Page 153 of Wild Sanctuary

Then I rub my thumb against my fingertips, fidgeting because it’s that or break apart.

“You’d say it’s supposed to hurt more. That the ache is just proof I came to the right place.” I huff a small breath through my nose. “You always had a line ready, didn’t you?”

The wind pulls at the petals of the peonies and I reach out to settle them.

“I want you to know something.” My voice has dropped now. “I felt you in that kitchen. When Marcus was leaving.”

I blink hard against the warmth gathering at the corners of my eyes.

“I had no plan. He was walking out, Stan had a gun on me, and my brain just… stopped. And then I heard you. ‘Keep him here. Keep him talkin’. Wyatt is comin’, angel.’ Plain as if you were standing behind my chair. I’d swear it on a stack of bibles in any courtroom in this country.”

The cottonwood is moving steadily now, leaves catching the light.

“So I did what you said. I sat across the table from the man who killed you and I let him tell me how he did it, because you told me Wyatt was on his way. And he was.”

I sniff once, hard, then swallow past the lump in my throat.

“You saved my life, Dad. From wherever you are. You saved me.”

Silent tears stream down my cheeks, landing on the grass beneath me. The leaves of the cottonwood rustle and whisper above me while the sun beams down until, after a moment, I drag the back of my wrist across my cheek.

The corner of my mouth tugs upward despite the wet on my face. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you something else, and I think the easiest way is to just say it.”

I draw a breath.

“I’m not going home. Not to Denver. There isn’t anything there for me, and there’s everything here. I’m staying at Glacier Ridge.”

Then I pause before finishing. “With Wyatt. He’s been clearing out half his office for me all week, putting a second desk by the window.” I huff a laugh. “Says he wants me where he can see me when he’s meant to be doing the books.”

I tilt my head at the granite, my eyes tracing his name slowly, almost daring him to react.

“And before you start, I am twenty-six years old, kneeling in a cemetery, telling my dead father about my love life. The least you can do is pretend to be surprised.”

I shake my head, smiling through the tears.

“You’re insufferable, you really are.”

Behind me, gravel shifts under boots I’d know anywhere, and I scrub the palms of my hands down my face before I look up to find Wyatt at my left shoulder with his hat in his hands. He’s not looking at the headstone. He’s looking at me.

“What’d he say?”

His jaw works once. “He’s solid on Marcus. Solid on Stan. Your recording of their confession will hold up. That’s trial-ready. Both of them are looking at the rest of their lives behind bars.”

The weight that’s been on my chest this last month suddenly feels a whole lot lighter as I nod. “Good.”

“Mm.” Wyatt grunts then, without preamble, “But Silas walks.”

I push slowly to my feet, the earth beneath me suddenly feeling more than a little unsteady.

“What?”

I stare at him blankly, waiting for his words to make sense.

“The minutes where Silas is mentioned are gone.” Wyatt’s voice has gone flat. “Doyle says the file came back patchy when the techs pulled it off your phone.”

“What the hell⁠—”

“The embezzlement and murder confessions are clear as day. But his arrangement with Marcus, paying him to force ranchers out, every second that ties Silas Blackwood to any crimes. None of that audio survived.”