“You’re right—I should’ve brought Evie with me,” she says, nodding. “But she was?—”
“Attached to the dog,” I finish, dragging a hand through my hair.
“And I trust Sarah. More importantly, Evie does, too.”
I look at her, equal parts frustrated and desperate. “Hell, Joy. I don’t want that woman around my kid.”
“Your kid has other ideas, Cade.”
I lean in close, anger throbbing just under the surface. “I need to be able to trust you when I leave my daughter with you. You can’t just hand her off to someoneelse.”
She narrows her eyes. “If it had been Elena, would you be mad?”
That’s happened—more than once. This is a small town. Sometimes I have to pick Evie up at the Wilders because she finagled a lesson out of Elena.
“Sarah isn’t Elena,” I grind out.
I spin and head down Main Street, boots rapping pavement, anger building with every step.
“Cade,” Joy cries out, but I ignore her.
I’m about to push through the clinic door when I spot them through the glass. Evie sits on a blanket on the floor beside a skinny dog. Sarah has her arm around my girl.
I open the door. Sarah looks up, swallows. She’s braced for me to blow—just not for the reason she thinks.
The sight guts me. Together, they look like they belong.
“Bandit,” Evie murmurs.
“I like it.” Sarah eases away from Evie. “Your daddy’s here.”
“Evie.” My voice comes out rough.
She beams, scrambles up. “Daddy! Dr. K fixed him. He was hurt, but now he’s gonna be okay.”
Sarah’s gaze flicks to mine, then away. I catch the hurt there before she shutters it.
What is she so sore about? She’s the one who blew us apart.
I want to yell, haul Evie out, slam the door. But how do you scold a kid for loving a dog? For loving…Sarah?
Evie drags me to the blanket. I crouch.
She lays her hand on the mutt’s ribs. “Daddy, can we keep him? Please?”
Joy was right—someone did a number on this dog. My fist wants a word with that someone.His coat’s patchy, brindle and black, white blaze across the face. One ear’s half-torn. He opens his eyes—one brown, one ice blue—and dares me to say no.
“Darlin’, I don’t?—”
“Bandit’s last human wasn’t nice,” Evie cuts in. “But we will be. Right, Daddy?”
We’ve got ranch dogs and barn cats. But none at the house.
“He’s a fighter.” Sarah puts space between us. “He wasn’t cared for, but he still trusts.”
My lungs stall. She’s not just talking about the dog.
Bandit whimpers.
