Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Bea cringes lower in her chair. “Dad, please, I know you’re upset, but I was going to call you later today, I promise. You just—”
“You are being a little loud, dear,” a woman cuts in before Beatrice can finish. Her mother, I’m assuming. She’s also loud, but her tone is far less strained. “I think your hearing aids might need new batteries.”
I shift closer to the couch, just enough to bring the screen into focus.
Yep, these are definitely her parents. I recognize them from the photos stuck to the fridge from their last trip to Scotland. Her silver-haired father, with his still relatively young-looking face and strong jaw, and her mother, a woman as tiny as Beatrice with intelligent brown eyes and salt and pepper hair she wears in a bob.
“This isn’t about my hearing aids,” her father booms, clearly not appreciating the change of subject. But now that I can see his expression, it’s obvious he’s more scared than angry. His face is lined with worry as he leans toward the computer, revealing snow-capped mountains outside the window behind him. “This is about our daughter keeping things from her family. Things like a car accident and the fact that she’s pregnant with—”
Mr. Nix breaks off, his jaw going slack as he spots me lurking in the background.
Shit.
I should have slunk back to my room while I had the chance.
“Hello? Excuse me? Who are you?” he demands, stopping me before I can make a break for the hall. “Beatrice, who is that? That man without a shirt on in your house? Is that the father?”
“Oh, hi! Hello? Are you the father?” Bea’s mother wiggles her fingers my way with a friendly smile. “We’re Beatrice’s parents. I’m Kate, and this is Wes. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Mom, stop, please,” Beatrice hisses before turning to face me, her eyes wide in her pale face, silently pleading for help.
I know she doesn’t want the truth to come out this way.
Lucky for us both, I have experience charming the older generation. I might not have had parents guiding me as a kid, but I had plenty of training on how to solicit donations.
Before I became successful enough as a solo artist to sell albums without constantly touring, Daveed had our kid music group on the road for months at a time, singing for our supper at every festival and farmers’ market he could find. The faster we convinced the nice grown-ups at those events to give us the money, the sooner we were allowed to go home and sleep in actual beds, not our “tour bus,” an ancient school bus with a makeshift bathroom in the back that refused to flush half the time.
I cross my arms and smile, letting the familiar mask slip into place.
“Good morning, sorry to barge into a private family conversation,” I say, with my best “just a friendly, non-threatening guy with nothing to hide” smile. Not too big, not too small, bright eyes, not a hint of teeth. “I heard shouting and wanted to make sure Bea and Clover were okay. I’m Archer, but my friends call me Blue.” I wave a sheepish hand before crossing it over my chest again, concealing as much of my bare skin as possible. “I’m a friend of Clover’s, here to help out until she’s able to get around on her own.”
Bea’s shoulders relax, the tension draining from her spine as she mouths, “Thank you,” my way before turning back to the screen. “Clover’s leg and arm were both broken in the accident. She can’t even get in and out of bed by herself, and we weren’t sure I could lift her on my own.”
“Oh no, the poor thing. And no, of course you can’t, not in your condition,” Kate says, her hand flying to her cheek. “Oh, I feel terrible, honey. I was so relieved to hear that you were okay. I didn’t even think about who was driving. Is Clover going to be all right? Is there anything we can do?”
“She’s going to be fine,” Beatrice assures her. “She just needs time and—”
“I’m sure she needs more than that. What can we do to pitch in?” Wes asks, sounding calmer, but not any quieter. “We’re on the next flight home, obviously, but if you—”
“Dad, no,” Bea cuts in. “Stop. You’re not cutting your trip short on my account. Patagonia has been on your bucket list for years, and you just got there. I bet you haven’t even gone hiking yet, have you?”
Kate perks up a bit. “No, not yet. But we did a short walk yesterday, and the wildflowers in the foothills are incredible, Bea. Truly, one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Took my breath away. You have to put Argentina on your bucket list. Daddy wasn’t a big fan of Buenos Aires, but I loved it, and Mendoza was fantastic. Like Northern California wine country without the crowds.”