Made For Loving You (Rescue My Heart Book 3), Kait Nolan [good non fiction books to read TXT] 📗

his, she felt the weight of grief land on her chest like a boulder. She’d never again hear her mother’s laugh. Never smell her mother’s favorite perfume. Never get a chance to tell her the truth about why she’d walked away. “Flynn.”

Without word, without question, he tugged her into his arms, holding tight as the first wave crashed over her, and she fell apart, the phantom scent of violets on the air.

Chief Deputy Xander Kincaid parked his cruiser in front of the rambling Victorian that had been Joan Reynolds’ home. He retrieved the covered dish of chicken enchiladas sent by his mama—the first wave of death casseroles that would soon fill the old kitchen to bursting—and headed for the front door. Despite its size, with its muted gray paint, the house tended to blend into the woods and mountains around it. Joan had loved this house. She’d always said it was a peaceful spot, a good place to heal and a good place to love. And she’d done exactly that for nearly twenty-five of her sixty-two years, filling the over-sized house with foster children who’d needed a home and someone to love them.

No telling whose home it would become now. Pru had moved back in. As the only one of Joan’s adopted girls who hadn’t moved away, she’d immediately stepped in to take over guardianship of Ari Rosas, Joan’s most recent—well, her last foster child. But he didn’t imagine Pru could afford the upkeep of the place on her income as a massage therapist—especially after the death taxes and probate lawyer had their way with the place. And what, he wondered, would happen with Ari, whose adoption hadn’t yet been finalized?

Juggling the casserole dish, he rang the bell and waited. And waited.

Backing up on the porch, he craned his head to peer around toward the barn. Pru’s car was there. He tried the knob and found it unlocked. Making a mental note to have a word with her about security, even here on the Ridge, he stuck his head inside. “Pru?”

She appeared at the head of the stairs, her big brown eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Sorry. I was just…” She tailed off, waving a vague hand down the hall.

“It’s fine.” He lifted the enchiladas. “Mama wanted me to bring these by. She thought with your sisters coming in, the last thing you or any of them would want to do is cook.”

Xander watched as manners kicked in. Her posture straightened, her expression smoothing out as she locked down the grief.

“That’s so kind of her.” She came down the stairs and reached for the dish. “I’ll just go put this in the kitchen.”

He followed her back.

“No one’s here just yet,” she said, a false bright note in her voice, as if everything was fine and her world wasn’t falling apart.

Xander waited until she slid the casserole into the fridge before he simply wrapped his arms around her. “Pru. I’m so sorry.”

For a long moment, she stood there like a wooden post. Then a shudder rippled through her as her control fractured. Her arms lifted and she burrowed in.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” she whispered. “If she’d been in her own car instead of that tin can loaner, it wouldn’t have.”

Xander wasn’t sure Joan’s SUV would’ve handled the patch of black ice any better, but he remained silent. The fact was, nobody expected black ice in east Tennessee in March. Not when daytime temperatures were almost to the sixties. Joan’s hadn’t been the only accident this week. But she’d been the only fatality.

He ran a hand down Pru’s silky, dark brown hair, hoping to soothe, at least a little. But this wasn’t like middle school, when he’d been able to pound Derek Pedretti into the ground for making Pru cry by calling her fat. There was no one he could take to task, no one to be punished. Grief simply had to be endured.

“There are all these arrangements to be made,” she hiccupped.

And no one here to help her do them, with Maggie off in Los Angeles and Athena running her restaurant in Chicago. Xander deliberately avoided thinking about the final Reynolds sister, though he was sure that this would bring even her home. The idea of that caused his gut to tighten with a mix of old fury and guilt.

“What can I do to help?”

“Let me make you some coffee.”

“Pru—”

“No really,” she sniffed, pulling away. “I’m better when I’m doing something.”

Xander didn’t want coffee, but if she needed to keep her hands busy, he’d drink some. “Coffee’d be great.”

She began puttering around the kitchen, pulling beans out of the freezer and scooping them into the grinder. Joan had loved her gourmet beans. It’d been one of the few luxuries she’d always allowed herself. As she went through the motions, Pru seemed to regain her control.

“Maggie’s taking the red eye from LA, and Athena’s flying out as soon as she closes down the restaurant tonight.”

“Do either of them need to be picked up from the airport?”

“They’re meeting in Nashville and driving up together in the morning, so they’ll be here to help me finish planning the service. It’s supposed to be on Thursday.”

Xander didn’t ask about Kennedy. Both because he didn’t want to care whether she showed up, and if she wasn’t coming, he didn’t want to rub it in.

Pru set a steaming mug in front of him, adding the dollop of half and half he liked and giving it a stir. “Kennedy gets in day after tomorrow. There was some kind of issue getting a direct flight, so she’s having to criss-cross Europe before she even makes it Stateside again. She’s coming home, Xander.”

He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be an announcement or a warning, but it cracked open the scab over a very old wound that had never quite healed.

She laid a hand over his. “Are you okay?”

This woman had just lost her mother, and she was worried about whether he’d be okay with the fact that