“That’s fine if it’s something you want and not an obligation.”
“I should punch you just for saying that.” He slapped the handle on the faucet to shut it off and turned toward her. “You need to stop before you piss me off.”
“It’s not like you owe me anything.” She picked up a towel and nodded toward the sink for him to keep washing.
He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Fuck you, and fuck this conversation. Don’t insult me with the I don’t need you act, Bay.”
She dropped her fist on her hips. “It’s not an act.”
He reached out, grabbed her, and pulled her to his chest. “Stop it. You don’t need to put these walls up for me. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to miss her, even if you’re mad at her. It’s okay to show your feelings—especially with me. I know you better, so get over it.”
Bailey closed her eyes and sank into Ryan’s warm, familiar embrace. How did he always know what she was feeling? He was like a tuning fork to her needs, and right now, she needed that hug so bad, she could hardly breathe. She tucked her head under his chin and let the tension slip from her body.
When she knew her voice wouldn’t waver, she said, “It’s not okay. I have to be strong. I’m not a kid anymore. My parents are gone, and I’m on my own.”
“You have me, my dad, Wade, Lucas, and Mae. You’re not on your own. We’re all here to help you get through this.”
She reluctantly pulled away, clearing her throat. “I know, and I’m fine, but I need to go get cleaned up. I’ll see you later.” She ducked around him and walked out so he wouldn’t see her tears.
“I’ll see you at one,” he bellowed as she walked out the front door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bailey stood in the middle of the mess, her nerves so on edge, little electric pulses surged her system, making her itch. There were piles and piles of crap everywhere—stacks of bills, paperback novels, and old newspapers. Her mother had refused to throw anything away, and Bailey’s innate sense of organization was sending her system into shock.
It had been years since her mother had thoroughly cleaned this house, and as badly as Bailey wanted to be angry with her, she missed her just as much. Her mother had been an eccentric free spirit, amazingly creative, and the complete opposite of Bailey. But those differences didn’t make her any less precious to Bailey.
Bailey hadn’t been ready to plan a funeral and accept condolences. It drained her and left her empty, stripped of all her security and everything she had ever known. What did she have left? An empty, disastrous home she wasn’t ready to deal with—and an exposed secret. Helen had to have known she’d open that trunk. So why not just tell her the truth before it was too late?
She ripped her gloves off and scratched at every inch of exposed skin. After only an hour of working, dust had lodged in her nose and eyelids. She could quit; her mother had been buried only four days ago, so surely she had an excuse to wait.
With a flourish, she jerked the heavy drapes open and cracked the window for some fresh air. She placed her hands on her hips and stared out at the lake. The midday sun was shining off the water, turning it a deep blue. The view helped her relax a little. She’d grown up here, and while she had lost her parents, at least she still had her family home. She needed to remember that and stop feeling sorry for herself. The Mortons had taken her in and given her everything, and she loved them with her whole heart. She was grateful, but she was also extremely curious about where she’d come from. And why? Why had she been left in their yard all those years ago?
The beach and park behind the house were full of people. Some sunbathing, some playing Frisbee or splashing around in the cold lake water. Several people were out in canoes and paddleboards, floating around. With summer in full force, South Lake Tahoe was starting to get crowded with tourists coming into town. She wished it was her. She’d much rather be out there, enjoying the Lake Tahoe summer than inside her mother’s house, mourning and missing her.
South Lake Tahoe had become her home at the young age of four. She didn’t remember much of anything before they’d left Wisconsin and moved into this house. She’d grown up here. She learned how to swim across the street from her parents’ four-bedroom mountain home. She learned about love and loss here, too. She closed her eyes and remembered her dad pushing her on the swings at the beach park.
How lucky had she been, really, to grow up thirty yards from one of the lake’s prettiest beaches? She needed to remember that, and the wonderful times she’d spent with them here. She needed to forget her mother’s illness and the day, fifteen years ago, when she lost her father to a massive heart attack. Twelve was an awfully young age to lose a parent.
She turned her back on the view and faced the awful eighties-style furniture. She couldn’t walk away from the mess. Her sense of right and wrong, of logic, wouldn’t allow her to leave things like this. With some clutter clearing, the house would be good as new. She just needed a plan, a starting place. One room at a time. Then one day at a time. She grabbed her caddy of cleaning supplies and a box of garbage bags to head upstairs but stopped when a
