Her voice took on a pleading tone, as if begging Trace to understand. And she was. “I... I wanted to help. I thought I could do it. Told myself love would make me brave.”
Goldie must have picked up something in Kip's tone because the puppy nuzzled her palm and then sat down by her feet.
Trace didn’t move, just listened, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, the brass buckle glinting in the dusty light. He was the picture of patience carved from granite and wrapped in shearling, but her heart sank at the fierceness burning in his eyes.
“We were pulling into this small town and came to a traffic light. I looked, more than once, I swear. I didn’t see anyone coming, and I had a green light. I pulled into the intersection… I didn’t see it until—” Her voice cracked, as sobs gripped her throat, trying to force their way out. “Then all of a sudden, there was metal crunching, and glass was flying everywhere. I had shards in my hair, my mouth, tasting copper and gasoline.”
Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her, holding her safe. “Hush, babygirl. That’s enough. You don’t have to say any more. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
But she couldn’t stop now. He needed to see how horrible she was. How reckless. And if she didn’t get it out now, she never would.
Still cradled in his arms, she kept going. “I woke up in thehospital. Machines beeped, but to me, they sounded like sirens. And that hospital smell... God, I’ll never forget it... that… stinging my nose. A nurse told me to stay calm, but I couldn’t. Lonzo wasn’t there, and I knew something was wrong. I was so scared. I couldn’t breathe because several of my ribs were cracked. And my head was killing me. They said I had a concussion, so they couldn’t give me anything for the pain.”
Trace lifted her and carried her into the barn. It was warm, but her shivers didn’t stop. “That’s enough, Foxy. You can tell me more later if you need to. I’ve heard enough.”
But she couldn’t stop herself from talking. “They said Lonzo didn’t make it. Tension pneumo—something, fractured pelvis, liver lac—words I didn’t understand then, still don’t, it didn’t matter what they called it. He was gone, and it was my fault. His parents...”
She burrowed into his arms, still shivering despite the barn’s warmth. “They knew it was my fault. Knew I’d killed him.”
“I’m sure that’s not what they thought.”
“It was!” she screamed. “They blamed me, and they were right. They said I killed him. That I should’ve stopped at the light. I should have seen the truck.”
She clutched his jacket, desperate for him to believe it wasn’t her fault, even though she knew it was. “I didn’t remember the truck lights. Still don’t. But I remember the sound. Like the world folding in half, like God crumpling paper. And the silence. The silence afterward was even worse than the crash.”
Trace’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble, the smell of coffee on his breath sharp, his hands clenched at his sides. “You were twenty-one.”
“Twenty-two,” she corrected, letting out a bitter, hollow, broken laugh. “Old enough to know better, young enough to think love fixed everything. Thought if I just drove carefully enough, got him home, it’d be okay. Thought I was helping. Thought I could do it.”
He held her closer, close enough, she could smell coffee and cedar soap and the faint scent of gun oil on his hands. His shadow cast over her like a shield. “Listen to me. You did not kill him, Kip. The storm did. The truck that hit you did. You had a green light, and you looked for oncoming traffic. Lonzo’s death was a tragic accident. That’s not being a murderer. That’s being human.”
She shook her head, hair falling across her face like a curtain, tickling her cheek. “It doesn’t feel that way. I can’t sleep because when I do, I relive the wreck over and over in my dreams.”
“Feelings lie, babygirl. Facts don’t.” His voice was gentle and warm, but his eyes blazed with a fury not aimed at her. “You’re here. Breathing. Surrounded by people who care about you. That’s what matters. I may not be able to take those bad feelings away, but I’ll be damned if I let you carry them alone anymore.”
Kip’s eyes stung, tears hot and spilling down her cheeks. She wanted to argue, to drown in the guilt that had been her constant companion for six years, to push him away like she’d pushed everyone else. But Trace’s gaze pinned her in the present. Steady and kind, yet unforgiving to those who sought to hurt her. It tore something open in her chest—a raw, aching wound she hadn’t allowed anyone to touch.
“Come on,” he said, tipping his hat back. The felt brushed his hair. He spoke more softly now, but no less firm. “That Christmas tree’s out there waitin’ on us. And Ruby’s chicken’ll be frozen if we dawdle.”
Kip nodded, and her Daddy took her hand, grabbing the picnic basket on his way to his truck. Maybe he was right. Maybe everything would work out. Maybe she could stay in the town she loved, with the Daddy of her dreams, and live the life she had always wanted. Maybe.
CHAPTER 11
Trace made sure the three white pups were settled in at the ranch before he and Kip left to find the perfect Christmas tree. He’d asked Chance and Boone to let the girls play with them in the barn. Goldie rode shotgun with Kip, head heavy on her thigh and drooling on Trace’s flannel. The pup’s weight anchored Kip in a way that made his chest tighten.
“She trusts you,” he said, nodding at the trust Goldie showed. “Dogs always know who to trust.”
The doubt in her eyes was there, but she smiled and gave Goldie a hug. “She’s sweet.”
They rumbled and bounced their way north on ranch roads that were more like narrow dirt driveways past frost-heaved pastures and skeletal cottonwoods. The ranch was a white winter quilt stitched with occasional barbed wire. The crunch of the frozen snow under the truck’s tires, the only outside sound in the silence.
Trace drove deliberately, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the seatback behind, his fingertips brushing Kip’s shoulders and hair when the truck hit a bump. It sent sparks of staticthrough her hair. She startled, putting her arms around Goldie for comfort.
Halfway up the ridge, he broke the silence, keeping his voice low and serious. It was time to get a few things straight. This might not be a perfect time for this conversation, but she was stuck in the truck with him and would at least have to hear him out. “I want you to stay with me on the ranch while Boone digs deeper on Rios. No more running. No more thinking you’re safer alone. You’re not. Not anymore.”
He saw her stomach dip. It showed in the way her breath caught. She faced him, her face pale. The churning fear stormed in her eyes, and something else that mirrored the heat coiling in his own chest. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Daddy…I mean Trace. I can’t just?—”
“You can, little fox, and you will.” At least, that’s what he was counting on.
