“She won’t tell me where I was born or what my father’s name was. She says he’s dead, but that’s weird, too. If he’s dead, why won’t she tell me about him?”
“I don’t know, Skye. She must have her reasons.”
Skye moaned, the pain in her head intensifying. She pressed her hands to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut, battling it.
“What’s wrong?”
“I get headaches. Bad ones.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah, right. Come on, I’m walking you back. You need some aspirin or something.”
“Wait!” She grimaced as pain knifed through her skull, and her vision blurred. “Did your mom keep that kind of stuff from you? Stuff about your dad?”
Chance laughed, the sound rough. “Hell, no. I wish she had, though. My father was a real prick.” He stood and pulled her gently to her feet. “Come on. I’m getting you home. I’ll bet your mom’s there, waiting for you. She’s probably worried sick.”
Chapter Twelve
But Claire wasn’t there. Chance stood in the center of Skye and her mother’s obviously empty trailer, working to hide his dismay, trying to decide what he should do next. Skye was beside herself, hysterical with worry, her headache nearly unbearable.
Even so, she refused to take her headache medicine, because she said it sometimes made her sleepy. She told him she was afraid to go to sleep. Finally, by promising he wouldn’t leave until her mother returned, Chance convinced her to take two of the tablets and lie down.
He sat on the floor beside the bed, the space so small he barely fit. He forced a breezy smile, all too aware of the time that had slipped past. “It’s going to be all right, kid. Any moment your mom’s going to walk through that door. And boy, are you going to feel silly then.”
She searched his gaze. “What if she doesn’t?”
“She will.”
“Where’s your mom?”
He hesitated a moment, feeling her question like a punch to his gut. “She’s dead.”
“Oh.” Skye drew her eyebrows together. “What happened? I mean, was it an accident or—”
“She got sick,” he said roughly. “And then she died.”
“Oh.” An awkward silence stretched between them. After a moment’s hesitation, she cleared her throat. “Chance?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s it like? Being without a mother?”
“I don’t think about it much. Not anymore, anyway.”
Tears flooded her eyes, and he knew she was thinking about her mother, thinking that she would never see her again. He leaned toward her. “It’s bullshit, Skye. She’s going to be home any minute.”
“But wha’if she’s not?” Her words slurred slightly, and he knew the medicine was kicking in.
“She will be.”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Don’t…leave me. You promised.”
“Yeah, I know. I promised, and I won’t.”
Within moments her eyes closed and her breathing became deep and even. He stayed beside the bed, anyway, watching her while she slept. Silly, sweet Skye. She liked to play the tough kid, the invincible one. But that wasn’t the way she looked now. She looked young. And soft. And lost. He lightly touched his index finger to her cheek, then drew his hand away, surprised by the rush of tenderness he felt for her.
He’d never had a brother or sister, though once upon a time he had wanted one. Someone to share things with, someone to belong to when his mother didn’t have the time—or inclination—to belong to him.
That had been a long time ago. So long he had almost no memory of it anymore. He’d been lonely, he supposed. Ages ago, back when he had needed people to make him happy. To make him feel safe.
He unwedged himself and crossed to the door. There, he stopped and looked back at her. What she had told him earlier, about her and her mom picking up and moving in the middle of the night did sound weird. But the mob? No way. That was just too Hollywood.
No, Claire was probably trying to stay a step or two ahead of the bill collector. She had probably refused to tell Skye anything about her father because she didn’t even know who he was.
Ugly but true. Too ugly, he supposed. Too true to tell a little girl who loved her mother.
After one last glance at Skye, he went to the front of the camper to wait. He sat. He paced. He checked—and re-checked—his watch. The minutes ticked past. Still Claire didn’t show.
He shook his head. She probably had a boyfriend and had sneaked off to fuck her brains out.
Even as the thought filtered through his head, he acknowledged to himself that it didn’t ring true. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know Claire well, hardly at all, in fact. She could be a raving nympho, for all he knew.
But he had seen the way she looked at her daughter. He had seen how much she loved Skye. Nothing meant more to Claire than her daughter, and certainly not some small-town, back-lot fuck. Maybe he was being naive, but he didn’t believe Claire would leave her daughter alone to go do that.
Then, what had she left her alone to go do?
Even as the question registered, he heard her at the door. A second later, she stepped into the kitchen, saw him and stopped dead.
“Hello, Claire.”
She looked past him, toward the back of the trailer where Skye slept, then back, her expression alarmed. “What are you doing here?”
“I think the question is, why weren’t you here?”
“I went out for a walk. I couldn’t sleep and—”
“It’s the middle of the night!” He jumped to his feet. “Jesus, Claire, Skye was scared to death. She came to get me, she was so scared.”
Claire paled. Her hand went to her throat. He saw that it trembled. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I couldn’t sleep, and I…” She turned her head toward Skye’s bedroom. “Is she asleep?”
“I think so. She took a couple of those headache tablets, but only after I promised her I’d stay. She was afraid to be alone.”
Tears flooded Claire’s eyes. “Thank you, I’ll…I need to see her. Excuse me.”
Chance thought about leaving, then decided against it. Something didn’t sit right with Claire’s explanation. Skye was right, her mother acted as nervous and jumpy as a cat. She was afraid of something. Or someone.
Chance took a seat at the dinette and waited. From the bedroom, he heard the sound
