He saidhecouldn’t afford the renovations and wanted cheaper options. I put my foot down and saidwecould afford it, and we’d do it right. I’d pay for it.
“I’m not takingyourmoney, Dove.”
“Fine, then I won’t live inyourhouse, Cade.”
“I told you, this isourhouse.Ourhome.”
“Then my money is ours, too.”
He gave in.
I lie back on the seat and let a rare peace wash over me.
Coming back to Wildflower Canyon changed my life. It helped me find distance from my monsters. And even though I would have preferred it if Landon had been tried and punished, I’m also relieved. The idea of testifying didn’t appeal in the least, but I would’ve done it for the women who couldn’t speak and for those who did.
I glance at Cade. The sun slants golden across his shoulders as he drives, sleeves rolled up, forearm tan and strong on the wheel. I wonder when anger gave way to this fragile, terrifying hope. He smiles at me. I smile back.
I told him I loved him, and it was cathartic and honest. The fear of dying made me realize what matters to me most, and it’s the two people in this truck.
“You lookin’ forward to some quiet, Dove?” he asks.
We’re headed for Durango for the weekend. We’re looking forward to river rafting, enjoying the narrow-gauge railroad while we stay in a cabin we rented.
“Hey, Dr. K,” Evie pipes up from the back. “Do you know the words?”
“To what, Evie Girl?”
“Wheels on the bus,” she shrieks.
“You were saying something about it being quiet,” I tease Cade as our girl belts the chorus, mangling the pitch.
I join in.
Cade groans like he’s being tortured, but two seconds later, he’s singing with us.
The moment we pull up to our home for the next few days, Evie bolts from the truck, Bandit on her heels, her squeal echoing through the trees.
The cabin sits tucked in pines just outside Durango.
We have redwood siding, warm in the late sun surrounding it, and a deck that overlooks the Animas River as it snakes silver through the valley.
“Daddy, it’s a treehouse!” she hollers, already climbing the porch steps.
“Sure is, Evie Girl.” Cade hauls bags from the bed of the truck.
Inside, the place smells like cedar. Clean and fresh. There’s a loft with bunk beds that makes Evie scream with delight, and a master downstairs with windows framing the river.
That night, we sit around a fire pit out on the porch.
Cade grills steaks, and I make a salad.
For dessert, Evie roasts marshmallows that immediately slide off her stick into the flames. Bandit hovers at our feet, tail thumping, catching scraps.
It’s domestic andnormalin the best way.
“This is amazing,” I say, as I watch Cade stand in the firelight, his shirt untucked, hair mussed, grin easy for the first time in what feels like forever.
“Damn right,” he drawls.
