Free Compulsion by Martina Boone

there’s anything of my cousin Wade in you at all,” she said finally. “Not a single thing.”
    The woman might have been talking about features, but given the question about Barrie’s age, it was probably more than that. Maybe the Colesworths didn’t even want Barrie to be related to them. She caught herself glancing at Eight, but she wasn’t sure what she expected him to do. Play her knight in shining armor? Open doors and slay pink dragons? He hardly knew her.
    She didn’t need him to defend her. And she didn’t need the Colesworths.
    “My father was killed the night I was born,” she said. “I never saw him, and I can’t help looking like a Watson.”
    Emma Jean’s ginger curls were sprayed so hard, they didn’t budge when she shook her head. “Bless your heart, I know that. I don’t mean any of this is your fault. It’s just . . . none of this makes sense, that’s all. Lula was supposed to have been dead since the fire. I keep telling Wyatt to calm down, that there’s bound to be an explanation, but—maybe we’ve got it all wrong. Were you adopted? Maybe it was your adopted mama who died last week?”
    Oh, for Pete’s sake . “I wasn’t adopted,” Barrie said.
    “Then where has Lula been?” Emma Jean gave the sort of cautious sniff someone might give a glass of milk that had probably gone sour. “You’re telling me she’s been alive all this time, with Wade’s baby, and never said a word to anyone? Never got in touch? Don’t tell me there isn’t more to it than that. Trying to keep you away from us, most likely. That would be like Emmett, like all of them. Everyone around here will side with Pru Watson and Seven Beaufort, buy their version like it’s gospel.”
    “There is no version!” Barrie’s chest was squeezing tighter and tighter, and she pushed back against the car, letting it hold her up. Breathe out, then in. Out, then in. “And there are no sides,” she continued more calmly. “Not where I’m concerned. My mother was hurt in the fire. Disfigured. She didn’t want to come back here looking like that, and I can’t blame her.”
    For the first time, Barrie could imagine what it wouldhave been like for Lula to face someone like Emma Jean, face any of the people who had known her before. Back when she’d been beautiful. Barrie let out a hitch of breath, little more than a hint of sound at the sudden memory of Lula on the floor, her wig askew, her scarred face exposed and still.
    “Don’t be upset, hon.” Emma Jean’s voice was softer. “I’m sorry. Everyone knows I talk too much, and Lord knows I don’t always take the time to think before I open my mouth. I meant the situation was odd, that’s all. Strange.”
    No arguing that. But it hadn’t been all Emma Jean had meant.
    Rubbing Mark’s watch, Barrie wished herself back into the car. Wished herself back at Watson’s Landing. Wished herself back in San Francisco.
    “Wow, look what time it is. We need to get going, Bear.” Eight peeled his hip off the fender and nudged her aside to pull the passenger door open for her. “Sorry, Emma Jean. I’m sure you’ll be seeing Barrie around. I’ll bring her back for ice cream.” He hustled Barrie into the car and winked as she dropped into the bucket seat. “Emma Jean here makes the best ice cream in town.”
    “Is that right?” Barrie buckled her seat belt with a snap.
    “Fourteen flavors fresh every day. Homemade. Every one of them.” Emma Jean puffed up with pleasure and smiled, benign as a shark, watching while Eight trotted around to thedriver’s side and settled behind the wheel. She waved as he pulled slowly off the shoulder.
    Barrie waggled her fingers in response, nodding a dazed good-bye.
    “You all right?” Eight glanced sideways at her.
    “Sure. Fantastic. That was fun.” She blew out an exasperated breath, wanting to sock him in the arm. “What was that? First she implies that Wade wasn’t even my father, and then she’s acting like I