“What?” I whisper, frozen, not comprehending.
His gaze darts away from me then, almost afraid, flicking around the room wildly.
“Th-the gun. Where?”
“Which gun, Dad?” We’ve got tons of guns. Kinda necessary when you run a ranch this size, everything from his favorite rifle to my sawed-off shotgun that almost never leaves my saddle when I’m out for a ride. “My gun?”
“His gun!” he flares, starting to sit upright only to collapse again, wheezing. “Have…h-have to hide…his gun…”
That’s when I realize.
He’s not actually here with me.
He’s living in the past.
He’s down Nowhere Lane.
And this horrible dread sinks in.
Dad knows exactly what’s down there.
Oh, Jesus.
He knows, and he’s the one who…
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with my free hand, my eyes hot with tears—afraid for him, afraid of him, afraid of the truth. “Dad? Dad, what did you do?”
But he only sinks down into the bed, that distant gaze never leaving me. His brows knit together.
“The rock, Libby,” he whispers. His voice is oddly clear, almost eerie. “It was all for the damn rock.”
Then his eyes close, his head sagging to one side.
His hand goes limp in mine.
And those wheezing breaths that were background noise for weeks of my life, constant and steady and loud, just stop.
So does my heart.
He’s gone.
I clutch at him, pressing my fingers to his pulse, to his chest, over his mouth.
Useless. Even though his flesh is still warm through that parchment-thin skin, there’s no air against my palm, no flutter against my fingertips.
A loud cry bellows up from the bottom of my shattered heart as I fling myself against him and gather him up.
“Dad!”
* * *
Present
It hasn’t been so long that remembering that day doesn’t still make my eyes burn.
I can tell myself it’s the midday sun or the dust in the air all I want.
It’d be a lie.
I still miss him.
Even if I’m afraid to know the truth.
The love he gave me—gave both of us, Sierra included—was real, no matter who else he may have been.
I’ve just got to hang on to that with all my heart and soul.
Rubbing at my eye, I reach up to touch my necklace with its constellation spelled out in little red stars, and feel a touch of warmth welling up inside me.
Still, I feel heavy as I turn away from the gate and the fence, guiding Frost in a light trot across the even ground.
Out here, it isn’t as well-tended as the pastures visitors see. But it’s still got that tended feel to it that says a long time ago, my family grew crops. Way back when farmstead living was the only way of living if you weren’t a miner or a money changer or a straight-up outlaw.
Frost barely makes it a few steps, though, before I realize I’ve got company.
I’m a little surprised Reid Cherish, Mr. Suit and Tie Robot himself, drives a dusty old decommissioned military Jeep.
But I’m even more surprised to see him this far out on my property, standing on the other side of the fence on the barely-there dirt lane ringing my land, crisp and cool in his suit even under the high yellow sun.
Here comes emotional ping-pong again.
Only this time it’s flinging me between pure rage and terror.
He saw me through the gate.
Odds are he’ll have questions about that glimpse of road in the scrub just beyond it, vanishing into the mountain pass.
I don’t know if I should act casual to throw him off the trail or go all wolverine to chase him off.
So I just settle for not acting like I’m as heart-thumpingly scared as I am and send Frost kicking forward, scowling at Reid.
He doesn’t react.
Yeah, that’s gonna get annoying.
But what’s annoying me now is the way he looks at me from the other side of the fence. On Frost’s back I’ve got height on him, bulk on him, but he still carries himself like he’s the one in charge here.
And he looks at me like he knows something’s up.
Like he knows everything.
“What the hell do you want?” I growl at him. “Who said you could go traipsing around my place?”
He smiles thinly. “Traipsing. Hmm. Never heard a girl your age say that.” He cocks his head to one side while I bristle. “Technically, I’m not on your property, Miss Potter. I’m on the other side of the fence.”
“Except,” I say, narrowing my eyes and letting my hand fall to the shotgun in its saddle holster, “we built the fences a little in so we could run irrigation ditches. Better check your property map before you figure out where it’s safe to stand without getting shot for trespassing.”
His eyebrow ticks up a tiny bit. “You’d have to properly warn me first in order to legally shoot me for infringing on your property line.”
I thumb the hammer on the shotgun, eyes narrowing, but don’t pull it out of the holster just yet. “Pretty sure I just gave you fair warning.”