll go,” he murmured, forcing himself to release her.
She nodded, watching him.
He pulled his coat closed, opened the door and stepped out.
A gust of cold air blasted him, carrying a faint cry of distress to him. He froze, turning in the direction of the sound and slipped. He landed flat on his back. “Shit!” he yelled, half on Annabeth’s icy walkway and half in the icy-wet grass. He sighed, staring up at the sky.
He heard the noise again, a long, pitiful sound.
Annabeth’s voice rang out, “Oh my God! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Stay there.”
“Ryder—” She burst out laughing.
He heard the sound again, a long, pitiful wail. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. “You hear that?”
But she was laughing too hard to hear him.
He shook his head, pushing himself onto his feet. He stood, listening. The sound started again, then another. From the house behind Annabeth’s. “That house still vacant?”
“The Czinkovic place? Sadly, yes.” She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Why?”
“You don’t hear that?” he asked. “Now that you’re done laughing?”
She grinned, but didn’t say anything. They stood still, listening to the roar and whistle of the wind, and the faint cry coming from the empty house. “What is it?” she asked, stepping carefully onto the front porch.
“I’ll find out,” he said.
Annabeth watched her sweet little boy’s eyes go round as her grandmother chattered away.
“And then I found my teeth in my underwear drawer.” Grandma Florence patted Cody on the head.
Cody put the escaping gray kitten—the kitten making such a terrible racket the night of the storm—back on Grandma Florence’s lap. “Oh.”
Annabeth shook her head, stirring the onions in the skillet. “Grandma, I can get you another case for your dentures.” At least her grandmother only lost the storage containers and not the dentures themselves. That would get expensive real quick.
“It won’t do any good.” Her grandmother leaned forward, her whisper low and conspiratorial. “Because they’re not lost. Someone’s taking them. I think it’s that Franklyn. He’s always in my things, digging around. And he has that look.”
Annabeth knew the medical assistants at Grandma Florence’s home didn’t get much pay or much thanks, but poor Franklyn didn’t have a thieving bone in his body. What he did have was the patience of a saint. “What look?” Annabeth glanced at the older woman.
“You know...that look.” Florence screwed up her face in horror. “Like he’s watching me. Plotting things. Up to no good.”
Cody burst out laughing at his great-grandmother’s expression, making it impossible for Annabeth not to laugh, too.
The tiny prick of needlelike claws drew Annabeth’s attention down to her calves. Tom was hanging from her jeans, his little white-tipped tail sticking straight up. He mewed, his pink tongue on full display.
“You’re adorable,” Annabeth said to the kitten. “But it’s a good thing I don’t have a spatula in my hands or—”
“Ma,” Cody reprimanded her, kneeling at her feet to gently detach Tom from her pant leg. “Be good.” Cody lifted the kitten in his arms, carefully cradling the animal as he carried it across the room to the box he’d made for its bed.
“Cats in the kitchen.” Grandma Florence clicked her tongue. “Never heard of such a thing. Cats are barn critters. ’Course one time we had a cat that got too close to the—”
“Grandma Flo.” Annabeth was quick to interrupt. Her grandmother was rarely lucid enough to have a real conversation, but the old woman had a never-ending stream of stories to share. And not all of them had child-friendly endings. “How’s work?”
Florence sighed. “I’ve never met such a lazy group of people in my life, Hannah.”
Annabeth turned back to the cooking with a smile. Grandma Florence had dementia. On good days, Florence
