Page 40 of August 20

She had no faith he wouldn't kill her in her sleep.

"Move your stuff." He pointed toward the hall. "Change bedrooms."

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"Skye starts school next week. She needs her sleep." His gaze never wavered, though his voice rasped.

All air left her lungs. So, he'd thought everything out.

Her last hope that, somehow, someone would come looking for a child who wasn't enrolled in public school faded. Maverick would enroll Skye into school, acting like her father, and then what?

He'd have no use for Brooke. There would be no reason to keep her with Skye.

"Aunt Brooke, come look," Skye yelled down the hallway.

Making her escape, she hurried to the bedroom.

"She likes my bed." Skye crawled across the queen-sized bed, following the kitten. "This is the best day ever."

"Hm," she murmured.

Skye looked at her expectantly. "I don't need to sleep with you anymore. I can sleep with the kitty."

Maverick carried in the box, taking out a pan and a sack of litter.

Skye jumped off the bed and went to Maverick. Brooke could barely manage her own emotions, much less Skye's. With Maverick around, she felt unneeded—and she wasn't sure how to deal with her odd jealousy.

No one told her how to raise someone else's child. She'd learned as she went and wouldn't let Maverick make her feel like a failure.

Chapter Twenty Two

"Stop." Maverick coughed. "Moving."

Curled on her side with her back toward him, Brooke punched the mattress. "Stop telling me what to do."

All night long, he'd tried to force her into one position on the mattress. She'd barely sleep an hour, and he'd wake her up with his coughing or throat clearing.

Usually, she was a sound sleeper. She had no problem sleeping with Skye, who tended to thrash about all night long and talk in her sleep. Even her grandma's snoring when she was alive never kept her from getting enough rest.

It was the third night of sleeping with Maverick in the same bed. She flopped over onto her back and sighed deeply. It was only getting harder to fall asleep and stay asleep.

Maverick huffed and flung his arm over his forehead as if ridiculing her. It was his idea to give Skye her room. If he hated having her in the same bed, he could leave and sleep on the couch.

But, no. He was afraid she'd run away in the night the moment he closed his eyes or maybe pick up one of the butter knives in the kitchen and try to stab him in the night while he closed his eyes—but she wasn't like him.

She wasn't a mean, lawless criminal.

"You know, we could both sleep if you rent your own house." She sat up in bed. "I'll let you have every other weekend visitation with Skye. Supervised, of course. Isn't that what you said you had before Janelle died?"

He grunted his disapproval.

She scoffed. "What? Isn't it good enough for you?"

"I'll never let someone else raise her," he muttered, losing his voice.

"Well, excuse me. I've done well raising her myself for the last four years. I'm not going to let you tell me otherwise—"

His arm swung out, and he pulled her back onto the mattress. She flung off his arm.