“Not if. When.”
The call ends before I can respond.
All I can do is hope he’s right.
Because if I don’t find the motive, this guy is going to get away with murder.
CHAPTER 32
BLAKE
Men are damn exhausting.
Multiply that by three?
Impossible.
This can’t happen again.
I don’t know what made Walker suddenly change his mind, but he can take his regret and shove it where the sun don’t shine. He’s maddening. I might rip my hair out from Walker stress alone.
You don’t know everything.
The words replay on a loop that I can’t seem to shut off.
I kick a corral fence post with my boot in frustration, and pain shoots through my toes, causing my to ball my hands into fists. Bear nudges me with his nose, and I reach down to scratch behind his ears, which he loves.
I’m so mad at Walker.
So why does this hurt so much?
An hour after Walker and I got back from the station, Santiago left on horseback to check on some pasture or whatever, while Levi and Walker headed back into town. I’m not sure what they were doing, but I’m not sure I want to know. It’ll probably enrage me even more.
Fine. If Walker wants space, I’ll give him space.
They left me with Javier like I’m some sort of incapable child.
My fingers yearn for the feel of a brush, but all of that is sitting in storage in New York City.
Even my clothes aren’t really mine anymore.
Everything I’d brought to Moose Gap Lodge is sealed up as evidence after someone tore the room apart. Levi and Santiago insisted on replacing my entire wardrobe before I had the chance to argue. My side of Santiago’s closet is somehow fuller than his now, stuffed with cozy sweaters, jeans, boots, and enough flannel to survive ten Wyoming winters.
I should probably be annoyed that they made the decision for me. Instead, I kind of love that they wanted me to be comfortable.
“Everything okay?” Javier’s question pulls me from my pouting.
Pivoting toward him, I lean back against the fence and rest my elbows along the top.
Javier has been repairing tack beneath the overhang of the barn with leather stretched across his lap. His fingers move with practiced ease, weaving new stitching through old cracks. The rhythmic scrape of his awl is curiously soothing.
I force a smile. “Just tired.”
“Mmm,” he returns as if he doesn’t fully believe me. “Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to let the bull run in circles until he’s worn out. A tired bull is more amenable.”
“I’ll go crazy if the only time we get along is when he’s tired.” A sigh causes me to tilt my head to the sky. “I don’t think Walker would be a bull. Maybe a mule.”
Javier chuckles.
