North Country(120)

Maybe she has, but I haven’t. “I’m sorry.” This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I came back.” That’s what I did. None of this would be happening if I’d gone to a halfway house somewhere far away and left everyone to continue on with their lives.

A stretch of silence answers, and then her slender, naked body shifts to drape over me. Her lips hover inches from mine in the darkness. “And I wake up every morning so thankful that you did. Got it? We all do.” She punctuates that with a deep kiss that distracts me from my brooding.

But this sense of foreboding lingers, still.





“There!” Jon points to the far corner of the pasture, for both my benefit and Egan’s. The boy has been spending most of his days with us while my mother juggles the others and the coming busy season and Sarah lies in bed, designing marketing plans for the next ten years while she waits to go into labor.

I squint against the bright morning sun to follow his sightline.

Jon shakes his head. “You know, that hat I gave you helps.”

“It looks so good on my wall, though,” I mutter—my standard answer every time he brings it up—as I search the pasture until I spot the newborn calf wobbling on its legs.

“Baby!” Egan declares .

“Yeah, buddy, that’s brand new. Born within the last half hour, probably.” To me, he says, “Another one for Mak to tag.”

“That guy is certifiable.” The lanky ranch hand approached a newborn calf to tag it the other day, and I said a little prayer that I wasn’t going to watch a man get gored or stomped by the mother hovering next to it.

“You won’t see me doing that,” Jon agrees with a chuckle. “Mak and Holt used to tag all of them by hand, back when the herd was smaller. Now, it’s better to do it during spring checkup when we’ve already got them in the chute.”

“What’s the red dog count at now?”

“Thirty-four. None stillborn yet.” He knocks on the nearby wooden fence post.

“And what’s the pool at?”

“Almost a grand, with two three-way splits. What do you say, Egan? You gonna win again?” He tickles the little boy’s stomach.

I smile at the childish laughter as the bisons’ tails swish.

“Hey! Look who’s coming!” Jon juts his chin behind me, adding, “Haven’t seen Holt on a horse in years.”

Sure enough, Copper canters toward us, with my father in the saddle.

“Grampa!” Egan exclaims, struggling to be free of his father’s arms.

“Nice try.” Jon holds tight as he calls out, “Another red dog!”

“That’s great.” But nothing about my father’s expression says that. His eyes settle on me. “You were right, Logan. Wyatt just called. Cops showed up with a warrant for Jack’s boat and truck.”





Chapter 45





Emery




Little green tips poke out from the cold earth in the border garden that runs the length of the front porch. My mother planted those tulips and daffodils. Each year they multiply, and I hear her voice reminding me that I should dig them up, divide the bulbs so they’ll thrive. But I don’t.

Because my mother planted them there.

I’m admiring this earliest sign of spring when Dillon’s sedan moves slowly up the driveway. Familiar tension slides into my body as I prepare for verbal combat.

Isla is behind the wheel. She hops out and moves fast for her bag as Dillon exits the passenger seat. “See you this weekend!”

“Hey!” He comes around the front of the car, still dressed in a button-down and slacks. “Where’s my hug!”

Isla reluctantly doubles back, offering him a limp, quick embrace before darting up the stairs.

“Wow. That’s all I get?” he hollers but his expression is soft as he watches her vanish behind the door.

“Did she eat?” I ask.

“She did. Donna made that chicken dish she loves so much.”

I smile. That was my father’s famous secret casserole. The first time Isla came home and told me that Donna had served it, I wanted to storm their kitchen and reclaim the recipe. I was so furious with Dillon for passing on my family secrets. But now I see it for what it was—Donna’s attempt to bring my child comfort. “And sleep?”

“As much as any teenager does, I guess?” He shrugs. “I poked my head in and heard snoring.”

“Good.” Okay, then. “Has she heard anything yet? About Jack Barrow?”

Dillon shakes his head. He knows about the warrant. I told him.

I breathe a sigh of relief, though there’s none to be found in the situation. If Terry and Schmidt got a judge to sign off, it’s because they found cause. “Have a good night.” I move for the steps.

“You had to distance yourself from Holly’s case?” Dillon stoops to pet Duke’s head, ignoring my dismissal.

I’d ask where he heard that, but frankly, I don’t care. “Honest to God, if you are here to lecture or otherwise give me grief—”

“It was the right thing to do,” he interrupts. “Given how close you are to all of them.”