I feel like someone knocked the air out of me.
“Yeah, but she’s had two husbands, and she’s back again. Wonder who’ll be number three?”
“Oh, poor old Thatcher doesn’t stand a chance if she comes after him now. And he finally hit the big time with his daddy’s lumber company. Pullin’ eight to nine figures a year, is what I heard. So it’s not really a guess where Darla’s fishing now, is it?”
“Did you hear me, girlie? Best warn your boss, or Ol’ Thatcher’s head’s liable to get turned round again by that viper.”
I want to snarl.
I want to whirl around and tell them to shove their assumptions and their gossip up their polyester-covered asses.
I want to find this Darla woman and look her dead in the eye and tell her to stay far, far away from my man.
But I do none of that.
Instead, I turn.
And I walk out of that bank with my head high and my heart pounding.
Because I’m not going to give them a show.
And I’m sure as hell not going to let their words shake the ground I’ve finally started to stand on.
Am I?
CHAPTER 47
THATCHER
I’m pacing the office like a caged animal.
Up. Down.
Past the desk.
Past the window.
Back again.
Willow should’ve called by now.
I know she went to the Supercenter—I checked the business card log, saw the timestamp myself.
Which means she’s on her way back.
Which means this shouldn’t feel like my chest is being crushed from the inside out.
But it does.
Because she didn’t call when she said she would.
Something’s off.
I’ve lived on this mountain my whole damn life. I know when a storm’s coming before the forecast says a word.
I know when a tree’s about to fall.
I know when something’s wrong.
