Page 127 of When the Smoke Clears

I hold up a finger and whisper, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She gives me a soft smile and disappears down the hallway.

“Anyway, we’re heading over to Dalton’s tonight for dinner. You should come.”

“Nah. I don’t want to intrude on a family dinner.”

“You’re family, Gabe. Without your help, we wouldn’t have been able to save Isla.”

“Still, it's my fault she took off to begin with.”

“Everything that happened on that mountain was due to Nathaniel’s choices,” I say. “We all know that. Hell, by now the whole town knows it.”

My heart aches at the truth. Nathaniel had hidden his true self from us, and yet, he was still our father—even mine.

Grief is a strange, twisted thing. You can mourn the loss of someone and cherish the good memories while understanding that their absence might make the world a safer place.

I’ve come to terms with it. My siblings and mother are still grappling with that reality.

“How’s it been around town?”

“Fine, I guess. If folks have private thoughts about Nathaniel, they’re not airing them to me. I’m planning on visiting some businesses when I get back to work, to see what’s really going on in people’s heads.” Gabe laughs softly—tight, ironic. “Rumor’s already on a treadmill, though. They’re saying everything from meth lab run-ins to high-stakes gambling, even prostitution.”

“Some of that might not be off by much,” I admit.

“So far, things are quiet. You’re a good sheriff. Just keep your flashlight on every dark corner, and eventually this will settle back into routine.”

“Man, I hope so,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “My whole family’s had enough.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gabe says. “I’m really sorry you’re dealing with all this.”

“Listen—come over tonight. Dalton’s Ranch, six o’clock. Everyone will want to see you.”

He hesitates. “All right, I’ll swing by.”

“Leave the ferret at home.”

By the time I reach the bathroom, steam billows through the cracked door.

I crack it open and catch a glimpse of Isla stepping out, her hair wound in a towel, droplets tracing lazy paths down her shoulders.”Damn,” I mutter. “I can’t believe I missed that.”

She peeks over her shoulder, water beads in her lashes. “You see me naked every day,” she teases, voice muffled by the towel.

I lean against the door frame, eyebrow arching. “And it’ll never be enough.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “Want to get back in there with me?”

She laughs, a bright, tinkling sound, then shakes her head. “Nope. I bought fresh veggies for a proper salad. I thought we could show up with something to impress your sister.”

My other eyebrow peaks. “Good luck with that. Not much impresses Savannah. But a real salad might earn us some points.”

She pads past me into the bedroom, humming. I shower and towel off quickly, pull on jeans and a clean T-shirt, then join her at the chopping block. The knife scrapes against the cutting board in rhythmic thwacks.

I lean over her shoulder. “You weren’t kidding.”

I point at the colorful pile: lettuce, ruby tomatoes, onion, cucumber slices, avocado, radish discs, and orange carrot batons. “My family is not going to know what hit them.”

She tosses a radish slice into her mouth and crunches it. “So,” she says between chews, “about work…”

“What were you thinking?”