“You brought that bitch home, you make sure she’s going to get convinced to leave Wildflower Canyon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Landon, you need to get back to Boston or stay with a friend. If she makes noises, we’ll just say you weren’t even here. Stupid girl. Can’t admit she spread her legs for you and is tryin’ to get attention for it.”
I throw up by the barn when I remember that conversation, how Dad talked about Sarah, how Landon did.
Now I wonder if Dad suspected that Sarah was telling the truth; otherwise, why would he have been so aggressive about covering it up? I didn’t even ask questions. Not even the most important one.
I just followed like a dumb fool.
If the great Walter Mercer says it’s so, then it must be.
Fuckin’ hell.
I need to clear my head, so I saddle up Rooster, my bay gelding who’s got more fire than sense. The leather creaks as I cinch the girth tight, my hands moving fast, rough, like I’m angry at the tack instead of myself.
“You ready for a hard ride, boy?”
Rooster tosses his head, ears flicking back, reading me too damn well.
The moment I swing into the saddle, I don’t give either of us a chance to breathe. I dig in my heels, and he surges forward, hooves striking sparks on the packed dirt as we tear out of the yard.
The wind is sharp against my face, and the pounding of his stride drums through my bones. We eat up the pasture, the fence line blurring past. I push him, needing speed, needing the burn in my thighs and the rasp of air in my lungs to match the chaos in my head.
We crest the ridge. The Elk Mountains loom in the distance, blue-grey and unmoved, watching like sentinels. Below, the spread of Kincaid Farms rolls wide—green pastures dotted with glossy cattle, barns standing straight and proud, his large greenhouse where I kissed Sarah….
I draw Rooster up short, his sides lathered, foam streaking the reins. I point him down the slope to Mav’s place.
“The hell happened to your hands?” Mav asks as he walks up to me while I swing down from Rooster.
He must’ve seen me riding down and came out to meet me.
I loop the reins once around the hitching rail by his house, giving Rooster’s sweaty neck a quick rub.
He’s blowing hard, sides heaving, ears flicking back at every sound.
I tug the reins loose enough that he can reach the trough nearby, the water dark and cool. “Settle down, boy. Drink your fill. Won’t be long,” I murmur before turning to face Mav.
He eyes the raw skin across my knuckles, brows pulling tight. “Looks like you picked a fight with a fence post.”
“Something like that,” I grunt.
We walk up to his wraparound porch. I don’t want to go inside. I need to be out because I feel suffocated.
“Okay to sit here?” I wave a hand at the seating area.
He gives me a measured look. “Sure. You want to tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“I need….” The air wheezes out of me, and I draw in quick breaths. I sit on a wicker chair and rest my elbows on my knees.
“Bourbon?”
I nod, not looking up.
“And?” he coaxes.
“First aid, maybe?” Joy suggests.
