Because if it wasn’t for Sawyer, none of this would be possible.
He’d saved me when I was sixteen, and he didn’t have to.
It was only fitting that we name our girl after his mother and him.
“Oh, honey. That sounds perfect.”
And it was. It really was.
Twenty-Eight
I often get mistaken for an adult because of my age.
—Nettie’s secret thoughts
Nettie
“I’m going to get started on the dishes.” Eddy headed into the kitchen, careful to stay as quiet as possible as she moved.
Margery was asleep on one side of me, and baby Margery was asleep on the ottoman on the other side of me.
It was cute.
It was even cuter that they were both on the same nap schedule.
Margery had practically moved in with us when we got home from the hospital, and I would forever and ever cherish the days that we got with her.
It was like she’d gotten a second wind upon her namesake’s arrival.
“Nettie,” Boone said quietly, drawing my attention from our daughter’s face to my husband’s.
“What?” I asked, worried about the blankness of his face.
“I…” He hesitated. “Come outside.”
I frowned but got up, leaving our daughter to sleep on the ottoman with blankets wrapped around her so she couldn’t roll.
When we got outside, he tugged me to him and hugged me tight. “It’s over.”
The suddenness of the movement called a small twinge in my nether regions, but I didn’t complain.
Not when the look on Boone’s face was scaring me.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s over,” he answered.
“What is?” I asked.
“She was found dead in that same snowplow that she smashed into us with.”
We both knew who he was talking about without naming her name.
She’d been a bad stink that never seemed to go away.
It was like we were all waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I blinked. “What?”
