“Shit. He ran off,” Travis stated flatly. Frankie almost chastised his language but her voice got stuck in her throat, right next to her heart.
Thankfully, when she spoke her voice was far calmer than the stampede waging in her chest. “Has he done anything like this before?”
“He lit out for a bit when Aunt Beth died,” Carter answered. They called her Aunt Beth every time they spoke of her. It was stupid, but it made her feel connected to them. And more connected to Aunt Beth. Less…alone.
“He can’t be far. We’ll split up and meet back here,” Travis said, walking to the living room. He yanked on his battered high tops and picked up a sweater, pulling it over his head and mushrooming his braids in the collar.
“One of us should stay here,” Frankie said, adding, “If he comes back, someone should be here.”
“You stay,” Carter snapped.
“No. One of you should stay. You’re his brothers. Travis?”
His fists clenched as he and his brother eyed each other. Unspoken words brought them to a decision and Travis opened the door, gesturing for Frankie to follow Carter. The morning was taking a major detour from her plans. Par for the course since she’d arrived in Minnesota. Her heart hammered quickly in her ears, drowning out the sound of the TV.
Carter didn’t speak as they trailed through the tall grass in the back of her house. Hacking it down was on her list. As the leaves and brush crackled under their feet, Carter kept his eyes forward and his stride long. If it were just him, she’d suffer no guilt tossing him on his ass. Miles being gone was not her fault, but Carter’s disgruntled silence pushed at her, making doubt dig its way into her brain. Nausea roiled in her stomach. Could she be in trouble, legally speaking, if she lost a child who wasn’t supposed to be living in her home? Talk about blurred lines.
Gusts of wind swayed the trees, making their leaves rustle. The smell of rain made Frankie think of getting her house ready for a hard winter. That’s what she should have been doing all week. Unease roiled in her stomach. What had she gotten herself into?
“Carter. Carter,” she called. The wind roared between them, but she knew he heard her. “Carter! For goodness’ sake! Stop.”
He whirled, glaring—his default look where she was concerned. His dark hoodie was too large for him like the rest of his clothes. She couldn’t tell if it was by choice or necessity.
He shook his head and Frankie was leveled by the amount of disgust in his tone. “Are you for real? Did you actually just say, ‘for goodness’ sake?’?”
Temper drowned her guilt when he walked away heading toward the thickening tree line. Frankie grabbed the sleeve of his sweater to stop him. Carter swung around so quickly, she lost what little balance she possessed. She landed with a thud on the cold, hard ground. Air burst from her lungs along with a few words she usually tried not to say. She was too busy wondering if she’d cracked her tailbone to notice the look of fear on Carter’s face. Just as he started to talk, Ryan shoved him aside with a look that said he saw Carter’s moodiness and could raise him plenty.
“What the hell, man?” Ryan raged.
Carter unintentionally joined Frankie on the ground when he tripped backwards over a tree root. Ryan kept his eyes on Carter, but dropped to Frankie’s side and began running his hands over her body as if checking to see where she was hurt. She shivered involuntarily and told herself it was from the cold or shock, not because his firm hands were gliding over places that hadn’t been touched in far too long. Carter said nothing, but Frankie didn’t blame him. The look on Ryan’s face would keep most people silent.
His voice was hard and low. “Where are you hurt?”
With his eyes locked on Carter’s now-blank face, Ryan wasn’t paying close attention to where he was letting his hands graze. Frankie put her hands over his to stop their path before she did something embarrassing like sigh in pleasure.
She smiled, hoping to break the tension swirling around the three of them. “If I tell you and you check, it’ll seem inappropriate, given how long we’ve known each other.”
Carter’s eyebrow arched. Ryan turned his head, his brows scrunched in concern. His thick lashes lowered as he passed his eyes over all of her, still sprawled on the ground.
His tone held no recognition of her sarcasm. “Can you move?”
Carter shifted and Ryan pointed a finger at him. “You don’t move at all.”
“Ryan, I’m okay.” Frankie tried to sit up to prove it but before she could, Ryan pushed his hands under her armpits and lifted her like she was a five year old, plopping her on her feet and checking her over again.
“I saw him throw you,” Ryan growled. Those hands. Good lord. If he wanted her to talk coherently, he’d have to keep them still.
She grabbed one of his wrists and held it still. “He didn’t throw me.”
Carter still showed no emotion. It was like he’d let all expression leave his body—it had risen out of him, leaving a blank shell, or a boy who was used to shouldering the blame without dispute.
Ryan pointed at him with his free hand. “Damn right he did. I watched from my yard. Saw you yelling at him. We need to call the cops. Do you have your cell phone?”
His eyes scanned her again, like maybe he’d missed something. He’d caught her several times when she was less than her best now, but pride didn’t show on the outside, right? Carter adjusted his body and leaned back on his hands. He stared straight ahead at the grove of trees marking the back end of her land. Ryan’s hand came to her back and brushed downward and back up, like he was wiping off grass and debris.
“We do not need to call the cops. This is turning into something it’s not. Would you please stop touching me? It is freaking impossible to think while you are,” she nearly shouted. She let go of his wrist and raised her hands as she stepped back. Both looked at her then. She didn’t miss the amusement in either of their eyes. Ryan held his hands up in a back-off gesture.
“At least I didn’t make her yell, dude,” Carter mumbled.
“Did you just call me dude?”
Carter shrugged, insolence dripping off of him. “Seemed better than—”.
“Carter!”
“You know him?” Ryan’s eyes widened.
Carter moved to his knees, swiping dirt from his pants. Ryan stepped closer to Frankie. His body heat felt good, almost as good as his hands. Frankie groaned inwardly at the thought of his hands. What was wrong with her? They were wasting time; Miles was missing, and she was thinking about how good her neighbor smelled and how if she leaned in, just a little, she wouldn’t be cold anymore.
“I do,” Frankie said. She gestured to Carter to get up, and with additional sulkiness, he did.
Ryan’s genuine concern surprised her even as it showed a completely different side of him. With the veil of grumpiness lifted, he was even more attractive, which probably wasn’t a good thing, considering she had a few more pressing concerns than her next-door neighbor.
Frankie put her hand on his bicep, trying not to think about the feel of it under her fingers. “We don’t need to call the cops. He didn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t. We’re looking for his little brother and we’re just on edge.”
Ryan shifted his gaze to Carter, whose head hung down as if he was counting blades of grass then to Frankie’s hand resting on his arm. His eyes moved up to hers.
“So, it’s not freaking impossible to think when you touch me? Just the other way around,” he said matter-of-fact. Frankie pulled her hand back like she’d touched a hot burner. He arched an eyebrow and nodded as if he’d proved a point. After holding her gaze for a few more seconds, both brows came together. “Why are you looking for his brother?”
“Cause he’s missing, genius,” Carter replied. Carter started back toward the house.
Frankie followed, glaring at his back. “Do everyone a favor and be quiet, Carter.”
Weaving through the long, thick grass was like walking against a current. Another chill wracked her body. They needed to find Miles. Seeing no other option, she released a pent-up breath and told Ryan the boys had been staying with her, that Miles had been sick and had taken off after he’d overheard them arguing.
“Why are they staying with you? Clearly you’re not related,” Ryan said.
Looking over his shoulder, Carter arched his eyebrow and Frankie made a mental note to practice that move. It spoke volumes.
“That doesn’t matter right now. We need to head back and see if Miles is there. We actually might have to call the cops,” Frankie said. Her yard was bigger than she’d realized and they’d covered ground quickly. The walk back seemed longer.
“We ain’t calling the cops,” Carter called over his shoulder.
“I don’t think you’re calling the shots, kid,” Ryan said.
Frankie winced when she tripped over a rock, ribbons of pain vibrating up her spine. She waved off her neighbor’s look of concern even though Ryan’s worry and protectiveness thawed some of chill she’d felt after their last run-in by the tree. Had it only been a few hours ago?
She spoke softly. “Let’s just deal with one thing at a time. I’ve got this. Thank you.”
Ryan walked at her side, his hand resting on the small of her back. The heat from his hand sent sparks up her spine and over her skin.
“I’m not leaving you alone with a punk twice your size,” Ryan said.
“He’s not a punk. He’s a kid and he’s worried,” Frankie said, loud enough that Carter turned and locked eyes with her.
She thought she saw a flash of gratitude in his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. Ryan made a rude noise and mumbled something under his breath. They walked in silence the rest of the way.
When they approached the house, Carter walked toward the front and Frankie detoured, heading toward the back of the house to the covered porch. Like the rest of the house, it needed some work, but Frankie was fond of it. Just last night, she’d bundled up with a sweater and blanket to have a glass of wine on one of the oversized wicker chairs she’d found on clearance.
With one foot on the porch, Frankie stopped short, causing Ryan to plow into her, his front to her back. His hands went to her hips and if she hadn’t been so surprised and relieved, she would have taken a moment to enjoy the sensation. Focusing, which took some effort, she stepped away from Ryan and toward the small figure huddled behind one of her chairs. It reminded her of playing hide and seek with her brother when they were young. She’d hide in the silliest places and be mad when he’d find her without any effort.
“Miles?” Frankie said softly. The bundled lump didn’t move.
Ryan nudged her aside. “Let me,” he whispered in her ear. She looked over her shoulder, knowing her heart showed in her expression, and shook her head. Biting her lip, she wondered how to start, what to say. She couldn’t haul him out or demand he stand up. What did she know about little boys? Most of the time she wasn’t even sure if she knew anything about the male species in general. Ryan’s low, rumbling voice surprised her in the quiet of the porch.
“So, you said you’re looking for someone? Someone Carter was really worried about?” he asked, leaning against one of the porch posts.
She looked up, nodding. Ryan gestured toward Miles with his chin and hands. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing. Warmth spread through her and for the first time since he’d gone missing, she stopped shivering.
“He is really worried. His little brother’s name is Miles. He was watching TV this morning and then suddenly he was gone.”
Ryan kept his eyes locked on hers, but there was awareness in his gaze, as if he knew what was happening around him. Like he had 360-degree vision.
“I ran away once,” Ryan continued conversationally. He folded his arms across his chest, which emphasized both. “I was mad at my mom for not making me waffles for breakfast.”
“Wow. Spoiled much?” Frankie smirked.
“Is Miles spoiled? Maybe acting out because he didn’t get something he wanted?” Ryan asked. The bundle shifted.
A lump formed in Frankie’s throat. “Miles isn’t spoiled. At all. He’s sweet. And funny. And he hasn’t been feeling well all week so his brothers are even more worried than they would normally be.”
The porch creaked with Frankie’s step toward Miles.
“Brothers? There’re more? You’re like the shoe woman,” Ryan muttered, uncrossing his arms and stepping closer to Frankie.
Her brow crinkled, then she laughed. “The old woman who lived in a shoe?” She grinned when his cheeks flushed, but he recovered quickly, leaning in close enough that she could smell his cologne. And trees. He smelled like fresh air and warm man.
“Shoe, shack, same diff.” His breath brushed her ear, making goose bumps trail over her skin. “Though you’re too pretty, not to mention too young, to be called an old lady.”
“Ew,” Miles groaned. Frankie turned and saw Miles peeking out from behind his jacket, which had been over his head.
“You don’t think she’s pretty?” Ryan asked. Frankie’s eyes widened but before she could say anything, he nodded his head and added, “You will one day, buddy. Or should I call you Miles?”
“You can call me either one. I got lots of nicknames,” Miles answered easily. He rested his head against the cracking wood of the porch wall.
“We were worried about you,” Frankie said, trying for a neutral tone.
The little boy looked down at his hands as he fiddled with the seam of his coat. “I’m just in the way. Trav and Carter always gotta take care of me.”
“That’s what you do for people you love. You take care of them,” Frankie said. Miles looked up at her, his eyes wide with fear and regret.
“How come you been taking care of me? You can’t love me if you don’t even know me,” the little boy said, his bottom lip trembling, kind of like Frankie’s heart.
Ryan’s head whipped toward her and she met his gaze, silently daring him to say anything. He had no right to judge her. Besides, what else could she have done? She took a tentative step toward Miles, pulling the chair out so she could crouch down to his eye level.
“I don’t know you well, but I know enough to care about what happens to you. Your brothers love you and they’re really worried so why don’t you go on in and tell them you’re okay?”
Miles sniffed and nodded, but didn’t move. His voice was tiny when he asked, “You gotta make us go, right?”
Frankie’s insides twisted, tripping over themselves in a tangled mess. She reached out, cupped his cool cheek, and smiled. She’d left New York promising to follow her heart and right this minute, she was being given the chance to do that.
“No. We’ll figure things out. Go on in before you start coughing.”
She backed out of his way and he moved around her, stopping to look up at Ryan. Ryan looked back at him.
“I’m Miles.” He stuck his hand out and Ryan laughed as he took it.
“So I’ve heard. I’m Ryan. Don’t run from your problems, okay? It doesn’t make them go away. Trust me.”
“‘Kay.”
Easy as that, he bounced down the steps and headed around the side of the house, shouting Travis and Carter’s names. Frankie’s smile disappeared when she saw the look in Ryan’s eyes.
“What the hell did he mean you don’t know him? And how many kids do you have living here?”
“I know him. Not well, but I know him. Kind of.” She straightened the chair, avoiding Ryan’s stare. “There’re three of them. Travis is the middle brother. He’s fourteen.”
Ryan sighed behind Frankie. “So if you don’t know them, why do you have three kids living with you?”
She shrugged, turning around to face him. Biting her lip, she searched her brain for the answer to the question she’d been asking herself all week. She went with the easiest explanation. “They sort of came with the house.”