Part of me is shocked she asked the question, when we both know what happened with my mom and her father. Still, if she can find the guts to ask the question, then I can give her an honest answer.

“No. Not that I remember.”

She hugs her laptop to her chest. “I’m never getting married. I’m going to stay firmly in love with my hotel, and that’s it.”

Her declaration makes me sad, but I can’t blame her.

“You might change your mind if the right guy shows you that it can be different.”

McKinley pushes open the door, and I’m too dumbstruck by what’s beyond it to continue making whatever point I was attempting.

“Holy shit. This is . . . unreal.”

McKinley smiles. “It’s my favorite place in the house. I used to pretend that I was Belle and trapped in the Beast’s castle when I was a kid.” She shakes her head. “Let’s not dive too deeply into that fantasy, because I’m sure my shrink would have a field day if I ever mentioned it.”

“I don’t blame you one bit,” I tell her in a hushed tone as we walk inside. The room is two stories high, and books line hundreds of shelves. “This is amazing.”

She sets up her laptop on a table in front of a window that looks out over the gorge. “I’ve missed it. I’ve been working so much at the resort that I barely make it home. Mother was always hounding me to spend more time here, but she made it hard to want to . . .”

McKinley blinks back tears, and for a moment, she looks so much like the young girl that I once protected from bullies that it breaks my heart. It’s been hours since she lost her mother, her grandfather just took a bullet, and she’s been so strong. It only makes sense that she would break.

“I know you don’t know me that well, but can I hug you?” When McKinley nods, I cross the room to wrap my arms around her. “I’m so sorry about your mother. I’m so sorry that—”

“No, please don’t apologize,” McKinley says on a sniffle. “She shouldn’t have put Lincoln in that position. It wasn’t fair to him or you or any of us. And then there’s whatever my father did or didn’t do. So much of this mess rests on his shoulders, and he’ll never be able to tell us what really happened.”

“I’m still sorry,” I whisper and hug her tighter.

She lets a few more tears fall before she pulls back. “Mother wouldn’t want me to make a scene out of grief. She’d be disappointed.”

“You’re entitled to whatever you feel. If you want to scream and take books off the shelves and throw them across the room and break furniture, I’m not going to judge. Feel what you need to feel. Say what you need to say.”

McKinley smiles, and her hazel eyes that look so much like Lincoln’s shimmer with unshed tears. “You’re a good influence, Whitney. I’m glad my brother has you. I’m glad he’s brought you into all our lives again.” She gives me one last squeeze and lets me go, then settles in front of her computer and gets back to work.