“Maybe.” Sarah returned to her box, applying the grain filler with renewed focus. “But sometimes justice needs a little... help.”
“Is that what happened with your ex?”
She ducked her head again. “Three times I tried to press charges. Three times the system failed me. The first time, he convinced the prosecutor I was mentally unstable. The second time, evidence ‘went missing.’ The third time...” She trailed off, and her lips flattened. “Well. Let’s just say some men have friends in high places.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be prepared.” Sarah blew sawdust from the corner of her box. “Does he have family? People who’ll bail him out?”
“I don’t think so. His parents died years ago, and he was an only child.” Maggie frowned, uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Why?”
“Just curious. Sometimes they have people on the outside who help them.” Sarah shrugged. “Like that woman who came to see you.”
Maggie’s stomach clenched at the memory. Three days after Landry’s arrest, Taryn showed up at the ranch, having somehow convinced the sheriff to tell her where to find Maggie. She’d interrupted dinner, mascara streaking her face, her perfect blonde highlights limp with grease and travel.
“You have to drop the charges,” she’d demanded without preamble. “He didn’t mean to hurt you. He loves you.”
The whole table had gone silent, forks frozen mid-air. Anson had risen slowly to his feet, his face a thundercloud, but Maggie had stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Taryn, you need to leave.”
“He was just trying to talk to you!” Taryn had shouted, her voice cracking with desperation. “If you’d just listened, none of this would have happened!”
Even now, Maggie couldn’t believe the betrayal. Her producer, the woman who’d claimed to be her friend, her biggest supporter, defending a man who’d nearly choked her to death.
“He didn’t do it.” Taryn’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “And even if he did, he was just... he was upset. You broke his heart when you left him.”
That was when Maggie finally understood Taryn wasn’t just defending Landry because they’d been work colleagues or because she wanted to salvage the show. She was in love with him. Had been all along, probably. Nothing else could explain her willingness to ignore evidence, to blame the victim, to fly across the country to beg on his behalf.
Walker had finally escorted Taryn from the property with a clear warning about trespassing. Last Maggie had heard, the network had formally terminated Taryn’s contract.
“Maggie?”
Sarah’s voice snapped her back to the present. “Sorry, just thinking.”
“About that woman?”
“Yeah.” Maggie resumed sweeping, uncomfortable with how closely Sarah seemed to be tracking her thoughts. “I still can’t believe she tried to blame me for what he did.”
“People will believe what they want to believe.” Sarah’s voice hardened. “Especially when they’re in love with monsters.”
The vehemence in Sarah’s tone made Maggie look up sharply. Sarah’s gaze was fixed on her box again, but her hands had stilled, knuckles white around the applicator.
“How’s the grain filler working?” Maggie asked, deliberately changing the subject. “Is it filling those corner gaps?”
The tension in Sarah’s shoulders eased slightly. “It’s perfect. You were right about waiting for the wood to fully dry before applying it.”
“I’ve made that mistake too many times.” She moved closer to inspect Sarah’s work, genuinely impressed by the craftsmanship. The box was beautiful—made of cherry wood with walnut inlays, meticulously jointed and sanded. “This is professional quality, Sarah. I mean it.”
Sarah’s face flushed with pleasure. “It’s only because you’re such a good teacher.”
“I just show techniques. The talent is all yours.” Maggie circled the table, admiring the box from different angles. “The dovetails on this are tighter than some I’ve seen from furniture makers with decades of experience.”
“Really?” Sarah beamed, her earlier intensity replaced by something almost childlike in its need for approval.
“Absolutely. You could sell these, you know. Custom keepsake boxes would fetch good money at craft fairs.”
“I’d rather make them as gifts.” Sarah set down her applicator and closed the jar of grain filler. “Speaking of which...” She bounced to her feet. “I have something for you! A thank-you gift for everything you’ve taught me.”
