“Daddy, is Thatcher still lurking around that little mill of his?”
“Now, Darla, you know McCrae turned that sawmill into a little goldmine,” her father replies.
“Might be nice to pay him a visit,” she says and smirks.
She doesn't say anything else—doesn’t have to.
“Shall we finish our reunion in my office?” the manager asks, clearly eager to get her inside.
Darla nods and slips inside without sparing another glance for the line she so thoroughly ignored.
I let out a slow breath.
I hadn’t realized I was holding it.
The older woman in front of me makes a noise—half-snort, half-sigh—and nudges her friend with the kind of amusement only small-town lifers have.
“Well, looks like Miss High and Mighty isback in town.”
“Lord help us,” the other woman replies with a dry shake of her head. “Let’s see who she ruins this time.”
I stare at the door Darla disappeared through, pulse quickening, heat creeping up the back of my neck.
Something tells me this woman doesn’t play fair.
And something else tells me she’s not just back in town.
She’shunting.
Her friend leans in with a conspiratorial whisper.
“Wonder what trouble she’ll bring this time.”
“Hmm, you better warn your boss, Missy,” one of them says to me.
I blink.
Not my business.
Not my circus, not my monkeys. Stay in your lane, Willow.
But their voices drop again, not enough to be discreet, just enough to make you lean in.
“You know, I heard she took husband number two for quite the ride.”
“And after she ran off with that first husband of hers—left that poor McCrae boy at the altar…”
Something cold and heavy starts to drip down my spine. Both women continue their chatter like I’m not even there anymore.
“Hmm, McCrae should’ve seen right through her. Lord knows we all did.”
No. Can’t be.
I go completely still.
They don’t mean him.
“Always said it’d take more than a mountain man like Thatcher to keep Darla happy.”
