“Yes, well, don’t repeat it.”
I hate the whole “do as I say, not as I do” mantra, but it applies here.
“Can I sayshit?”
“No.”
“Damn?”
I glare at her. “No. No cursing.”
“What aboutasshole? I feel like that’s different.”
“It’s not.”
Sadie purses her lips. “Technically it’s a body part. Therefore, it can’t really be considered a curse word.” Before I can argue that point, she goes on, “Also,bastardis in the dictionary, and really all the curse words are, so I don’t know how you can say that they’re not appropriate if the dictionary has them. You know, that’s an educational book.”
I swear, not even twenty minutes ago, I had this sweet, smiling little girl in my truck. The return of the way-too-old-for-her-own-good girl is back. I miss the other one.
“As much as I’d love to have this fight with you, I need to go see why we have the cops here—again.”
“Well, at least you have an airtight alibi.”
Yes, there’s that. “Let’s go.”
We exit the car, and at the same time Jimmy comes out the front door. “Tristan, I’m sorry, but…”
“But what? I was literally gone since seven this morning, driving out to pick up Sadie.”
He sighs. “I understand, but this happened earlier than that.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He looks to Sadie. “Why don’t you go inside, sweetheart. I’ll be in once I’m done talking to your dad.”
“Are you arresting him?” she asks.
“I sure as hell hope not.”
She nods once. “Me too, because then I’ll have to hate you, Uncle Jimmy, and I really don’t want to.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he retorts.
“Go see your aunts and grandad,” I say. “I’ll get this sorted and be in soon.”
At least that better be what happens. There is no way that there’s any actual proof that I’ve done anything to the Gatlins, because I’m not actually doing anything. I just have to keep remembering that all of this is baseless accusations.
“Look, I’ve been doing my best to keep this from escalating, but you’re not fucking helping here,” Jimmy says with an exasperated sigh. “I can’t turn a blind eye because you’re my best friend.”
“Well, I’m not asking you to, but I am asking you to believe me when I say I’m not doing anything to their ranch.”
“Tristan, there’s fucking proof!”
“What proof?” I ask, knowing whatever the hell he’s got is a lie.
He hands me his phone, pulling up a video. “This was at four this morning.”
I push play and there I am, on the horse, riding through the field from Lark’s barn, heading toward my property.
