“I’m writing an article, not a book.”
Eden pulled her purple lips into a disappointed frown. “Well, I guess that’s not the same, now,
is it? Not as interesting, either. A whole book would be interesting.” She handed Hope her change. “Someone should write about my family. Woo wee, the stories I could tell. Did you know my family owned the first saloon in town? Ran the first brothel, too. You should come in sometime and I’ll tell you the story of my great-uncles who killed each other in a fight over a gal named Frenchy.”
“Dad?” Adam whispered. “What’s a brothel?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Do you know why they called her Frenchy?”
Hope shoved her money into her fanny pack and grabbed her bag. “Because she was French?” She edged toward the door at the end of the counter, past the polished agates and windup teeth.
“No. On account of her specializing in the ménage a trois.”
“Fascinating,” Hope said as she grabbed the door handle. She gave Dylan one tortured glance and bolted as if demons were on her heels.
“How are you, Sheriff?” Eden asked as he moved forward in line.
“Good,” Dylan said through his smile.
Eden shook her head. “That gal is an odd one.”
Dylan wisely made no comment and quickly paid for Adam’s briefs and his snorkel before Eden could trap him, too. On the way home, he and Adam stopped at the Cozy Corner Cafe for cheeseburgers and fries. Paris was their waitress, and although no one in town knew who Adam’s mama was, they all knew he spent the first two weeks in July with her.
When they got home, their neighbor, Hanna Turnbaugh, brought Adam a new coloring book and crayons for “the trip.” She sat in the kitchen drinking coffee with Dylan until Paris showed up carrying a big white cake with coconut frosting and candied peach slices stuck on it. Adam resorted to his usual grunts and one-shoulder shrugs until both women gave up trying to talk to him.
Neither Dylan nor Adam slept much that night, and both got up early the next morning for the drive to Sun Valley. They ate breakfast at Shorty’s and over a stack of pancakes, Adam promised he wouldn’t cry this year.
In a small airport where celebrity passengers were the norm, the sight of Juliette Bancroft didn’t so much as raise a brow. At the same gate where Demi Moore, Clint Eastwood, and the Kennedys boarded and disembarked from their chartered planes, America’s angel waited for her son. Her blond hair subdued into a French braid, Julie rose from a chair, and a smile tilted the corners of her perfect pink lips. Julie had always been gorgeous, with her flawless skin and perfect cheekbones. She was a walking Barbie doll, only better, because she was real-well, except for her breasts; she’d had those done her first season.
Dylan had to give her credit. She’d toned down her Hollywood image and wore a simple pair of Levi’s and a summer sweater, but she still managed to look as if she’d just stepped out of a women’s magazine. “Hi, baby,” she said and held out her arms. She went down on one knee and Adam stepped within her embrace. She kissed every inch of his face and didn’t seem to notice his lack of response. “Oh, I’ve missed you soooo much. Have you missed me?”
“Yes,” Adam whispered.
Julie stood and her smile turned a bit uncertain as she looked at Dylan. “Hello, how are you?”
“Good. How was your flight?”
“Uneventful.” She let her gaze travel from his hair to the toes of his boots, then back up. “I swear you get better-looking every time I see you.”
He wasn’t flattered. Julie was one of those people who handed out compliments like a Pez dispenser. “I’m another year older every time you see me, Julie.”
She shrugged. “You look the same as the day I ran my Toyota into your unmarked car. Remember that?”
How could he possibly forget? “Of course.”
Julie flashed him her trademark smile, the one that captured America’s hearts, the one that used to make his own pulse race. “Do you have time to grab a bite to eat before you head back home?” she asked. “I thought the three of us could talk a bit before Adam and I have to go.”
Instantly suspicious, Dylan wondered what she really wanted. It wasn’t like her to want to sit around and shoot the shit with him. “Adam and I just ate. Maybe some other time.”
“We need to talk soon,” she said and reached for Adam’s hand. “Your grandpa is awfully excited to see you. We’re going to have lots of fun this year.”
Adam took a step back and leaned into Dylan’s thigh. He didn’t grab hold, but Dylan could tell that he wanted to.
“I thought you weren’t going to make a fuss this time,” he said, as if he weren’t dying inside. As if he didn’t already feel the loss with every squeeze of his heart.
“I’m not.” But Adam turned his face into Dylan’s side. “But, Dad…”