Chapter 13 - The Paper Trail
Clare spun around, her eyes widening as Bear closed the gap between them. For a second, it looked like she might bolt for the door, but her boots seemed glued to the floorboards.
"Bear," she breathed, her voice trembling. "You have to listen to me. Social services... they're reviewing cases from last year in the district. They found irregularities in the emergency custody transfer. They said the state of Montana can reopen the file if a blood relative petitions—"
"There ain't no blood relatives left who want her," Bear said flatly, stopping two feet away from her. He towered over her, smelling of cold autumn air and machine oil. "Arthur cleared out and vanished. Your family wouldn't take your phone calls when we tried to track them down a year ago. And Emma ain't a file in a filing cabinet, lady. She's a person."
"She's a child!" Clare shouted back, a flash of her old arrogance momentarily piercing her panic. "She belongs in a normal home, not a—not a clubhouse full of criminals and mechanics!"
"Criminals?" Knox let out a sharp, humorless laugh that sounded like broken glass. "Look around you, honey. We pay our taxes, we run this bakery, we keep the books clean, and we don't drop kids in thunderstorms when we get frustrated with finger-paints."
Emma stepped down from her stepstool. She walked over to the edge of the counter, reached up, and placed her hand flat against the wood.
"I'm not going back," Emma said. Her voice didn't shake at all. It was clear, bright, and absolute. "I have a room upstairs. I have my books. And I have my flowers."
Clare stared at her, her face twisting with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and a profound, hollow shock. "You're choosing them over a real life? Over a family?"
"You weren't a family," Emma said simply. "You were just someone who lived in the house until I was in the way."
Bear reached into his heavy leather vest, pulled out a thick manila envelope bearing an official county seal, and laid it squarely in the center of the flour-dusted counter.
"County prosecutor closed the review three days ago, Clare," Bear said quietly, tapping the envelope with one massive, scarred finger. "Permanent guardianship was granted to my sister in Bozeman, with full power of attorney assigned to me and the club for her upbringing and protection. You try to step foot within fifty yards of this shop again, and you won't need social services to find you—you'll need an orthopedic surgeon."
May you like
Clare looked down at the envelope, then up at Bear's cold, unyielding eyes, and finally at Emma, who stood tall beside Tiny with a yellow crayon tucked securely behind her ear.
Without another word, Clare turned on her heel, pushed open the front door, and vanished into the gray Montana morning, her footsteps clicking rapidly away down the sidewalk until they faded entirely into the wind.
