Page 52 of Savage Heart

“You’re allowed to want it,” he adds. “Even if it didn’t come when it should’ve. Given her state of mind, she probably won’t ask for your forgiveness, but forgiving her would be for your sake anyway. It might give you some peace.”

I let my head fall back against the seat, staring up at the sky.

Otis straightens. “I vote we go get pie. We need something sweet.”

A small laugh slips out of me. “You know . . . I think you’re right.” I reach out and take his hand. “I love you, Otis.”

“I love you too, honey girl.”

He drives us to Prairie Rose because it’s the best pie in town. Kell comes over to hug us, and I wave at Russell through the kitchen window.

This has been a hard week. I’m slapped in the face with loneliness without Linc at home. I’ve had confrontations with the enemy. Survived a panic attack. I’ve been forced to face the past whether I want to or not.

But I’m still standing. If I wasn’t resilient, I wouldn’t have survived so long in this town. I have the right people by my side.

I am not alone.

That’s what I keep telling myself. I think I’m finally starting to believe it.

When I get home there’s a note from Lincoln’s brother, Brandon. Not really a note at all, actually. It’s addressed to me with a hundred-dollar bill inside. Paper is wrapped around it, and on the outside, it says, For Linc.

Occasionally he’ll send some cash for his nephew. I suppose I should be grateful that he sends anything, and I am, but I’d much prefer that he give Linc some time. After Lincoln’s accident and his dad’s death, Brandon moved to Jackson Hole and rarely ever shows his face in Ironwood.

It’s just as well. I have too many bad memories tied to Brandon now.

Chapter 13: Marshmallow Sugar High

Maverick

The board on the barn says Three Days Left in block letters. Three days left of dust-streaked kids and the sound of boots trampling around the bunkhouses and shaking things up.

As much as I was dreading camp, it’s actually been pretty fun. I won’t be telling Charlie that anytime soon, though. She’s worked me to death.

It’s hard being responsible for all these children. They look at me like I’m a cross between a cowboy and a superhero, which is comical and sweet, but I’m used to riding solo or with a bunch of men who aren’t hanging on my every word.

I clap my hands once, and the chatter dies down.

“All right,” I say. “Helmets on. We’re doing something a little different today.”

They stare at me with wide eyes, and someone squeals.

“What’re we doing?” one of the younger boys asks.

I grin. “You’re learning how to move cattle.”

A loud woo-hoo starts immediately.

Since most of the kids have either done this camp before or already know how to ride, we decided last night that they could handle this.

We ride out just after nine. The sky is so blue it doesn’t look real. The herd’s been grazing the upper pasture all morning—they’re used to people, but big enough that the kids will feel the rush of excitement when moving them. When we get up there, Cameron’s leaning against the fence, arms crossed, pretending he’s not enjoying the hell out of this. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, he looks like a cocky son of a bitch.

“You sure about this?” he asks as we come up.

I tip my hat back. “They’re ready.”

Grady’s on the far side, perched on the rail with a coffee. He appears to be laid back, but he’s tracking every detail—every horse, every kid. Charlie’s down by the gate, putting the kids into loose groups. Mounted on Cleo, Billie’s having so much fun, she looks like one of the kids.

“Okay,” I call. “Watch me. It’s important that we don’t panic if one steer gets out of line. You’ll just angle your horse, like this.”