Cassidy forced a long breath from her lungs. “I had no idea he had a boat, or that he even knew Preston Ford.”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t an accusation, Cassidy.”
“Sorry,” she said as the fight drained out of her. “Yes, that’s my middle name.”
“How did you know?” he asked.
“About the boat? Just a guess, really.”
“Well, it was a good one.”
“I can’t believe my father would be involved in any of this.”
“Did Preston Ford lead you to believe he was?”
Cassidy walked in silence for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “He said my dad was a good man, but also an excellent businessman.”
“That could mean a lot of things.”
“I guess.” Cassidy knew she wouldn’t rest until she proved to herself that her father was innocent, that his intentions were pure. Maybe after her father’s death, Preston Ford was able to manipulate the clinics to serve his goal. If so, there were likely people inside the nonprofit or the clinics who knew. First, she would approach Pamela, then convince Rodney to dig as deep as he could. She knew the FBI would be working on it from their angle, but she needed to come to her own conclusions.
“When did he pass away?” Bruce asked, pulling her from her plans.
“Hmm, fifteen, sixteen years now?” Cassidy said, calculating the numbers in her mind. “I was seventeen.”
“That must have been rough.”
Cassidy chose not to answer this and squeezed his hand instead.
They were nearing a headwall in the cliff face, its rusty-red rock bare from exposure. “Quinn said he’d introduce me to his girlfriend.”
A wave thundered shut in the distance, echoing off the tall cliff walls. “How do you feel about that?” he asked with a sideways glance.
“Nervous, I guess.” She bent over to inspect a shiny green pebble. “Is that weird?”
His kind gaze washed over her. “Right now, I can imagine everything feels a little weird.”
Cassidy ignored the flurry of emotion unsettling her insides. “Would you come with me?” The words came out tight. He smiled anyway, a bright, joyful smile that sent a shock wave of energy through her.
“Yes,” he said. “But only if you stop looking so worried.”
She sighed to quell the opposing thoughts zipping through her. “I’m just…I’m not good at this.”
“Not good at what?”
“I don’t know…whatever it is that we’re doing.”
“How about if I kiss you right now. Would that help?”
Her heart shot straight into her throat.
Bruce stepped closer, and before she had time to think or react—to run away or stop him—he lowered his lips to hers. A pulse of energy tingled up her spine. His kiss was so tender. Bruce caressed the side of her face, brushing back the hairs torn loose by the wind. His warmth spread through her and she kissed him back gently, trying to understand the new feelings tearing loose inside her mind.
When the kiss ended, she gulped a shaky breath. Bruce smiled, his brown eyes dancing in the low light.
“What happens now?” she asked.
He gave her a bemused smirk. “You mean right now?” He stepped close and kissed her again. This time, she felt something heavy shift inside her, making room for a sensation of lightness, of joy, but chasing it was a batch of nerves, and she pulled away.
She remembered what Quinn had said and let her forehead fall against his. “I’m scared.”
He pulled her into a soft embrace. “Me, too.”
Cassidy knew she could throw a mountain of what-ifs at him, but refused to give in to them now. One day at a time, she told herself.
Or maybe one kiss at a time, she thought, hiding the grin that threatened to give her away.
Four days later, she woke from a snooze against her truck’s passenger window as Bruce pulled off the interstate just north of Seattle.
Immediately energized at the familiar scenery, she rolled down her window, letting in the warm city air. They passed the grocery store, the bookstore, the rows and rows of cheap restaurants, and turned onto her quiet street. It was as if time had stood still since she had left, her neighbors engaged in the same activities: mowing a lawn, lounging on porches, a family playing a game of frisbee. From the park down the street, she could hear children playing.
Bruce pulled into her driveway and shut off the engine. Cassidy peeled herself from the seat and rolled out of the cab. Bruce grabbed their bags and followed her to the door.
Inside, her stuffy house smelled of cardboard and old pipes. Within minutes, she had the windows open, then met Bruce in the kitchen. He had tossed his bag on the couch and was unloading the bag of groceries. The sight of him in the place where Pete’s ghost dwelled startled her, and she had to take several deep breaths to calm her racing heart.
“You okay?” he asked, catching her gaze.
Cassidy nodded.
“I’m planning to sleep in that guest room.”
A surge of emotion rose up through her, inch by painful inch. “Oh.”
“Or…I don’t have to stay at all.”
“No,” she said quickly. “Stay.”
Before leaving for the drive, they hadn’t talked about what would happen once they arrived at the house that held so many memories. She wasn’t sure how she would feel. She still wasn’t sure, but that he was willing to let her figure it out made it okay.
He pulled her into an embrace.
“Careful, I’m sure I don’t smell very good right now,” she warned.
“Then why don’t you get in the shower and I’ll get dinner going.”
“You’re going to cook for me?” she asked as another confusing jolt of emotion shot through her.
“I plan to do a lot of things for you,” he said, then kissed her softly. “When you’re ready,” he added when he saw the look on her face.
It was nearing midnight when they finally left the picnic table. They washed and dried the dishes, their hands brushing in the darkness, that same energy zipping between them. Saying goodnight was harder than she wanted it to be, but she managed, helping him set up
