“Okay…”
“And this,” he continues.
There I am outside the barn, closing it up.
Fuck, this was from this morning. After she was so upset, I didn’t feel right leaving her. I just…wanted to make sure she got in okay. So I took a chance—a stupid one—and rode with her back to her barn, closed everything up, and then headed home.
How the fuck do I explain this without exposing the two of us?
“It’s not what it looks like.”
He laughs. “It doesn’t look like you were trespassing on the Gatlins’ ranch at four in the morning? Were you lost? Maybe you hit your head and thought it was your property? Drunk? Pleasetell me which of those it was so I can convince them that it wasn’t you who let the horses out of the stalls this morning.”
“I would never,” I say quickly.
Jimmy shakes his head. “I really am trying to protect you. To protect Sadie and everyone else in this town, but this is fucking video proof, Tris! Like, how do you want me to dispute this?”
I can’t tell him. I can’t fucking tell him why.
It would cause more issues for Lark than either of us is prepared for. Not to mention, after the unhinged shit that Fallon said, it might start another war, and Lark would be at the epicenter.
I won’t do it to her.
Not after everything that happened last night. The things she said, the way she feels around her family.
“You can’t,” I say simply.
He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You can’t dispute it.”
Jimmy stares at me, wide eyes and jaw slack before recovering. “You’re admitting to doing it?”
“No.”
“Okay, Tristan, give me something to work with here. You didn’t go to the Gatlins’ barn and remove all the horses from the stalls?”
“I didn’t.”
“Okay, but you just said you can’t dispute that you were there.”
“That’s right.”
I’m going to stick to the facts and the facts only. I’m not going to admit to what I was doing there.
They have whatever proof they want, and her brothers must’ve watched that recording. They either missed the fact that Lark was there, or the camera didn’t catch her.
I can only hope for that much.
Jimmy runs his hand over his face. “You’re killing me here.”
“I’m not, but I can see where this might frustrate you.”
“Do you want me to arrest you?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly. “I also know that if you do, you’re just doing your job until you uncover the evidence to exonerate me.”
He huffs loudly. “Bro, you’re not going to jail for murder, but this is fucking stupid. You know that? Do you have something that can prove you didn’t do it?”
