Page 8 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

Such was my life. Nannies. Tutors. Chauffeurs. Chefs. All had been friendly. In the early days, I’d confused their smiles and affection for love. But they’d understood what I hadn’t as a child.

When the kid was happy, you got to keep your job.

Me being the kid.

After any of the employees assigned to my care had quit or left the Carmichael estate for other opportunities, I’d never heard from them again.

The same would be true with Clara. If she quit and left here, I wouldn’t hear from her again.

Finding another assistant like her would be impossible. She had years of experience on my staff. She was organized and efficient. She knew the boundaries between personal and professional. She pushed when necessary but didn’t cross the line in the sand.

And she was nice. I liked Clara. She was an easy travel companion. August was a cool kid. I hadn’t been around many children, not even when I’d been a child, but he was funny, bright and polite.

Clara was not moving.

I simply wouldn’t allow it.

“You should go home,” I said. “Get some rest.”

She didn’t answer.

“Clara?” I bent, taking in her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was hanging open. She’d fallen asleep.

“Clara.” I gave her a little shake.

“What?” She jerked awake, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Go home.”

“Okay.” She nodded and paused, summoning the strength to stand.

“Her

e.” I threaded my arm under hers and hoisted us both up to our feet. “Can you make it home?”

“Yeah.” She slipped free and shuffled across the room, then stopped beside the door. “What time did we decide?”

“No time. You’re not going.”

“Brody, you shouldn’t go alone.”

“I can handle this.” My family’s functions were like swimming with sharks, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d jumped in the water alone. Yes, a date would have been a nice buffer. But it wasn’t worth making her miserable.

“You need—” She sneezed, which made her cough. The cough led to a fresh glob of snot shooting out of one nostril. She dove for a tissue, blowing and wiping.

My God, she looked awful.

“You need a date,” she said.

“I’ll go alone.”

“Brody, I’ll be fine. I can go. I have the dress and everything. It’s the least I can do.”

“You’re miserable.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

She’d survived too much. Occupational hazard of working so closely with each other. Clara knew about my life. I knew the vague details of hers. She was more tight-lipped about her childhood, but I’d been in the front row during the struggles she’d overcome in Las Vegas. Namely, August’s father.