I nod, feeling cold silver and turquoise between my fingers as she talks.
“But based on the evidence you’ve provided.” She shakes her head. “It’s only a matter of time before the judge rules in your favor.”
“Really? You think so?” I ask, pulse pounding.
“I can’t predict the future. But your case looks solid. Airtight.”
I relax my shoulders. “And the hearing is still set for the thirtieth?”
“Yes,” she says, typing. Then, she looks up. “The forensic audit is officially underway, and the legal team continues to review your journal for additional documentation.”
“Are they finding what they need?”
“And then some. You didn’t spare a detail.” The corners of her mouth soften, tilting up. “Crowe has retained his own counsel, and he’s pushing hard behind the scenes.”
I nod, licking my lips. “As expected.”
“This isn’t over. It’s just moved underground. If we need to move it back out into the light again, I trust you’ll be ready.”
“Always,” I say, and for the first time since the concert in Valor Springs, there’s force behind my words.
“Another meeting with your parents is scheduled for later this week, and you said you were going to meet with Grayson at Lone Star Security?”
“Today, actually,” I say, looking down at my phone.
My heart skips for a second until I see there are no missed calls or new texts. Been this way all week. But I know Maverick’s the kind of man who does things right. That means at the right time, too.
“Soon. Shoot, I didn’t realize what time it is,” I excuse.
“In that case, don’t let me keep you.”
I stand, and she comes around her desk to shake hands. “You’ve taken major steps since arriving here, Mia. Not only fighting back but also providing evidence and information. You’ve also proven you’re healthy, stable, and capable of making your own decisions.”
“Thank you.” I grin. And I’ve proven I know how to be silent when that’s what life asks for.
An hour later, Jack pulls up in his truck, and my heart sinks. Though I know better, part of me still hoped for a big black pickup and a quiet, dark-eyed driver.
“Hope you don’t mind country,” he says as he drives. Learned a week ago that’s as far as conversation goes with him.
Didn’t respond back then, braids in my hands, heart limping along. But today, I have an opinion. “It’s growing on me.”
“Comes with the boots,” he grumbles. “All you need now is a Stetson.”
“Give it another week,” I murmur, sarcasm threading my words.
When I see the massive ranch gate—iron, wood, and stone—a hummingbird lands in my chest. I swallow hard, trying not to hope. But hope isn’t something you can capture or ignore.
Staring out at the distant prairie, I imagine Maverick walking the perimeter, slight limp, eyes narrow and scanning. Body taut and ready for trouble.
Grayson and Josie greet me at the Ranch door.
“Mia!” the bubbly teen screams.
“Josie,” I lean down, hugging her close. “So good to see you again, though I swear you’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” I observe, eyeing the too-short hem at the bottom of her jeans.
“Like a weed,” Grayson chuckles as his daughter scrambles into a sprawling ancient oak. Its thick, gnarled branches nearly touch the ground.
Still, I watch the teen, holding my breath.
