He doesn’t hesitate. “We stop playin’ defense.”
“How?” I ask, perturbed.
“Instead of you goin’ to New York, ask that journalistto come here. Let the world know. We don’t play this as some clandestine shit. We do it in the open.”
The thought makes my stomach flip, fear and relief tangled up together. “And you’d really be okay with that? With her digging? With her putting your family under a microscope?”
He meets my gaze, as firm as the Elk Mountains. “I’ll help her dig. You’re my family, Dove. You and Evie.”
My breath slips out, shaky. “Okay. Let’s call her.”
We go inside together. The kitchen is warm with the faint smell of coffee. We sit at the kitchen table, and I dial. I put the call on speaker, and we sit shoulder to shoulder while it rings.
“Marnie Evans,” a brisk, professional voice answers.
“Hi, Marnie. This is Sarah Kirk,” I say, my throat dry. “And Cade Mercer.”
There’s a pause, then the rustle of papers. “Hi, Sarah. Cade.”
“So…about the trip to New York….”
I hear a long sigh. “You’ve changed your mind.” Another long pause. “Hell, Sarah, I…I wish you wouldn’t. This is important. Really important. There are so many?—”
“I want to talk to you, Marnie,” I assure her, cutting her off. “I just want to do it here.”
“In Wildflower Canyon?” Her voice holds a gazillion doubts.
“Yes.”
Cade’s hand brushes mine. “Marnie, I’m CadeMercer. We haven’t met. Currently, things have escalated, and it appears that everyone is already aware of your investigation. Our sheriff has informed us that the FBI is investigating my bro…Landon Mercer.”
We hear a distinct scoff. “The FBI has done investigations before and buried them, Mr. Mercer, so I don’t for one instant believe they’re sincere, but they will be once my story is out.”
“Well, then, let’s get your story written pronto,” Cade remarks. “We’ll be here. Come anytime. We have a spare room if you need to spend the night, or I can book you at the Wildflower Inn.”
We hear typing on Marnie’s end. “I’ll stay in Aspen. I’ll text you what time I can be there. Speaking of which—where is ‘there’, exactly?”
“My place. Blue Rock Ranch,” Cade tells her.
Marnie types away some more. “Found it.” She rattles out the address, and I confirm she’s got it right.
“Sarah, thank you for your courage. And, Mr. Mercer, thank you for your hospitality.”
“Call me, Cade, Marnie, after all, you’re going to be exposingmybrother, we should be on a first-name basis.”
Marnie chuckles and ends the call.
Cade makes coffee and slides a mug in front of me. His rough fingers linger on the edge of mine.
“You don’t even know it, Dove,” he murmurs, “but you just trusted me with the biggest step yet.”
“Did I?” I ask, picking up the coffee cup, feeling its warmth seepinto my hands.
“Yes. You’ll talk to her here, in our home. That matters—for us, for the way we heal.”
I don’t correct his ‘our home’statement—because it’d be petty when, truthfully, I do feel like this is home.
He’s right. Healing isn’t just mine to claim. Speaking my truth might mend something in Cade as well.
