School drop-off is always hellish.
Cars inch forward in a crooked line that never quite follows the cones the school insists matter. Kids spill out with backpacks too big for their bodies, voices loud, emotions already dialed up to eleven before eight thirty in the morning.
I hate this part of the day.
Not because of Sadie, she’s the only good thing about it, but because I don’t enjoy leaving her here. Don’t enjoy not being able to see everything.
Sadie unbuckles herself before I even stop, bouncing in her seat. “Daddy, I forgot my folder yesterday, but Mrs. Hanover said it’s okay and Micah says his aunt’s bringing donuts for the class and?—”
“Hey.” I reach back, still the stream of words. “Slow down.”
She grins. Same smile that’s gotten me through some real bad years.
I park, walk her up to the curb, and crouch to straighten her backpack straps. She smells of shampoo and cereal and the faint grass smell that never quite leaves kids who grow up on a ranch.
“You have a good day,” I tell her.
“I will.” She hesitates, then wraps her arms around my neck in a quick, fierce hug. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She runs off, ponytail swinging, and I don’t leave right away. I never do. I watch until she’s inside. Until the door shuts.
That’s when I see Carol Spence.
She’s standing tall near the entrance, clipboard tucked against her chest, posture sharp and immaculate. Eli’s at her side, shirt pressed, shoes spotless, eyes scanning the crowd with that same pinched alertness he always has.
I keep my face neutral.
Carol spots me. Of course she does.
Her lips tighten. Not a smile, not a scowl. Something in between. Eli follows her gaze, eyes flicking to the door Sadie disappeared through.
I watch him carefully.
Nothing happens.
No whisper. No smirk. No move toward the building that would give me an excuse to step in.
Good.
I give it another minute anyway, just to be sure, then head back to the truck.
The drive away from the school is slow, my mind already ticking through the day ahead. Feed orders, a fence that needs fixing, a call from the vet I’ve been putting off.
I turn onto Main Street for coffee and gas before heading back out to the ranch.
And that’s when I see her.
Delaney.
She’s near the bakery, backed up close to the curb, body tense in a way that makes cold settle in my chest. There’s a man in front of her. Too close. One hand lifted, fingers wrapped around her wrist.
I don’t think.
I slam the truck into park, and I’m out the door before the engine’s fully cut.
I cross the distance in long strides, boots hitting pavement hard enough to echo.
