Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance Read online

  Since then, I’ve been distracted by Autumn…

  Killian claps me hard on the back, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Elias has the diary.”

  Family, I remind myself. That’s why I’m here. I'm not here to be distracted by a woman.

  “You were right.” Elias hands me the notebook. “It wasn’t a suicide. Jed killed her.”

  “We assume Jed killed her,” Silas adds. “The journal implies it.”

  “Whatever,” Killian says. “We know it was Jed. We could easily take care of it.”

  Elias snorts. “Yeah, man. That’d be real fucking smart, seeing as he’s the sheriff and all. Why don’t you go take his ass out right in front of the mayor’s office, while you're at it? I’m sure that’ll work out well.”

  “Shit, start seeing a movie star and all of a sudden you’re all ‘think logically’ and ‘don’t commit murder, Killian’.”

  “Shut up for a damn second," I say, opening the journal. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

  “You think?” Silas rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t even sure you could read.”

  I glare at him. “I’m going to kick your fucking ass in two seconds if you don’t shut your mouth.”

  Silas hoots. “I'd love to see you try, big brother.”

  “Cut it out, both of you!” Killian sighs. “You guys are giving me a headache. Why are we standing outside anyway? You got beer in the fridge?”

  “Dude, it’s like nine in the morning,” Elias says.

  Killian raises his eyebrows. “Do you have a fucking point?” he asks. “Beer? Fridge?”

  I toss the keys at Killian. "The fridge is full of beer. Wait, I thought you were going back to the rig?”

  “I have to. Leave tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to really leave right in the middle of this shit?”

  Killian shrugs, the way he does. Things just roll off his back; that's the way Killian has always been, mellow like that. But it pisses me off that he can just walk away like none of this matters to him. It should matter to him. He points at Elias and Silas. "You two idiots, leave Luke alone to read through the journal while I get us some beers. I'm not doing jack shit out here until I get a cold one."

  "It's all near the end in the journal," Elias starts.

  "Leave him be, Elias," he says, disappearing into the house.

  Elias glares at him. "I folded down the page," he adds anyway.

  I pull up a lawn chair and open the journal to the page, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Fuck this day. It was already a shitty day to begin with, and now this.

  I lose myself in the pages, squinting at the pieces of handwriting that are hard to decipher, words here and there that I can't quite make out. It's definitely hers, though – it's like hearing my mother's voice from beyond the grave. At one point, I look up from it and catch Silas' eye.

  "It's weird reading that shit, isn't it?" he asks.

  "Spooky," I agree. It's like stepping into her head, and that's not a place I've ever wanted to be. I've always thought of her as weak, too afraid to leave my asshole stepfather. He'd beaten her down so many times that she was too helpless to get out. Except, that's not what I see in the journal. Her voice changes over the course of it. And then I get to the thing that hits me like a blow to the gut, that makes the world tilt on its fucking axis.

  I look up at Elias. "Are you kidding me?" I ask.

  "Keep reading," he says. "It gets worse."

  21

  Autumn

  Olivia points at the freezer, and then at her mouth, before letting out a loud scream.

  "Ice cream?" I ask. I'm about to say no, when Connie – Connie C. to differentiate her from Connie S. over at the salon – bustles past me, wiping her hands on her gingham apron.

  "Oh, give that baby some ice cream," she says, slipping behind the ice cream freezer and reaching into one of the containers to scoop out a bit into a cup. "It won't hurt her any."

  "Says the woman who doesn't have to deal with a kid who doesn't want to nap after she gets all hopped up on sugar," I protest, but halfheartedly. This is part of our regular routine here.

  Connie C. laughs. "You sound like my daughter when I get around the grandkids," she says. "Here you go, little Olivia."

  "I swear, I think she's associated you with ice cream, Connie," I say, holding the cup while Olivia tries to spoon some into her mouth, the liquid dripping down her chin.

  "There are worse things to be associated with," she says. "How's business, Autumn? That fire up there didn't hurt your harvest now, did it?"

  "Not terribly," I tell her. "We caught it in time. We're actually almost finished harvesting."

  "Luke Saint has been helping you out, I hear." She slips behind the counter and begins placing my groceries in the paper bags, but I know she's really sussing me out for juicy gossip. I force my expression blank. Connie is one of the worst gossips in town – her general store and the local hair salon are the two main sources of information in West Bend, and everyone knows it. And the last thing I need is for her to get the idea that there's anything other than a business relationship going on between Luke and I.

  I haven't talked to Luke since we hooked up. No phone call, no text, no Luke knocking on my front door with groceries in his hands and that crooked grin on his face.

  Nothing.

  "Yep," I say. No elaboration. "Do you have any of that French bread you had before?"

  "Oh, it's in the back, sweetie." She thrusts a head of broccoli into a bag. "Hang on, I'll grab you a loaf."

  I exhale, relieved at the brief reprieve from Connie's questions. And from thinking about Luke.

  At least, that's the case until he walks in the door.

  Luke is wearing jeans and a t-shirt that looks like it was dyed to match the color of his eyes, a cornflower blue hue that's warm and icy at the same time. When Olivia sees him, she holds up her spoon and grunts, waving it in the air excitedly and sending droplets of ice cream all over the floor. He looks at me for a good long moment, then down at Olivia. "Hey there, Olivia," he says. "That looks like some delicious ice cream."

  When he looks up at me, his eyes look tired, dark circles underneath, and his face is wan. "Hey, Red."

  "Grocery shopping?" I ask brightly. Too brightly, I think, clearing my throat. Be casual, I tell myself. Be cool. Like I do this all the time, hook up with someone and then, you know, act like a big asshole.

  "Just popped in for a couple of things." He glances behind me, looking uncomfortable.

  "I – uh, wanted to say something, Luke," I start. My heart thumps loudly in my throat, so loudly I swear he has to be able to hear it in the room. I wipe my palms on my jeans. Why are my damn palms so sweaty?

  Just apologize to him, Autumn, I tell myself.

  "Oh yeah," he says, distracted. "Don't worry about it. I haven't given it a second thought."

  Oh. Not a second thought. I feel like someone punched me in the gut.

  "Here you go, dear," Connie says. "Luke Saint. Well, speak of the devil. Did you feel your ears burning? We were just talking about you no more than thirty seconds ago, now weren't we, Autumn?"

  If my face could flush any darker, I'd be the color of an eggplant. I look out of the corner of my eye at Luke, but the expression on his face is unreadable. This is the kind of thing he'd usually be prepared for with a quip, some kind of wisecrack to embarrass me even more.

  Oh God. He must hate me that much, that he doesn't even care to be a smart-ass about it. I have thoroughly fucked things up.

  "No, uh—" I stammer. "We weren't talking about you, I don't think…"

  "I was just asking about how you were helping her out at the orchard," Connie says.

  "And I was just telling her that I was grateful for your help," I say, my voice curt.

  Luke nods, his expression drawn. "Yes." He looks at his watch. "I'll see you at the orchard on Monday, then."

  I swallow hard, watching Luke's back as he walks out the door and trying to