Lucky Harbor: At Last Part 30

Lucille squeezed her hand again. "Love and trust are earned, Amy."

No one knew this better than she. Unfortunately, she'd just blown any hope of either of those things with Matt, which made her sick to her stomach. She knew that, in his eyes, she'd chosen Riley over him, and that sort of thing couldn't be undone.

Sawyer turned to leave, and Matt was right on his heels. Amy excused herself and ran after them, stopping Matt just outside the diner with a hand on his arm.

Sawyer looked at them both, then met Matt's gaze.

"Two minutes," Matt said to him.

Sawyer nodded and gave Amy what might have been the briefest glance of sympathy. "I'll be in the truck," he said.

When they were alone, Matt just looked at her.

"I'm sorry," she said in a low voice. "I couldn't break my word to Riley."

"But you could break your word to me."

"I never gave you my word."

"No," he said in a voice that sounded terrifyingly final. "You sure as h.e.l.l were careful not to do that."

She felt like he'd slapped her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." He took a step back. "Nothing at all."

"Look, I said I was sorry, but I had to do this for her. She needed me."

"I understand," he said. "After all, all you and I ever had was s.e.x, right?" And with that, he turned and walked to Sawyer's truck.

Chapter 22.

Love's a fad. Chocolate's the real thing.

In the end, Matt drove up to Squaw Flats by himself. Sawyer had gotten an emergency call, leaving Matt alone to search for Riley.

That she'd been camping, alone, vulnerable-not to mention against the law-drove him nuts. And she'd been doing it with Amy's blessing, which really fried his a.s.s. He understood that Amy's loyalty to Riley had a lot to do with Amy's own painful past and lack of adult guidance, but d.a.m.n.

He parked at the campgrounds and headed into the forest where he'd first found Riley, all too happy to have something concrete to do rather than think about Amy and what had just happened.

She'd lied to him, and he was good and p.i.s.sed off about that. Except it hadn't been an out-and-out lie, more like an omission. Even as furious as he was, he understood her thought process. He knew how badly she wanted, needed to believe in Riley.

Just as he knew that Riley had taken the d.a.m.n money.

Amy wouldn't thank him for finding out one way or the other, but he made his way to what was most likely going to be the final nail in the coffin of... whatever the h.e.l.l they had going. Which was fine. His life had been fine before Amy had been in it, and it would be fine without her.

f.u.c.king fine.

As he walked, he couldn't help but remember how he'd found Amy up here not that long ago, and let out a reluctant smile. She'd been so out of her element.

And now he was out of his.

Ten minutes later, he found Riley at her illegal camp spot. She was packing, shoving things into the backpack that Amy had bought her. When he stepped closer, she spun around and jumped up, something glinting in her hand.

A knife.

The minute she registered him, the knife vanished, tossed behind her. She shoved her hands into her ratty pockets, shoulders hunched.

"Expecting someone else?" he asked.

"No."

"Where you going?"

She shrugged and didn't meet his eyes. "Nowhere."

"You're packing."

"Well, you told me I couldn't stay here."

"I told you that two weeks ago," he said. "And you've been staying out here anyway."

Nothing.

He blew out a breath and walked up to her backpack.

"That's mine," Riley said, but before she could s.n.a.t.c.h it, he pointed at her.

"Stay," he said, and crouched at the bag.

"Hey, you can't just look in there-" She broke off when he reached inside.

And pulled out the charity jar.

"d.a.m.n, Riley." She hadn't even tried to hide the thing. The money was still in it. Furious, sick, he sat back on his heels and regarded her.

She was studying something fascinating on her battered sneakers.

"You have any idea what this is going to do to her?" he asked.

At that, Riley's head snapped up. She'd paled to a pasty white. "You can't tell her!"

Matt stood. "No?"

"No!" Riley's cry was fierce. She nearly deflated with it, her entire body sagging as if the only thing holding her up had been Amy's belief in her. "Please don't."

"Okay."

Riley sagged in relief.

"I'm not going to tell her," Matt said quietly. "Because you are."

She went from pale to flushed in an instant, her eyes shimmering brilliantly. "I can't do that."

"If you can steal it, you sure as h.e.l.l can give it back."

Riley's lip quivered, but she bucked up and shook her head. "No."

So she was going to be difficult. Shock. "Let's go."

"You going to arrest me?" she asked.

Matt would rather be just about anywhere other than here, facing this. Give him Afghanistan. Give him a crack house to bust. Anything other than this. But that's not how his day was going so far. "Your knife."

"Huh?"

"Give me your G.o.dd.a.m.n knife."

She bent and picked up the knife she'd tossed behind her and handed it over.

He took it and then held out his hand. "And the other one."

Riley stared at him.

He stared back, steadily.

She let out the sigh of a martyr and bent, pulling a Swiss Army Knife from her sock.

"What else do you have on you?" he asked.

"Nothing."

He picked up the backpack and shouldered it. "Get your other stuff."

She grabbed an ancient looking folded-up tent and sleeping bag. He had no idea where she'd gotten them and didn't want to ask, afraid he'd have to add to the list of things she'd stolen.

"I didn't take them," Riley said. "If that's what you're thinking. Some old guy out here gave them to me."

Great. "You got anything else?" he asked.

"You see anything else?"

He ignored the belligerent tone because he recognized false bravado when he saw it. For the moment, he was willing to let her have that. It beat the s.h.i.t out of tears any day of the week.

But it killed him that those two things, along with the backpack on his shoulder, were her entire worldly possessions. "My truck's down the road."

"So?"

"So you're going to walk there with me and get in it."

"Why, so you can arrest me?"

"Just get moving, Riley."

"I want to hold my backpack."

"I've got it," he said, patience wearing thin.

"I want-"

"Now, Riley."

She hesitated, just long enough to make him wonder if he was going to have to force her. Finally she started walking-practically dragging her feet-but she was moving.

At his parking spot, she stared at his truck. "There's no backseat for prisoners."

"You're not a prisoner."

They tossed her tent and sleeping bag into the truck bed, and her gaze locked in on her backpack.

"No," he said, and put it behind his seat.

"I didn't ask anything."

"Just making a blanket statement. Get in. Buckle up."

"Where's the handcuffs?"

Jesus. "Just get in the d.a.m.n truck, Riley."

Matt drove the sullen girl and her evidence back into town. Instead of heading to the sheriff's station, however, he drove to the diner. He parked, pulled out his cell phone, and called Amy.

"You find her?" she asked breathlessly, as if she'd been waiting on tenterhooks for his call.

His gut twisted again. He didn't want to give a s.h.i.t. Not even a little bit.

But he did.

He was still angry, but he knew d.a.m.n well how hard this was going to hit her. "Come out to the lot."

There was a very loaded pause. "Are you going to arrest me for something?" she finally asked.