Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
I was fine.
I’d dealt with losing Logan. It wasn’t an overnight healing. It took years, long after marrying Dillon. I recall those late, quiet nights, rocking a fussy Isla to sleep, allowing my mind to wander for the briefest of moments to a place where she was Logan’s child instead.
Dillon often accused me of keeping him at a distance, of not letting him in. Once, in a particularly heated fight, he threw Logan’s name into the ring, a well-placed dagger to blame me—or Logan, I could never tell—for our failing marriage.
I denied it with my whole chest. I had nothing left for my childhood crush but fond memories, and there would never be anything to regain once he returned.
But what if Dillon was right? What if I gave him a second chance because I knew I’d never fall truly, madly, deeply in love with him, which meant he could never hurt me like Logan had?
Even as I sat on the hood of my car that night at the Silver Pines Motel, waiting for Dillon and Donna to leave their room so I could see the looks on their faces, there was a part of me that was relieved. I finally felt justified about ending a marriage that should never have happened in the first place. Sure, my ego took a bruising, and I likely gave Donna more grief for her part than I needed to. But in the end, Dillon’s infidelity was a blessing.
I spent the better part of last night staring at my bedroom ceiling fan as I pondered all this, in between waves of fresh, hot tears that came out of nowhere. I haven’t cried like that in years.
A horse gallops in the distance, and I recognize it right away as Biscuit by his white coat. But that’s not Isla on his back. She never rides him that fast. Nobody does. Jon won’t even attempt to climb on him again and, besides, I don’t see his telltale hat.
There’s only one person I know who would ride with such reckless abandon.
Despite this unbearable weight that’s crushing me with Logan’s return, I smile as I watch a glimmer of the boy I used to know race across the field.
Jim Dolan is hunched over his desk when I stroll into work early Monday. My fifty-two-year-old admin sergeant filled the role when my father was here, and there isn’t a better person suited to the job. He revels in paperwork—ensuring every facet of station compliance is met with vigor. I’ve half-jokingly told him he can’t retire until I do.
“Good morning.” I pause at his office door. “How was the weekend?”
“’Mornin’ to ya.” He salutes lazily. “Uneventful. You?”
I wouldn’t know where to begin. “Same,” I say before I walk on.
It’s quiet. Shift change has come and gone, and my platoon sergeant and constables are out patrolling the 13,000 square kilometers that make up our jurisdiction, leaving only Dolan and the two admin clerks in the station.
And Dan, I discover, as I enter the kitchenette that serves as our cafeteria and social gathering spot. It hasn’t changed since I was a kid, visiting my father here. Even the mundane beige paint color remains the same.
“What time did Benoit sober up enough to go home?” I ask by way of greeting, collecting a fresh mug from the rack and holding it out wordlessly.
“Oh, hey, boss. Was just about to get back on the road. It was late. Had himself a good sleep.” Dan pours piping-hot black coffee for me before filling his own travel mug. “Snores like a chainsaw.”
“So I’ve heard.” Our court guard, Nathan, describes it as an ungodly sound. “Did he complain about his tickets?” That had to have hurt, especially given his recent unemployment.
“Not a word. Called his wife to come get him. They could hear her shrieking through the phone.”
“Can’t blame her.” She would’ve had to fetch her car at the Bale House. “Anything else exciting?”
“Same old.” He dumps a heaping spoon of sugar into his coffee that makes me cringe. “Andy said a woman hit two deer last night on the highway. One of them was a big buck. Her truck’s totaled, but it sounds like she’ll pull through. And Collier’s cows were roaming the road again. Took hours to get them back in yesterday afternoon.”
I shake my head. “The amount of time we spend wrangling wayward cattle, we might as well hang up our guns and pick up lassos.” But if we don’t get involved, one of those cows is liable to cause a major car accident.
“Right? I’ll take cows over Benny the Hulk any day,” he murmurs through a sip. “Oh, also, Sue booked Shane Murphy last night.”
Murphy. That name haunts me all these years later. Every time it crosses someone’s lips, my thoughts lead directly to Logan, and it crosses a lot of lips around this station. In this case, it’s Ian Murphy’s youngest son, so the connection is that much more instant. “For what?”