Starlee's Heart (The Wayward Sons 1)

The cart I’m pushing gets loose and bangs into the others, making a loud crash. Dugan looks up at the sound and our eyes meet. I’m not scared he’ll do anything to me out here, but I’m not sure how angry he is about the fight with Dexter. We haven’t had an update from the police. He looks like he’s about to say something so I turn and run, not wanting anything to do with him.

“Come on,” I say to Katie, who’s arranging things in the trunk. I rush past her and hop in the car, turning on the ignition.

“What’s the rush,” she says, sliding into her seat.

“We just need to get back.” I glance in the rearview mirror. There’s no doubt he’s recognized me and I feel his eyes on me all the way out the parking lot.

Later that afternoon, I find time to slip over to the Wayward Sun. I ask Sierra if Dexter is around. She points to the kitchen and shouts his name. He appears a few moments later, covered in flour. I look behind him and see a dozen pie pans stretch out on the stainless-steel work space. I also see all the guys back there helping with the production. They look adorable in their matching T-shirts and aprons.

> “Hey,” he says, when he realizes I’m here to see him.

“What’s all that?” I ask.

He grimaces. “We have a huge pie sale during the festival. Just getting everything prepped.”

“Oh, well let me know if you need any help. I’m excellent at following instructions.”

He smiles. “Good to know.”

I hate the idea of making that smile falter but I take a deep breath and say, “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure,” he looks over his shoulder and then at the front door. “Let’s go on the porch.”

I lead the way and when we get outside, he says, “Is everything okay?”

I know he’s wondering about last night. Did he go too far. I see it on his expression. I cut to the chase. “I was down in June Lake at the store. I saw Dugan in the parking lot.”

His jaw tics. “Did he say anything to you? Did he approach you?”

“No.”

He exhales. “Good.”

“Did you know he’s still around?”

“Not specifically, but I’m not surprised.”

“Have you heard anything from the sheriff?”

There’s a flicker in his eyes, something I don’t quite catch. “You haven’t?”

“No,” I reply. My stomach knots. “Should I have?”

“There’s a hearing in a few weeks. A probation hearing.”

“For you?”

“He didn’t press charges and neither did the sheriff, but just the simple fact I was in a fight is a violation of my probation. I have to go in front of the judge about it.”

“What for? What does that mean?”

He leans against the house. “I was at the end of my two-year term and just needed the final sign off by the judge, but now that there’s a violation they’ll look at everything again. They could add on time.”

“So more probation.”

Again, the dark flicker. “Yeah, no more than a year.”

“I guess it could be worse.” He says nothing but chews on his lip. “If you need me, you let me know, okay?”