Page 96 of The Scars We Heal

When I opened my eyes, tiny glow-in-the-dark stars covered the area above her bed. I wasn’t sure where he got them or why he had them, but my eyes welled with emotion.

“Now, if the power goes out again and we can’t find a flashlight, you’ll still be able to see in the dark. And the monsters won’t come out anymore,” he explained, pointing out the stars to Whit.

She squealed, reaching her hand out to point at them.

A single, hot tear rolled down my cheek at the sight.

Jake may not have been her dad, but he was doing more for Whitley than Adam ever did. And that gesture, as small as it may have been, meant the world to me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

jake

I’d stayed over in the guest house every night since the thunderstorm. Whitley had gotten so used to seeing me that she started asking her mom where I was when I wasn’t in the kitchen in the mornings. For selfish reasons, I was ready for them to just move into the main house with me. Caitlin loved the guest house, though, and with Adam’s threats hanging over us, we didn’t want to move too fast. At least not until everything had started to blow over and go back to normal.

With the regular rodeo season having drawn to a close, I was able to spend much more time with my girls. But on the days I wasn’t around as much because I was helping Colter out at the ranch, I’d left notes for Caitlin to find.

This morning, when I snuck out, I stuck a sticky note with the words, You’re more than enough, on her bathroom mirror along with another one that said breakfast was in the fridge and just needed to be reheated. The other day, I’d left a bouquet of white roses in her driver’s seat with the note: Saw these and thought they were just as beautiful as you.

Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of her reading the notes, a smile playing on her lips. When she’d notice me watching, she’d try to hide it, but the proof was right there. Knowing I made Caitlin even a fraction as happy as she made me filled my chest with warmth.

Adam trying to drive a wedge between us had created a new fear that loomed over Caitlin, and my ultimate goal was to continue reminding her of the woman and mother she was. If anything came of Adam’s threats, we’d address it, but in my eyes—and likely the eyes of the law, too—he had no limb to stand on when it came to the care of Whitley.

Caitlin was and always would be the best option.

Tonight, we were taking a stab at making homemade pizza. Cooking was one of the hobbies Caitlin was going to try. She was already good at baking—and cooking, too, if you asked me—but she’d never made homemade pizza with Whitley before. Ever since we made the pillow fort, Whitley had been asking me to play or help her with things, so it only seemed right we included her in the hobby hunting.

“Here, Whit.” I pulled over a step stool so she could help at the counter, or at least see better without one of us having to hold her up.

“Yay, pizza!” She dragged out the end of the word, sticking out her tongue.

“Not just any pizza. Homemade pizza. Everything is better when it’s homemade.” I winked.

“Even chicken nuggets? Can we make them homemade?”

Caitlin suppressed a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand, looking at me like she was trying to ask how I was going to work my way out of this one.

“Well…” I hesitated, weighing my next words carefully. “Maybe not chicken nuggets. Your dino nuggets are frozen, and those are pretty good.”

“Dinosaurs are my favorite.” She nodded enthusiastically before patting her hands on the counter. Not even five seconds later, she whipped her head toward me, eyes widening and mouth gaped in an O shape. “Can we make the pizza dinosaur shaped?”

I ruffled the top of her head. “Sure, bug. What flavor of pizza do you like?”

“Cheese!” She paired the squeal with a massive toothy grin. “And pepperoni!”

Caitlin pulled a large bowl out of the cabinet and set it on the counter. “Do you want to help me make the dough?”

Whitley nodded, then Caitlin grabbed a bag of flour, sugar, salt and yeast.

“We’re going to pour the flour in this bowl then add the other dry ingredients, okay?”

Whitley reached for the container of salt and was about to pour it in, but I stopped her.

“Whoa there. We have to measure it so we have the right amount. Otherwise it won’t taste like pizza,” I explained. “Here, let me help.”

I measured out the correct amount of flour then guided her hands to pour it into the bowl. We repeated this until we had all the dry ingredients. Then Caitlin came in with the water and olive oil.

“Now, we have to stir it. Think you can handle that, bug?” Caitlin asked, handing her a wooden spoon.