Ryan snorted out a laugh as he dug into his pocket. Pulling out a few notes, he handed them through the window. “Here you go.”
She held out a woven basket for him to drop them into.
“No bucket?”
“Hope wasn’t happy with the plastic bucket we’ve been using, so she made this.”
Ryan laughed. “That sounds like my sister.”
“She’s a peach all right. Now you head on, and I’m sure I’ll see you about town.”
“Sure. See you, Katie.”
Detective McBride had changed, which happened over eleven years, and there would be a whole lot more of that, he knew.
Strange how she hadn’t mentioned anything about his career. Usually that was the first thing people wanted to talk to him about. They wanted a photo or an autograph too. Things Ryan had taken a while to adjust to. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call a people person, preferring his own company. But the lifestyle he now lived had forced him to adapt.
He drove along the only road out of town, passing the turnoff to where he’d find his mother’s house—the home he’d been raised in. Most of the Howlers, as the locals were called, lived in a grouping of streets there and the rest along the lake, tucked up driveways or roads.
Lowering the window, he enjoyed the cool breeze and inhaled deeply. No pollution or loud noise. Strange how he’d forgotten how much he liked that.
He turned into the road that led up to the ridge, and once there he found Newman and Hope’s drive. The mailbox said “Newman and Hope” in big black letters. He parked and got out.
Walking to the edge of the property, he looked at the view laid out before him.
Home.The word slipped into his head. He hadn’t had one of those for a while; he’d been transient, following the dream until he’d achieved it.
The home his sister shared with one of his oldest friends sat long and low to his left, but his eyes were on the vista.
Aqua-blue waters that went for miles. Mountains capped with snow that he and some friends had been stupid enough to traverse in their youth. Redwood trees that were rooted deep into the earth after hundreds of years of survival rose high, standing sentry over Lake Howling, the small, picturesque town he’d just driven through.
“I’m back,” he whispered, and unlike in LA, no one but he heard. This place had been home for years, where he’d formed the type of friendship that was a lifelong bond. He was a Howler no matter how long he was gone from this place and always would be. He let the memories come and go as he studied the scene before him. Remembered that here he’d just been Ryan Lawrence, the boy without a father and with a mother who never knew how to show love or affection. His sister, however, had loved him unconditionally, as he had her.
A lance of guilt reminded him why he was here. He’d walked away from her and not looked back. Shaking off his thoughts, he made for the front door. He couldn’t believe his transient sister lived here. That she’d settled and put down roots and was now about to have a baby was still a shock to him.
“Life is full of curveballs,” Ryan muttered as he stepped through the door when no one answered his knock.
“Hope?”
Still no answer. And then he heard the singing, slow and soulful. It seemed that had changed too. His sister had had a terrible singing voice, unlike him.
Following the voice, he took in the soft tones of the living areas and huge window offering yet more of the sensational view, and as he drew nearer, he realized she was singing his latest release. His lips curved into a smile.
He’d never wanted a home of his own, yet he had to say this had a nice feel to it. The furnishings were comfortable yet classy. Newman, Ryan thought. Hope had no idea about things like coordinating colors.
The voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand as he reached a hall. Husky and, he had to add, pretty damned amazing. Strong, and could hold a tune.
When had Hope learned to sing like that?
“Hope?” He knocked but no one answered, so he pushed it, then lost the ability to breathe.
The back to him was wet, and the dark hair hung in a thick curtain to her jaw. His eyes traveled down the wet length of her spine to the high, round curves of a sensational ass. Long toned legs seemed to be endless. She sang a few more words, then choked on the last one, and before he could move, she’d turned, and he saw her red eyes. She’d been crying.
Her scream was ear-piercing.
“What are you doing here?” She grabbed a towel and held it to her front, but not before he’d seen the spectacular rack of Faith Harris.
“It’s Ryan, Faith. Sorry to scare you. I thought you were Hope.” He shut the door quickly.