“Why are you here?” the man asked, stepping closer. The words bordered on a growl, low and deep and menacing. “So you can get your picture in the paper again and shake hands with the real royalty hereabouts? Or because you know there’s no way I can kick your ass off my property without making a scene?”
Brody winced at Woodrow Boone’s bluntness. He’d hoped there was a chance of civility between them—Brody wasn’t his father. “I wanted to offer my help and support for revitalizing the Monarch Festival. I meant you no personal offense—”
“No?” Woodrow Boone’s face was turning an alarming shade of red. “You really thought I wouldn’t be offended by a Wallace—a name that has slandered mine loudly and publicly—taking advantage of the comforts of my home?”
From the corner of his eye he saw India practically running their way. “Daddy.” She slid her arm through Woodrow’s, tugging him back. “You promised Mom.”
“I don’t need you reminding me to keep my promises,” he barked, shaking off her touch.
Brody saw the hurt on her face and ached for her. Whatever point the man had been trying to make with his comment, his words had hit their mark.
India’s cheeks blazed red, her gaze shifting from her father to the dining room doors. “Lunch is being served.”
“I’ll be along when I’m good and ready,” Woodrow countered, his voice noticeably rising. “I don’t need you handling me, India. And I don’t like you trying.”
India stared at the floor, but her tone was urgent. “Dad, please, we have guests. And Mom—”
“I’m behaving,” Woodrow snapped, his irritation easing. “Mr. Wallace, here, needs to understand when his dessert plate is cleared, his time is up. After that, he is no longer welcome on this property.” His smile was hard. “Ever.” He waited for Brody’s nod before marching into the dining room.
The man was a bastard. Brody didn’t give a shit about the way Woodrow talked to him. But India? He’d no cause to talk down to her like that. It got his blood boiling. “You okay?” he asked.
Her green-blue eyes met his. “Me?”
“Chaps my hide to hear him talk to you like that. I can’t imagine talking to the girls that way, no matter how caught up in anger I was.” His hands fisted at his side.
“You’re a good father, Brody. Your girls are lucky to have you.” The longing in her voice was hard to miss.
“Damn shame,” he grumbled, happy to have her close. He could study the curve of her cheek, the long sweep of her lashes and the slight scar slicing through her left eyebrow. He didn’t know that scar—and he’d known every inch of her face well.
Her gaze met his. “That went better than I expected.” Her smile eased the hard knot pressing against his chest.
“It did?” he asked, itching to touch her.
“I fully expected him to come downstairs carrying Martha,” India said, tugging him toward the dining room.
“Martha?” Brody asked, his concern over Woodrow fading at the sweet smile India sent over his shoulder.
“Dad’s favorite pistol.” India stopped, her gaze sweeping over him. “You’re lucky he promised Mom he’d behave, or things could have taken a turn for the worse.”
He stared at her, stunned.
“Go dazzle the crowd. And bring back the Monarch Festival.” She patted his chest and disappeared into the dining room. She was teasing him. She’d always loved teasing him. Surely, she was joking about the gun. A quick glance at Woodrow Boone and he wasn’t so sure.
One thing he was absolutely certain of—the way India made him feel. Standing there, staring after her, he didn’t care about her father, the election or the crowds of people he was supposed to “charm.” All he wanted was time alone with her.
He walked up to the lodge’s reception desk and asked the clerk to borrow a pen and paper. Then he wrote, “Full moon tonight. Going to the ridge for some peace and quiet. Hope you’ll join me.” He folded the note, tucked it into an envelope and put her name on it. “Can you make sure India Boone gets this?” he asked the clerk. “Nobody else.”
Chapter Six
“And then they traveled to all the fairy castles, gnome mushroom villages and mermaid coves, spreading joy and friendship wherever they went.” Brody closed the book. “The end. Everyone into her own bed. It’s late.” For them. He loved their bedtime routine, but he was worn out and ready for some quiet. He had plans tonight—he hoped.
Today had been productive.
First, the Monarch Festival was going to happen. Once a handful of local businesses put up the majority of the money, plenty of folks offered up their time and talents. From the Butterfly Kissing Booth, face painting and butterfly crafts to butterfly cakes and treats—this promised to be the biggest festival yet.
Second, unless someone else jumped in at the last minute, he’d soon be mayor of Fort Kyle.
Lastly, India preoccupied far too much of his mind. And it wasn’t just because she was the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever set eyes on. She was beautiful, yes, but she was also sad. And he couldn’t bear to watch. Even sitting across the dining room, he could see it. That was why he’d left her a note asking her to meet him at the ridge. That was why he needed the girls to go to bed without a fight.