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“But for me it was about how my heart would try to escape through my breastbone to get away from me, from him, every time he came into the room. And when he left again, especially to go to work so I’d know he’d be gone for hours, it’d calm down again, slot into place, and I realized this wasn’t how I was supposed to be living.” She wiped at her cheeks again, looking annoyed at her tears now.

“And it led to you leaving?” I prompted gently when she got stuck in her memories, staring into the middle distance just past my shoulder.

She nodded. “Yeah. I uh… I packed my stuff, put my horse into the trailer, and called my sister—she’s one of the others in our group—and I started driving while he was at work. It’s been the best two months of my life.”

“Oh, it’s that recent?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled a little wetly. “It’s still fresh, but Dislocated Heart still means so much to me. So… I just wanted to say thank you.”

I held my hand out to her and squeezed her fingers when she took it. “Thank you for telling me, Letty. It means a lot. I don’t get to interact with people like this often, so….”

“Yeah, I can see that. And… and for what it’s worth, whoever you’re singing about? I hope they do see you one day.”

Somehow I hadn’t expected her to say that. I chuckled, feeling awkward as I let go of her hand. “Thank you. I doubt it, and the song’ll haunt me forever, but it can’t be worse than it was before I put it all into words, you know.”

She let out a small, sympathetic giggle. “Oh man, I didn’t even think about that. Hearing your own heartbreak everywhere you go….”

I shook my head. “It’s not great, no.”

I heard a noise in the kitchen, and that seemed to alert her to the real world again. She rubbed her forearms. Neither of us had grabbed a coat and the wind was definitely on the chilly side.

I smiled. “Let’s go back inside, yeah?”

“Yeah. And… thank you.”

“No, thank you.” It was a cliché, of course, but I did feel thankful.

On our way back, Hawk rode Humphrey in the front while Carter and Ramona rode next to Nelson and me. She didn’t care for my boy much, mostly because he wanted to be her friend a bit too much, but he’d learn and she’d forgive him for being such a boy.

“So…?” Carter prompted as we got to the path Ville, Gemma, and I had cleared and widened last week.

“I was wondering if I could borrow Marielle a little. I need someone to double check my work and I thought maybe she could either do it if she thinks it’s easy enough or recommend someone to work for me as a PA of sorts while I need them.”

Carter chuckled. “You know you’ve found a good employee when you’re constantly loaning them to others.”

Oh, right. She worked with Bodhi, too.

“I can figure it out myself—”

“No, no. I didn’t mean that. I’ll give you her number and you can text her. Ask her if she has time and how she wants to approach your thing and especially what she’ll charge.” His expression was amused and playful, letting me know it likely wouldn’t be money.

I laughed. “I’m sure I can come to an understanding with her when it comes to that.”

On Monday, I’d gotten Marielle’s blessing for calling the local demolition company. I really wanted to have locals work on my project as much as I could, given that the economy was what it was and Russell Crossing wasn’t a big town. They could use the work, I was sure, and only if we didn’t have someone in town, would I look farther.

Gardner and CO was the company I’d contacted after asking Jenn who she’d recommend. I was currently standing in the middle of the yard where I’d grown up, surveying the premises. I tried to be objective, but how could I be? There was a part of me that didn’t care whatsoever, but this place held some of my very first memories.

But the dog we’d had when I was really little had had its run over there. Mom’s sad little veggie garden around that corner. Dad had kept his car right over on that side of the yard. That was the window I’d thrown a rock at when I was five. There was still a goddamn crack in the corner of it, decades later.

I’d gotten the roof fixed for them. I’d offered to get new windows installed, but they didn’t want that. Eventually I’d bought them out and let them go, both physically and emotionally.

A truck rumbled up the driveway. I turned toward it, hopefully looking neutral enough. I wasn’t sure who exactly was arriving, but I had talked with a David something, and I remembered Mr. Gardner from my childhood. He’d been one of the men who Dad had always stopped to chat with when we went into town.

They parked in the middle of the yard—classy—and then got out of the vehicle. The driver was Mr. Gardner, a pot-bellied older man who lifted his Wranglers up and put his Stetson on his head like he was in goddamn Texas. He hadn’t changed a bit.

The younger man smiled at me instead of avoiding looking at me. That was nicer. He was tall, broad shouldered, and a little heavyset with warm brown eyes and shaggy dark hair. He walked over to me, the smile never dropping.

“Hey, I’m David Finch, we talked on the phone.”