“I didn’t do anything,” Hank gritted. But . . . what if he had? What if he’d missed some subtle cue? What if he was supposed to tell her that he liked her coming around all the damn time? All he’d said was that they didn’t need her anymore . . . and then they’d left it at that. He started to sweat, heading up to his room to fish out his phone. He knew it was one of those things he needed to keep on him, but after living in the deep wilds of Alaska where phone service was iffy? You learned to not need it much.

But maybe he should have called her this morning. Checked in to see why she didn’t come by. Hell, he was still thinking like he was in the mountains half the time, with no one to check in on but Libby. Becca was different, though. She was a town girl . . . so maybe she needed more from him. And that made him sweat—not because she might need more, but because he might have already messed things up without realizing it.

Sure enough, his phone showed a message from late last night.

BECCA: I know you said you don’t check this often but I’m hoping you see this. Let me know if you need me to come by in the morning or if I should sleep in.

Well, shit. He fumbled with the tiny keypad on the phone to text her back.

HANK: hrku

HANK: here

HANK: imhrku

HANK: noimhere

Damn it, typing on the damn thing was harder than it looked. His big fingers fumbled all over the tiny digital keyboard, which was obviously made for people with hands half the size of his. Plus, he didn’t know how to type all that well so it took him forever just to type that out. She was gonna think he was a Grade A moron if he tried to type an apology.

He tried calling instead, but it went to voicemail. The moment her chirpy voice picked up, he growled in frustration and hung up. Storming down the stairs, he headed into the living area and scooped Libby up, then headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Jack called from the kitchen doorway, still eating pickles.

“Town. Gonna see Becca.”

“Pick up some food, will ya?” Jack asked.

“Burger,” Caleb suggested.

“You boys know how to take care of yourselves, don’t you?” Doc asked, amused. He didn’t get up from the couch.

The two pickle eaters stared at him for a moment. “Yeah,” Jack said slowly. “But after a month of someone else cooking for me, I’d rather eat anyone’s cooking but mine.”

Caleb nodded. “Burger,” he reiterated, and then took another bite of pickle.

Hank just glared at the two idiots and went out the door.

“Daddy, where are we going?” Libby asked, patting his arm with a small hand.