Chasing River: A Novel

“Dad?”

I blink several times, thinking my eyes are playing tricks on me, just like my ears may have a moment ago.

They’re not.

Sheriff Gabe Welles, in his standard-issue blue jeans and plaid button-down—this one cotton and short-sleeved—is standing in the gaping hole where the door used to be, staring at me.

“Amber.” I can’t get a read on his tone—there’s a hint of reproach, but more, I think it’s just relief.

River’s arms release me from their embrace, freeing me to scramble around the debris and fall against my father’s chest, the knot that has suddenly sprung in my throat large and prickly. He pulls me into him tightly, the way I remember him doing years ago, when I was a little girl and he’d say that he’d had a really hard day. He smells the same now that he did back then—a mix of Irish Spring soap and Old Spice cologne.

I’ve missed him so much.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Ivy called Alex and told her that you needed me right away. She said you were in some sort of trouble.”

“Ivy did?”

“Yeah. That little graffiti artist I almost arrested once,” he says, a smile barely touching his lips. “She even picked me up from the airport. I left her back there, behind the tape. I think she’s hiding from you, actually.”

I can’t believe she called for my father. “What did she tell you?”

“Not much.” His gaze scans the destruction. “Not nearly enough . . . clearly.”

“But . . . I don’t . . .” I’m stumbling over my words, still in shock. “You don’t even have a passport!”

“You think I’d let you out of our country with no way of reaching you?” He smirks. “I applied for one the day after you booked all those flights. Just in case.”

I shake my head at him. “Always two steps ahead.”

His eyes settle on River. “Not always.” I sense his demeanor shift, from loving father to suspicious law enforcement officer. I’m sure it’s imperceptible to anyone else.

“Dad . . .” I warn, as River limps over.

“Sir. I’m River. Amber’s told me a lot about ya.”

“Has she, now . . . River.” I feel his sideways glare but I ignore it. Finally he shakes River’s extended hand. “Gabe Welles.”

“This is my mother, Marion.”

Marion steps forward, wiping her hands against her blouse before taking Dad’s hand. “Pleasure.”

“And this is my father, Seamus.”

Dad, seeing the cane, takes quick steps forward to reach Seamus.

“You have a lovely daughter. Ya must be very proud.”

“We’ll see,” I hear my dad mutter under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear.

“Seamus, let me drive you back to the house so you can rest. There’s nothing more we can do here for now.” Marion hooks an arm through his and the two of them begin working their way around the rubble toward the entrance.

“You going to the hospital, Ma?” River asks.

“As soon as I drop your da off. They should have moved Rowen into a proper room by now.” She doesn’t mention a word about Aengus in front of Seamus, though we all know she’ll take the opportunity away from River’s dad to duck in to see his eldest, too. Which means she’ll finally see the gardai stationed by the door, waiting until Aengus is well enough to be released into their custody.

She doesn’t know that he confessed to the bombing yet.

River and I share a look. “I should be there for this,” River whispers. “She’s likely to take a swing at them.”

“Of course. Dad, you’re staying with me, right?”

“After what I just paid for a last-minute one-way ticket here? Yeah. I’m staying with you. I could use a meal and a nap soon. I feel like I haven’t slept in days.”

I smile. There was a time when his car would roll out the driveway before daybreak, and not roll back in until well after dark. His lifestyle has definitely changed since last fall. On a few occasions, I’ve caught him snoring on the couch in the afternoon. “Okay. I’ll meet you outside in a minute.”

Dad’s gaze shifts from me to River and back. “Don’t be long. I’m afraid that friend of yours is going to ditch my bags on the side of the street and take off.”

I chuckle. “Ivy wouldn’t do that. I think she’s still afraid of you.”

“Hmm.” That seems to please him. I hear a mutter of “Maybe I’ve still got it” as he leaves.

River’s arm ropes around my waist. “You seriously had no idea he was coming?”

“I can’t believe she called him!” She must have done it the second they arrested me, which was just around the time the thought to call my father was going through my head. I smile. “She just did what I’ve always done. Call my dad. He always knows how to fix things.”

“But you’re in the clear, so what exactly are you going to tell him now? That she made a mistake?”

“I can’t lie to him, River. He’ll know.”

“I know. I just . . .” He groans. “I’d like him to not hate me for at least a day.”

I reach on my tiptoes to kiss him softly on the mouth. “How could he possibly hate you?”

“Now you’re lying to me.”

“You’re right. I am.” I chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

“You certainly haven’t been suffering,” Dad mutters. Ivy and I hang back as he strolls through the main floor of Simon’s house.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy hisses, “but they arrested you! It looked bad and I didn’t know what else to do. By the time you texted me last night, it was too late. He was already on his way.”

“It’s okay. I get why you called him. I’m not mad. But you didn’t think to warn me?”

A rare, sheepish look passes over her face. “Yeah . . . I thought about it.”

Dad nudges River’s duffel bag in the living room with his boot—I meant to move that upstairs—and his brow tightens, but he says nothing.

“He said it was an open-ended ticket?” Ivy asks.

“Yeah. What exactly did you tell him?”

“I’m not deaf,” he calls out, sizing up the bottle of Jameson that Rowen left here. “She didn’t tell me a damn thing. Kept pleading the Fifth, despite my best interrogation tactics.”

“And on that note . . .” Ivy slips out the door, leaving me to deal with Gabe Welles all on my own.

“So?” I wander toward the kitchen. “What do you want to eat? I have cold cuts and cheese, fruit . . .” I open the freezer. “. . .veggie burgers . . .” I don’t have to turn around to know that he’s rolling his eyes at that. “A lasagna?”

“Meat or vegetarian?”

Mom being a surgeon and a terrible cook, most of our meals growing up were frozen, pre-made grocery store finds. She’d buy a lot of vegetarian things, even though none of us were vegetarian. It drove Dad nuts, and he’d grumble about it, but in the end, he’d shut up and eat it. The first thing that changed when he retired was that he started doing all the grocery shopping. I haven’t seen a vegetarian casserole in our house in the better part of a year.

“Meat . . . if saying that will make you eat it.”

“You’re too much like your mother in some ways.”

“And too much like you in others,” I retort, punching buttons until the oven preheat lights come on. “It’s going to take an hour to bake. Can you make it that long, or should we go out to eat?”

“Nope.” Flipping through three cupboards before finding the glassware, he pulls two glasses out and pours each to a third full with the amber liquid. He never drinks hard liquor. “Neither of us are leaving this kitchen until you explain why you were arrested.”

My stomach drops. “How did you—”

“Told you, I’m not deaf. Besides, Ivy promised you weren’t hurt, but you were in trouble. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.” He sets both tumblers on the kitchen table, drags the chairs out, and sits. “Let’s hear it, from the beginning. And I want to know exactly how this guy is involved, because I’m guessing he’s at the center of it.”

Crap. Dad’s never been one for delays, so I shouldn’t be at all surprised.

“So?”

I pour the whiskey back, grimacing at the unpleasant burn. It’s not nearly as unpleasant as this conversation is going to be. “Remember that bombing last week?”

“It’s not that bad, actually.” I scoop a mouthful in. “A bit too much salt, but the sauce is good.”

Dad twirls his fork in his hand absently. “The IRA, Amber. I ought to drag you to the airport right now.”

“See? This is why I lied in the first place.”

His answering glare is full of exasperation. “And now you’re actually carrying on with this . . . River. What kind of name is that anyway? Doesn’t sound Irish.”

“I like it, actually. It suits him.”

He snorts. “What’s his middle name? Twigs? Bog?”

I roll my eyes. Dad’s sarcastic side can be pretty predictable. “He saved my life, Dad. If it hadn’t been for River, you would have been flying here anyway, only it’d be to visit me in the hospital or collect my body.”

The cords in his neck tense. “Because of his brother.”

“Yes, his brother. Not River. He had nothing to do with it or with those people. Condemning him would be like condemning me for that mess with Jesse and Alex. You know . . . the one that cost you your job?”

“My choices are what cost me my job,” he mumbles. “I can’t blame Jesse for that.”

“Yeah, so Alex told me . . . finally,” I say softly. “I know what you did, Dad.”

His gaze flashes to me. “I’m not proud of what I did but, to be clear, it was the best way to protect everyone under the circumstances.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. And we’re not talking about me here. We’re talking about you, and what is going on here in Ireland. I know you’re twenty-five years old and I can’t dictate what you do anymore, but your mother and I raised you to be better than this. Just associating with this family is a bad idea, Amber. Look what’s happened since that bombing. You’ve been arrested for lying to a police officer!”

“You lied to an entire police organization,” I remind him. “And a judge. And Mom, for a while.”

He purses his lips. I’m guessing Alex is going to get an earful when Dad makes it home. “Well, you’re damn lucky that detective isn’t pressing charges. I should go down there and kiss his ass. And do you realize that you could just as easily have been in that pub when it got bombed?”

“I know,” I say quietly. Had I not decided to go to Cork, I likely would have. I would have met the infamous Aengus Delaney, looked the asshole right in the eye, perhaps shared a pint with him.

And then who knows? I could have ended up like Rowen. Or worse.

Dad pours himself another whiskey. “You know, since Jesse finally settled down and started using his head, I thought I could finally relax. I thought our family was past this sort of thing. I never thought you’d do something so stup—” He cuts himself off, and then, in a slightly softer voice that screams of disappointment, he finishes off with, “so dangerous.”

“Neither did I,” I admit. His words burn, but not nearly as much as they might have in the past. “But it was the best way to protect everyone.”

He heaves a sigh, shaking his head to himself. “How do you know?” He parrots me, just as I did to him.

I rest my chin on his shoulder. “I just do.”

He chews his food in silence for a few moments, before asking, “So are you going to come home with me?”

I shake my head.

“I didn’t think so,” he grumbles. “Leaving here on Sunday?”

“I changed my flight this morning. I’m staying in Ireland for another week, at least.”

“And then?”

“And then I don’t know.” I hope I find my answer soon, though. “I’m taking it one day at a time, like I have every day since I arrived here.”

He stabs at his food with his fork. “This thing you have with him is doomed, Amber. You do realize that, right? That boy’ll never not be a criminal.”

“I do realize what he is.”

“He’ll never step foot in our home.”

“I know that, too.”

“And Dublin is 4,682 miles away from Sisters. I Googled it.”

I smile, sadly. “I really care about him. 4,682 times more than I ever cared about Aaron, or Brody, or even Neil. In a different way. A deeper way.”

I can see the frustration in his face as he mentally runs back through the obstacles to this relationship that he just presented. All of them are valid. That frustration is followed by a flash of realization, and then fear.

“You are not actually thinking of staying here. That’s just . . . You can’t do that, Amber! You have a career and a family in Oregon. A life! You can’t just blow that off for some guy you’ve known for a minute!” Each word comes out faster, louder, laced with more panic. “That’d be just about the dumbest thing—”

“Dad!” I cut him off with a yell, but follow it up with a pat on his arm and a smile. “You’re not saying anything to me that I haven’t already thought about. You raised me well. Now you need to trust that I’ll do the right thing for me.” I have an envelope’s worth of plane tickets to countries I’ve dreamed of visiting and yet I’ve been watching the clock on the wall, anxiously waiting for River to come back. Leaving Ireland doesn’t sound at all appealing to me, and yet ditching all of my plans doesn’t, either.

There has to be some other answer.

He heaves a sigh that turns into a monstrous yawn. He’s exhausted, but too stubborn to turn in just yet. “Just do me a favor . . . please.”

“What?” I ask with hesitation.

“Get on a plane and fly somewhere—anywhere away from here and him.”

I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me off with a raised hand.

“No. Just listen to me. I get it, okay? You care about him, a lot. I’m not going to try to change how you feel. God knows I won’t get anywhere with that. The boy did save your life after all. That’s bound to create a strong connection. But, sometimes people need some time and space to think clearly. You’re one of those people, Amber. Despite what you’ve been through and all these changes you may feel going on in your life right now, you’re not suddenly going to become this spontaneous, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants girl who wanders through life ‘one day at a time.’ ”

I hate it when he uses my own words against me.

“You’ve always thrived on thinking through your options, and that’s not going to change. It’s in your core, it’s who you are, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, hon. I think you’ll feel better with whatever decision you make after you’ve given yourself some time and space to weigh things out. I know I’ll feel better about it.”

He’s right, of course. It’s who Amber Welles is, at heart, no matter what’s happened since coming here.

It’s my current.

It’s the only way I’ll know what I want in the long run. It’s the only way I won’t wonder if I’m doing the right thing.

“You’ll be happy with whatever decision I make?”

He snorts. “I did not say that. Just to be clear, I think that even having this conversation is insane. I’m not even sure who I’m talking to right now. But I’m hoping the level-headed daughter I raised will come back to me soon enough.”

I plant a kiss on his cheek. “You know, that’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“I only have brilliant ideas. Like, right now, for example?” He stifles another yawn. “I have this brilliant idea to take a nap.”

“A nap?”

He ruffles my hair. “A nap. We can talk some more in a few hours, if you want.”

I smile, remembering how hard it was to adjust to the time zone difference. I watch him sling his duffel bag over his weary shoulders and head for the stairs. “See you tomorrow.”

“Just a few hours! Which room is mine?”

“Take the one on the top floor.” I’d rather not have my dad sleeping in the room directly beside us.

“I take it Stream will be staying here tonight?”

“Dad . . .”

Whatever he mutters under his breath, I can’t understand it. Probably for the best.