Page 41 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

“There were six of you?”

“Yes. One of the kids lived in the neighborhood where I grew up. Karson. He ran away when he was sixteen, and since it seemed like a damn good idea, I left too.” After a particularly bad night at home, I’d finally had enough. “It was impulsive,” I told Easton. “I didn’t have a bag packed. There was no preparation. No stack of cash hidden underneath my mattress or a stash of extra clothes and food. One day I lived with my mother. The next day, I lived with Karson in a junkyard and slept on the dirt.”

“Jesus.” His fork was frozen midair. His eyes were filled with pity.

“Don’t do that,” I whispered. “Don’t pity me. Just believe me when I tell you that the junkyard was the better place. Running away was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

If Easton asked for more details, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to talk about it tonight. I didn’t talk about that time with anyone but Dr. Brewer, and even then, I’d stopped seeing her four years ago.

Some memories were better left in the murky corners of our minds where, if we were lucky, they’d eventually fade.

“Londyn came along after me.” I forced a smile as I ate another bite. “Her parents were drug addicts.”

“Katherine’s were too, right?”

I nodded. “Her mom. I don’t think she ever knew her dad. Karson was working at a car wash and met her. She was begging for change, so he brought her to the junkyard that

day. Introduced us. She actually went home after that, then showed up two weeks later with a garbage bag full of clothes and a black eye.”

Easton’s hand gripped his fork so hard I worried the metal would snap. “She didn’t tell us that.”

“We don’t like to talk about it.”

“That’s fucked up,” he said. “Not that you don’t like to talk about it. The black eye.”

You have no idea. “After Katherine came two other girls. Twins. Aria and Clara lived in Londyn’s trailer park with their uncle after their parents died in a car crash. The uncle was mentally off. Creeped the hell out of me the one and only time I saw him.” The image of his beady eyes still gave me the shivers. “They came to the junkyard one day, holding hands and wearing backpacks, and that made six.”

“You were just kids. Living in the dirt.” He shook his head, his lashes lifting. When his eyes met mine, they weren’t full of pity this time. They were soft. Kind. He almost looked . . . proud. “And you just sold your company for twelve million dollars. Good for you, Gemma. Good for you.”

Whether it was his expression or the sincerity of his words, I wasn’t sure. But I wanted so badly in that moment to cry. To let Easton be nice to me and stop holding up that arm that kept everyone at a distance.

But I didn’t cry.

I didn’t lower my arm.

Instead I lifted my glass and gulped the last swallow of my wine.

Then I picked a fight.

“Do you like your job as assistant manager of the ranch?”

Chapter Eight

Easton

Assistant manager.

That woman knew exactly where my hot buttons were and just how hard to poke them.

It had been two weeks since I’d stormed out of the cabin, irritated and angry that she’d known damn well I was in charge of the ranch but had purposefully pissed me off.

If Gemma wasn’t running from people, she was shoving them away.

For the past two weeks, we’d stayed clear of one another. At least, as well as we could considering we worked together and my family had pulled Gemma into the fold.

My family loved her, especially Grandma and Mom.

After Mom’s casserole, Gemma had sent her a bouquet of two dozen roses, delivered all the way from Missoula, as a thank-you for the meals. Grandma had received a case of expensive wine the next day.