The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet 1)

“No, you’re our guests,” she snarled. “So how about you start acting like it instead of damn hostages?”

I blinked.

“Ignore my daughter, Ren Wild.” Her father, John Wilson, stepped around Della, his son, and his wife to stand squarely in front of me. His height towered over me, his thick bushy beard putting my scraggly teenage one to shame. “I have something to say but before I do, I want your word that you’ll hear me out and not use that knife in your waistband or try to push your way out of here, got it?” He narrowed his green eyes, waiting for me to speak.

Locking my knees as the room rolled and my legs threatened to buckle from lack of oxygen, I peered around him to Della who’d retreated to the rocking chair, glowering at everyone as if they were our mortal enemies.

And who knew, perhaps they were, but unfortunately, I wasn’t at my usual strength, and I had to be smart about leaving that wouldn’t end up with us split apart or me being shot by a farmer.

Because a bullet in my brain was a real possibility.

All farmers had guns.

Just because he didn’t carry one right now didn’t mean I was safe.

Sticking out his hand, John Wilson grumbled, “Do we have a deal?”

It took another few moments for my fuzzy head to clear, but I finally concluded I didn’t have a choice. I had to continue playing nice and hopefully whatever drugs I just took would work fast and we could be out of here by this afternoon.

I nodded, keeping my hands by my sides. “You have a deal, but I won’t shake your hand. According to your doctor, I’m sick, and I don’t want you to catch it.”

John Wilson cracked a smile. “Courteous fellow. I like that.” Striding from the bedroom, he threw over his shoulder. “Come on then. Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

It took a few minutes for everyone to shuffle from the guest bedroom, down the wood-panelled corridor to the peach and cream kitchen.

Another minute later, Patricia Wilson had ensured each of her children, husband, me, and Della had a mug of something hot placed in front of us at the dining room table.

Once settled, John Wilson sipped his drink, looked me up and down, then glanced at my dirty, tired backpack wedged against his kitchen cabinets. “Okay…first, I’m going to start with the obvious.”

My heart rate picked up. I wrapped my fingers around the hot cup to stop myself from grabbing Della and running.

“Obviously, you lied to us about a bus trip and visiting relatives. I understand why you did and appreciate your need to protect yourself and your sister, but that’s the last lie you’re ever allowed to tell me, understand?”

My teeth clacked together. I didn’t reply other than narrowing my eyes in warning.

He continued, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you two don’t seem to have a home. If I was to put money on it, I’d say you’ve been living rough for a while. It’s winter. You’re going to freeze out there. To be honest, I don’t know how you’ve survived with the cold snaps we’ve been having.”

“Honey, don’t go off on a tangent,” Patricia Wilson piped up, smoothing her son’s hair who sat next to her.

My eyes strayed to her daughter who sat directly in front of me, her gaze burning me with an intensity that prickled my skin and not from fever.

I sat back in the chair, resting my hands on my lap before Della’s tiny one crept across and slipped into mine, squeezing me. Scooting my chair closer to hers, I did my best to resist the urge to cough and squeezed back.

John Wilson carried on, “I pride myself on being a good judge of character, and I like you, boy.”

“Not Boy,” Della immediately snapped. “Ren. He told you his name. It’s Ren.”

Cassie Wilson tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Ren Wild. Yes, we know.” She rested her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm, studying me. “What I want to know is who is Ren Wild? Why did I find you in our barn?”

Della squirmed, opening her mouth with some retort, but I squeezed her again and said, “I’m sorry we slept above your horses, but I wasn’t feeling well.”

Cassie cocked her head. “You weren’t well, and you wanted to keep your sister from the cold. That’s what you said before.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Where are your parents?” she asked, fast and sharp.

“Dead.”

Her coldness suddenly thawed, her shoulders rounding and a sweetness she’d hidden filling her gaze when she looked at Della beside me. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I squeezed Della’s fingers harder.

“Is my dad right? That you’ve been on the streets for a while?”

I shot her father a glance. He’d said I couldn’t lie, but he didn’t say I could omit the truth. “We’ve never slept on the streets.”