The night she died, Evie was strapped in her car seat in the back. Jeanine had been drinking and lost control on the county road. By the grace of God, Evie came out without a scratch. Jeanine didn’t.
I hated her for that. Resented her for risking our baby’s life. Butnowall I feel is relief that Evie is healthy, that she doesn’t remember her mother, who would’ve emotionally fucked her up for sure.
I brush Evie’s hair back from her forehead and press a kiss to her temple. She’s the only part of Jeanine I’ll ever want to keep.
I used to picture a different life. One where Sarah and I had married. Where we had a brood of kids running wild through the pastures, raising them together the way we always dreamed.
As I walk back down the hall to my bedroom, the seeds of doubt Kaz planted burn again, hotter this time: “What if she was tellin’ the truth, Cade?”
CHAPTER 10
sarah
There is comfort in howallrodeo grounds smell and feel the same.
Dust and hay.
Sounds of horses stomping restlessly in their stalls.
The noise of the crowds.
A kid chasing another between trailers misses banging into me by inches while I’m crouched by one of the Kincaid geldings.
I hold his leg steady as I wrap his tendon. Barrel horses put everything into their runs—hard sprints, sharp turns around three barrels, and another flat-out sprint to the finish. It’s fast, explosive, and brutal on their legs. A good wrap keeps the tendons supported, cuts down swelling, and might mean the difference between a blue ribbon and a horse laid up for weeks.
The gelding shifts, flicking an ear back at me.
I murmur low and smooth, finishing the last cross of the bandage, snug but not tight enough to cut off circulation.He’ll be making his barrel run in less than an hour, and he needs every bit of support I can give him.
“Sarah Kirk, as I live and breathe,” a too-sweet voice says.
I glance up to see Noelle Dunn.
Blonde hair teased high, jeans so tight they look sprayed on, a rodeo queen crown perched on her head, though she aged out of that circuit a decade ago. And behind her are three women I used to call friends, their eyes sharp, their mouths curved in matching smirks.
“It’s almost like everywhere I go, I see you.” Noelle’s tone drips with venomous honey.
I straighten slowly, dusting off my jeans, and meet her gaze. “I’m here to take care of my clients’ horses. What’s your excuse?”
She scoffs. “I’m here with my boyfriend.”
With Cade, she means.
Great!
“I’m here to work, so if you don’t mind….” I jerk my chin at the cowboy who’ll be riding the horse. He’s leaning on the rail, chewing sunflower seeds like he’s got all the time in the world. “He’s good to go.”
“Yeah?” The cowboy winks. He’s been flirting with me all day. “You wrap him up nice and good.”
“Yeah. He’ll hit that first barrel clean, without risking bowing a tendon…that is if you know how to ride.”
The cowboy tips his hat, the band of which has the Kincaid Farm logo on it and takes the gelding’s lead rope.
The horse snorts as he walks away.
“Does Mav Kincaid know he’s hired damagedgoods?” Noelle’s eyes are blazing with meanness—simple, garden variety, stupid cruelty.
The old Sarah—nineteen, raw and broken—would’ve wilted right there, heat burning her cheeks, shame swallowing her whole. I’m not her anymore.
