“I’ll check out my calendar and let you know.” His lips land on my cheek and disappear even quicker. I feel nothing.
“Right. Drive safe,” I mutter as he slips his shoes on by the door. He glances back at me, and I stop spinning the giant engagement ring on my finger.
“You’ll get whiplash after you leave this place and move back home. Like you’ve stepped through time.” He winks, leaving out the front door without hesitation.
He likes to remark on the state of my cottage. It’s outdated and homely. The outside’s yellow facade is faded nearly white and is covered in vines.
I love it.
It reminds me of nature, the earth. As a little girl, I played in fairy gardens and spent my mornings making mud pies and witches’ potions, always with smudges of dirt on my cheeks and in my hair.
This cottage, nestled back in the woods, surrounded by the smoke of the mountains, feels like home.
Tossing my hair over my head and back up again, I rake my fingers through my blowout and fluff it until it looks perfect. I stare into the mirror, avoiding my sad eyes in the reflection.
My makeup still looks great. I never shed any of the tears I thought would fall, or God forbid, broke a sweat during that sad coupling.
It doesn’t matter. I have somewhere to be, and my personal life does not belong at the forefront of my thoughts. Not with the trial looming over my head.
When I moved to Rollins County, there weren’t a lot of prospects related to being a high-powered attorney, but Ialways wanted to help people, and the public sector is exactly where it’s needed most.
I picked up a few civil cases just to put my name in the ring at the local courthouse, and then a family court case led me to Sheriff Malec.
His now-wife, Natalie, needed custody of her little brother, which got me a personal introduction to the sitting judge.
When Judge Reisner retired, and the only prosecutor in the county took his position, I was lying in wait. I was appointed Interim County Prosecutor under the stipulation that I would step down when a permanent candidate ran for the position.
It’s been six months, and there hasn’t been a single whisper in the wind that anyone is coming to fill the role. Now, I’m heading the biggest case Rollins County has ever seen, and I’m prosecuting two members of one of the oldest families in the area.
Randall Porter and his brother, Jeremiah Porter, are looking at a long list of conspiracy, fraud, assault, and kidnapping. And if I can help it, attempted murder.
Sheriff Malec warned me it could get sketchy, but high stakes don’t scare me. Not much frazzles you when you’ve already lost everything in your life once.
* * *
My palm jabs the windshield wiper button again on this perfectly sunny day, leaving me huffing in frustration when the single daisy, stuck by its stem, doesn’t dislodge itself from under my windshield.
I was in a rush to get out the door and to my meeting on time, so I didn’t notice it. I know Elliot didn’t leave it. He’s not a daisy guy. Red roses, only.
Doesn’t matter, I’m about to pull into Second Chance Sanctuary, and I need to make sure that Lochlan Dane and Jo Montgomery are on board for how intense this trial will be.
Lochlan runs the black bear rescue that was targeted by Randall Porter. Jo was attacked by Jeremiah Porter because of it.
We have months to prepare, but I’ll leave no stone unturned before we ever enter the courtroom.
The weird flowers left on my car are probably just a small-town thing. People notice a newcomer right away. They stare when I stop into the grocery store. The locals know who I am, and I get the occasional request for free representation. I don’t mind the occasional pro bono, but my expensive pantsuits aren’t going to pay for themselves.
However, the random gifts in my mailbox and on my doorstep are becoming annoying. I thought rural communities were more respectful of private property, but it seems like Southern curiosity is overshadowing.
Last week, I came home to a box of chocolate-covered strawberries on my welcome mat. No note or return address. They went straight into the trash can, and so did my welcome mat. No need to encourage anyone.
The rational part of my brain knows that it’s weird, but I have too much going on, and I refuse to put more thought into it.
My Jaguar careens roughly through the entrance of Second Chance Sanctuary, clearly with terrain meant for trucks, and I park next to Sheriff Malec’s SUV. Jo is his half-sister, buthe insisted on making introductions because of the owner of the property.
Now that I’m seeing Lochlan Dane for the first time, I’m glad for the extra presence. His glower seems permanent on his face, but I feel it assessing me as I meet them on the porch to introduce myself.
“It’s nice to meet you, Liv.” Jo is bright and kind as she shakes my hand, but he only stares, his eyes shadowed by his furrowed brow.
