Joy touches my arm.
“You don’t get it,” I say pathetically, eyes closed like darkness might help.
“I do.” Her hand smooths down my sleeve. “You’re clutching something that’s gutting you. And meanwhile, you want your daughter to hate someone who hasn’t earned it.”
“You weren’t there. You don’t know what she did.”
Joy eases me back against the truck door. I let her. I’m tired down to the bone, and it’s taking everything not towalk back in there and pretend Sarah is mine the way Evie is.
“I’ve gotten to know Sarah,” Joy says gently. “She works harder than anyone. She’s loyal and straight as a fence post. Answer me this: would animals trust her the way they do if she were this ugly person you’ve made her out to be?”
I’ve got no response to that—not one that makes sense to me.
The clinic door opens. The two people who’ve ever truly mattered to me step out. Sarah crouches to talk to Evie. I can’t hear the words. I don’t need to. Evie hugs her, and Sarah holds her close.
My heart stutters.
“Cade,” Joy says softly, “she wouldn’t lie about something like that. Women rarely do.”
Doubt, which has already sunk its claws into me, wedges deeper.
“I’m taking my kid home.” My voice is rough, like it hasn’t been used in a while.
“Okay.” Joy steps back. “Just…promise me you’ll stop punishing my friend for something that you don’t even know is true.”
I give her a measured look. “I’ll try.”
It’s half a lie. The vendetta that lived easily while she was a ghost is crumbling now that she’s flesh and light again.
Part of me knows—maybe always has—that she didn’t lie. Which makes Landon exactly what I don’t want himto be. And it makes me a man who chose the easy story over the hard truth.
And that brings up the most painful question of all.
Am I dodging the truth because of what it says about Landon—or because of what it says about me?
CHAPTER 16
sarah
The last “party” I went to was at a vet conference in San Francisco. Maybe calling it a party would be an exaggeration, as it was mostly clinical lighting and people networking over stale coffee.
I haven’t been to a proper party in years.
After I left Wildflower Canyon, I couldn’t stand being around people. Crowds made my skin crawl. Even small gatherings felt like ambushes waiting to happen. It took years—and more therapy than I care to admit—before I could set foot in a room full of strangers without wanting to bolt.
Slowly, I got better. But honestly, it’s my profession that saved me. Being a vet means I spend more time with animals than humans, and that suits me just fine. Animals don’t judge. They don’t whisper lies behind your back. Humans will turn on you, but animals you can trust.
“Can I get you a drink?” Mav asks.
I shake my head.
“How about a mocktail? Bailey, our bartender from Blackwood Prime, makes excellent ones.”
Blackwood Prime is Mav’s steakhouse, and just like how luxurious that place is, so is his party. After all, Maverick Kincaid doesn’t do anything halfway.
His “casual” BBQ can feed a small army.
Smoke drifts across the wide lawn of Kincaid Farms, carrying the scent of mesquite-grilled steaks and slow-cooked brisket. Long picnic tables are set up under strings of lights, kids chasing each other through the grass while ranch hands pile plates high. A local band is tuning up near the barn, ready to crank out some old Johnny Cash and Hank Williams.
