“Mc’s?”
She nodded.
I hesitated. “It’s kinda dumb,” I warned. “You’re gonna laugh.”
“I can handle dumb.”
I sighed. “She was born when I was still living with Hope. Her mama died giving birth, so we kept her. Raised her in the barn. Bottle-fed her and all. Then when we broke up…”
Willa cut in. “She broke off the engagement?”
I looked at her. Thought about how much detail I wanted to spill.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “And when it came time to split everything up… well, it wasn’t clear who McKenzie belonged to. I was being stubborn and petty—didn’t wanna make things easier for Hope.” I laughed under my breath. “So I suggested shared custody. And my lawyer? Actually got her to sign off on it.”
Willa stared at me. “Wow. Must’ve been a serious relationship.”
“You could say that.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Hope said I could keep McKenzie, but I was drunk enough one night to bet her the cow would wanna be with me every weekend anyway. And as you’ve probably figured out by now—I don’t lose bets, and I don’t back out of them either.”
Willa burst out laughing. “You’re insane, Cash.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She shook her head, still grinning. “Let me just translate this to human real quick: instead of letting her go, you chose to drive a cow back and forth across the fields every damn weekend just so you’d still have some sort of tie to your ex. Which basically means… neither of you is ever gonna fully get rid of the other.”
I didn’t laugh. Didn’t say a word.
Because she was right.
And I hadn’t seen it that clearly until just now.
Willa must’ve realized it too, because she went quiet.
Looked away.
I watched her for a beat, then said, “You know what’s dangerous about you?”
She turned back to me slowly.
“You’re too perfect,” I said, my voice low. “And it’s starting to feel like you’re hiding something real big underneath.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t even smile.
And for once, that silence?
Didn’t sit right with me.
McKenzie took off like her tail was on fire.
One second she was trotting along nice and slow, the next she was barreling down Main Street like she had a grudge against modern infrastructure.
By the time I caught up with her—panting, swearing, regretting every life choice—she’d already painted the sidewalk like it was her personal fricking bathroom.
Perfect.
I was halfway through apologizing to a couple old ladies when I heard the worst voice a man could hear in this town.
“Well, well. If it isn’t McKenzie’s weekly crap parade.”
