content warning
The following chapter contains a discussion of rape and sexual assault and its aftermath. Please read with care. If this is a trigger for you, skip this chapter or the book in its entirety.
CHAPTER 37
cade
Evie is out with Joy at Kincaid Farms.
And Tillie left after baking cinnamon rolls and making a large pot of coffee.
We decided that the kitchen would be the best place to have this conversation. It’s warm. Comfortable. Cozy. Safe.
Sarah sits at the table, her braid frayed at the end, fingers wrapped so tight around her coffee mug, I’m half afraid it’ll crack.
I sit next to her, a hand on her thigh. I’m comforting her and myself.
This isn’t going to be easy—not for me andespeciallynot for her.
Scratching your wounds that have healed so they can bleed again is an act of courage, and I’ve never been prouder of my Dove.
Marnie Evans sits across from us. She isn’t at all what I expected. I thought she’d be a journalist hawk—sharpangles, all business—but instead she’s warm, even affectionate. Jeans, a T-shirt, and simple boots. Casual. Unassuming.
She asked for permission before setting her phone in voice-record mode. She asked if we wanted to have a video, but Sarah refused. It was one thing for people to hear her if the occasion ever arose, but to see her, as well? That was a breach of intimacy she wasn’t going to offer.
Marnie didn’t push.
I know she has a laptop, but she doesn’t bring it out. It’s sitting in a backpack at her feet. Instead, she’s old school. In front of her, right next to her cup of coffee, is a yellow notepad and a Pilot pen.
“How would you like to do this, Sarah?” she asks softly.
Sarah gives her a bewildered look. “You’ll have to guide me. I have no idea how to handle any of this.”
Marnie smiles at her candor. “Okay. Would you like me to ask questions, or do you want to just talk?”
Sarah considers Marnie’s question as she chews her bottom lip.
She’s nervous.
I squeeze her thigh. She gives me a gentle smile, silently telling me she’s alright.
“Ask me questions,” she finally says.
“Sarah, how do you know Congressman Mercer?”
Well, she certainly went straight to the point!
I appreciate that. I don’t think Sarah is up to small talk right now, not that she’s ever into banal chit-chat. My Dove is a serious and somber woman.
Sarah takes a long, deep breath. “My father was a vet and knew most ranchers in Wildflower Canyon. He was friends with Landon and Cade’s father.”
“Walter Mercer?” Marnie confirms.
Sarah nods and then, realizing that the voice recorder wouldn’t capture that, adds, “Yes. Walt.”
She swallows and then looks at me. She wants to bolt. I know that look.
“Keep going,” I urge.
