Page 53 of Waiting in Wyoming

“I am just worried about Dahlia. Story of my life. Been taking care of her for a hundred years, now, you know.”

“She’ll find her path here. Meyra did. It wasn’t easy, but she did. Why wasn’t Dahlia ever diagnosed? It’s obvious to me.”

“Me, too.” Especially now that they had met Meyra and could see the similarities. Uncle Gerald was on the autism spectrum, too. “I have my theories. I think they were afraid it would be a way for the bad guys to track us. I suspect most of the weird in our world evolved from that very possibility.”

“Probably. But it’s never too late. Do you think she’ll want to know?”

“You mean, she could decide for herself?” Dylan really tried to cut the sarcasm. But well…Dixie could be just as sarcastic. They had that in common. Dylan suspectedsarcasmwas on the Talley DNA for most of them. “Without daddy’s approval?”

“I think that would be just fine,” Dixie gave her a smile. A wicked one. It was supposedly their Aunt Jessica’s smile—but Dylan had only seen Jessica from photos. “I’ll talk to her about it. Later. I am exhausted tonight. It was a long one.”

Dixie worked the ER three nights a week. She was just as exhausted as Dylan was. “Want to talk? I can listen. I’ve been told I am very good at listening to sisters. Plenty of practice.”

“I can’t say much. We just had a young father come in—baby is just a little past a month old, and her mother died. I suspect drug overdose, Dyl. And he’s trying so hard. Baby had what we think were allergies. He was panicking. I helped calm him down while Shane handled the baby. It’s always the kids that get me.”

“I can totally see that. You are really good with kids, you know. I have seen it with the Devil Lowells next door.” The hot, hot, hot, hot pediatrician Dr. Shane Lowell lived across the road from the inn with his two small children. They were quite diabolical little monsters. Dylan found them adorable.Theyadored Dixie completely.

Dixie would make a great mom someday. Dylan was sure of it.

“They are the best of the world, Dylan. They are hope. I’ve always remembered that.”

“You are a wise, wise woman, Dixon Talley. A wise, wise woman.” And she had shadows in her big green eyes. Dylan would do what she had to do. “So, sister, tell me: How long do you think it will be before Uncle Gerald catches on to the fact that Brandt Barratt is planning something really naughty for our sweet little cousin Meyra?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll catch on eventually.” Dixie grinned again, but she still looked so tired. “Did you hear? Uncle Gerald is already in Finley Creek. I hope Meyra is ready. Rescue is on the way.”

Dylan groaned. “I’m sure that is the last thing Meyra wants.”

Dylan thought getting away from the Talley Inn was exactly what Meyra needed. It was obvious that that seriously hot dude was so in love with Meyra. But being here in her comfort zone made Meyra kind of miss that.

Until recently, apparently. Very recently.

All it had taken had been one little kiss to change Meyra’s world. Dylan fully believed that.

For Meyra.

One little kiss—it wouldn’t ever change Dylan’s world. She would make sure of it.

44

Brandt had survivedthe press conference. He’d delivered the speech Alex had written, answered questions from the media—about his family and even about Heather and her family, as Alex had asked them for anything they wanted to be included so they didn’t have to deal with the press themselves—and then he had retreated back to his parents’ house.

The crime scene.

His parents hadn’t been there. Just he and Mac and Alex. Powell had stayed at the hospital with Gunnar. And to be there, for Heather.

Powell was panicking over that woman, too. Everyone was.

Heather had spiked a higher fever not even three hours ago. From what Brandt had learned from Powell, Heather was barely conscious and was being pumped full of incredibly strong antibiotics right now.

That woman hadn’t deserved this. Brandt would never be able to repay her for what she had done for Powell. Either time.

Or his parents. He was fully convinced his parents were alive because of what Heather had done that night.

When he was finally past the cops guarding his parents’ house—it wasn’t an active crime scene any longer, but the cops were still around—he found his oldest brother in the living room. Mac was just standing there staring, a broken look on his face like Brandt had never seen before.

At the bloodstains next to their parents’ couch.

“Mac? You good?”