Chapter 26 Saint #2
Still nothing. Calder’s eyes meet mine over Wayne’s shoulder, something desperate in them. His face is turning purple.
He’s dying.
The realization hits me hard. For a flash of a second, I wonder if he dies here and now, if that would make things easier for me.
This man, who took everything from me and somehow became everything to me, is dying in front of my eyes.
No. Even if Wayne were to let me go, which I doubt, I’d never be free of Roman.
I bring the butt of the gun up against his skull to send him to the side away from Calder, and then resettle it against my shoulder and pull the trigger. There’s not even a moment to think, to consider again.
The blast is deafening. The shotgun kicks against my shoulder. Wayne jerks, then crumples to the floor. Silence falls, broken only by Calder’s ragged breathing as he slumps against the wall, one hand at his throat. The smell of gunpowder and blood clings to the air.
I stand frozen, staring at Wayne’s body. At what I’ve done.
“Saint.” Calder’s voice is hoarse. “Saint, look at me.”
I tear my eyes away, finding Calder’s ice-blue gaze. He moves toward me slowly, hands raised like I’m a frightened animal.
“Give me the gun, sweetheart.”
I don’t resist as he gently takes it and sets it aside. My body is shaking, the reality of what just happened crashing over me.
“I killed him.” The words come out hollow. “I killed a man.”
“You saved my life.” Calder pulls me against him, one arm around my waist, the other cradling my head. “You did what you had to do.”
I press my face against his chest, breathing him in—cedar and leather and sweat. His heart hammers against my ear, proof that he’s alive.
“What’s going to happen now?” I ask.
He strokes my hair gently. “Now we call Kade. He’ll take care of the body.”
“And then?”
“Then we go into town. Create an alibi. Be seen in places.”
I blink, struggling through the fog of shock. “You want to go out? After—after this?”
“We need to be seen. Need witnesses to say we were nowhere near here when Wayne disappeared.” His voice is calm, practical. “Can you do that? Can you hold it together?”
I look down at Wayne’s body, then back at Calder, at the red ring forming on his throat.
“Yes,” I say, finding strength I didn’t know I had. “I can do it.”
He presses his forehead against mine, unexpectedly tender. “That’s my girl.”
The possessive words should bother me, but right now, they’re a lifeline. A reminder that we’re in this together.
“I need to change,” I say, checking for blood spatter. Somehow, there isn’t any.
“Good. I’ll call Kade.”
I pause. “Will he…? Will your brother…?”
“He’ll handle it,” Calder says simply. “No questions asked. That’s what family does.”
I go to the bedroom, close the door, and lean against it, just breathing. I took a life.
Part of me—the girl I used to be, Pastor James’s daughter—is screaming somewhere deep inside.
But a newer, harder part, the part forged in survival, the part that wears Calder’s ring and bears the Bishop brand, feels only a grim satisfaction.
Wayne would have killed Calder. Would have destroyed everything.
Worse, if he’d managed to kill Calder, he’d have come for me, and if there’s anything I’ve learned in recent weeks, it’s how to survive.
I change quickly, pulling on a simple gray dress. Tights and boots. By the time I emerge, Calder is off the phone.
“Kade’s on his way,” he says. “We need to be gone before he gets here.”
We step carefully around Wayne’s body. I don’t look at his face as we pass.
Outside, the air feels cleaner. Calder helps me into his truck, his hand lingering on my arm longer than necessary.
As we drive away, I feel something settle inside me. The girl I was is truly gone, lost to blood and survival and impossible choices. I might be the light in the Bishop darkness, but I sure as hell won’t be extinguished by the likes of some jerk like Wayne.
Calder parks in front of the hardware store. His hand settles at the small of my back as we walk in. For once, I don’t fret over the touch. About what it means, and what I want.
“Mr. Peterson’s been asking about you,” he says. “We’ll stop here, then the feed store, the bakery. Places with witnesses.”
I understand the strategy. Create a narrative. Be seen. Establish that we were here, far from a dead man in our living room.
We make our rounds through town, smiling and chatting like nothing’s wrong. I’m surprised at how easily the lies come, how natural my fake laugh sounds.
We’re passing the coffee shop when I see her: Allie, her copper hair wild as always, spotting me before I can look away.
“Saint?” She freezes, eyes widening. “Oh my God, Saint!”
She rushes toward me, throwing her arms around me in a fierce hug.
“Where have you been? I’ve been going crazy trying to reach you!”
“I’ve been at the ranch,” I say, forcing a smile. “With Calder. My husband.”
Allie’s eyes flick to Calder, skepticism written across her features. “Yeah, I heard about the shotgun wedding. Didn’t even have time to send an invitation to your best friend?”
“It was… sudden.” I glance at Calder, silently pleading for help.
“Family affair,” he says smoothly. “Roman’s orders.”
Allie snorts. “Right. Roman Bishop, famous for his wedding planning skills.” She hooks her arm through mine. “Come on, I need coffee with my best friend.”
I look at Calder, uncertain. After a moment’s hesitation, he nods.
“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Need to check on something at the bakery.”
Inside the coffee shop, Allie studies me, searching for clues.
“Okay, spill,” she says. “What’s going on? One minute, you’re missing, and the next, you’re Mrs. Calder Bishop? And don’t you dare lie to me. I know this ain’t all roses. Or have you forgotten that we’ve been friends since second grade?”
I can’t tell her the truth—about Martin, the kidnapping, the brand on my hip, and certainly not about Wayne.
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” She leans closer. “I’m going to need more than that, Saint. You disappeared for days. Then you reappear, and you’re conveniently married to the oldest son of the family that runs, and terrorizes, this town. I think you can uncomplicate it for me.”
“The small things don’t matter. I’m happy now,” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue as I say it. “We all go through changes in life. Maybe it was my turn.” And it’s not completely a lie. It’s been hard, sure, but I don’t hate Calder and whatever we’ve started building together.
“Changes?” Her eyes search mine. “You look… different. Something in your eyes wasn’t there before.”
“Marriage changes people,” I say, missing lightness by a mile.
“So does Stockholm syndrome.” She takes my hand. “Saint, if you’re in trouble, if he’s hurt you, tell me. My mom can help. She’s got connections outside the valley.”
For a moment, I contemplate telling her everything. Then I think of the lengths Roman went to try to remove me and decide against it. I won’t endanger Allie for any of the ease it might bring to my conscience.
“I’m not in trouble,” I say. “Calder’s been good to me. Better than you’d think.”
She studies me, then sighs. “You’d tell me if you weren’t okay, right? Promise me.”
“I promise.” Another lie, but necessary.
“Good. Because if he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. If she only knew what I’ve already done for him, and what he’s done to me.
We’re still talking when Emma Porter, Allie’s mother, walks up to Calder for a moment down the sidewalk.
Her eyes land on us immediately, narrowing, as she speaks low and slow.
Calder responds, and then Emma leaves him, eyes hard, jaw set.
“Allie,” she says sharply. “I need you. Now.”
Allie rolls her eyes. “Mom, I’m catching up with Saint.”
“I can see that.” Emma’s gaze moves to me, cold. “Mrs. Bishop. Did Allie tell you she’s going to be getting married soon?”
“What?” I try to hide the shock, but that proves difficult.
The way she says my married name makes it sound like a disease. And then I parse what she just said.
“You’re getting married?” I demand, clutching Allie again.
She ducks her chin, swallows hard, and glances away. “Sucks not knowing something so important about your best friend, huh?”
I flinch and glance over to see Emma staring at me expectantly.
“Mrs. Porter,” I reply neutrally. “Nice to see you.” When I glance at Allie to question her statement, she shakes her head once, softly. So I let it go.
“Is it? I wonder, given what your new family has done to this town. To my family.”
I hold her gaze, feeling something harden inside me. “We aren’t your enemy, Mrs. Porter.”
Emma laughs. “You’re a ‘we’ now, huh? Does your father approve of this… relationship?”
“He respects my choices.”
“I’m sure he does. Just as I’m sure your sudden marriage has nothing to do with the fact that Roman Bishop held the mortgage on your father’s church. A mortgage that was suddenly paid right around the time you started wearing that ring.”
The blood drains from my face. Calder didn’t tell me. A tiny voice in the back of my head adds it to the list of things he’s keeping from me.
Before I can respond, Calder appears, his expression thunderous.
“Mrs. Porter,” he says, deceptively calm. “Hope you’re not giving my wife a hard time.”
Emma straightens. “Just a friendly chat, Calder.”
“Didn’t look friendly from where I was standing.”
“We were just leaving anyway,” I say, standing quickly. “Allie, it was good to see you.”
Outside, Calder’s jaw is tight, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing important. Just being her.”
He studies me a moment, then nods. “We should keep wandering, talk to folks.”
As we walk, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every pair of eyes seems to follow us, judging, wondering about the preacher’s daughter who married a Bishop.
I wonder what they’d think if they knew what I did today.
If they’d be shocked. Or if they’d understand that in this town, survival sometimes means crossing lines you never thought you would.
I glance at Calder, at the bruises forming on his neck, at the way he positions himself between me and potential threats.
He catches me watching him. “What?”
“Nothing.” I thread my fingers through his, a gesture unthinkable a few weeks ago. “Just thinking about how things change.”
His expression softens slightly. He squeezes my hand, then leads me toward the butcher shop and whatever comes next in this dangerous game.
Because that’s what survival is in Black Hollow Creek—a game with rules written in blood, played by people who’ve been hurt too much to remember what it was like before the pain.
And I’m learning to play it better than anyone ever expected.