Chapter 23
Madeline
Madeline waited in the hotel room as long as she could but finally couldn’t stand it any longer. She wanted to go home, sleep
in her own bed, see Pip and the horses.
When the Uber pulls up in front of the house, she steps from the back of the car and shivers. The night had snuffed away any
remaining heat of the day, and the night air is cool against her skin. She rubs her arms to generate heat and hears a soft
nicker and the shuffling of hooves. The moon is a milky yellow, casting an anemic glow over the ranch, and she squints, trying
to see into the dark. Parked near the stables is a truck. More specifically, Lucy’s truck. Wes must have arranged to have
the tire fixed. And hooked to the back of it is a horse trailer.
“Son of a bitch,” Madeline murmurs, shaking her head. Lucy really did plan on taking Sonnet with her when she left. A light
burns in the stable. It’s probably Wes checking in on the animals. She’s nervous at what he’s going to say at her sudden appearance.
Cautiously, she approaches the house, stopping at the bottom of the porch steps.
It looks abandoned, forlorn against the shadow of the mountain, and Madeline can see that someone has swept away the broken glass and boarded up the broken windows, but already there is a brand-new door in place.
She tests the knob and finds it locked and knows that the back door will most likely be locked too, so she’ll have to go find Wes in the barn or bother Trent.
“Fancy meeting you here,” comes a disembodied voice from the dark.
Fear clamps a tight fist around Madeline’s heart. She nearly tumbles backward down the steps before grabbing onto the porch
railing and steadying herself.
“Jesus,” Madeline says, pressing shaking fingers against her chest. “What the hell are you doing out here in the dark?” In
the weak moonlight, Madeline sees Lucy swaying gently on the porch swing. She’s holding something in her right hand, dark
and shiny in the moonlight. A gun, the barrel pointing straight up toward the porch ceiling. Madeline’s legs are weak with
fear as she watches Lucy lift the gun and tip it toward her lips.
Not a gun, Madeline realizes, relief flooding through her body. Lucy is holding a bottle of Sam Adams.
Lucy shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s a nice night.”
“Where’s Wes?” Madeline asks. She hates that she needs to ask her sister about the whereabouts of her own husband.
“Doing Wes things,” Lucy says, taking a long pull on the beer. Once she swallows, she scoots over on the porch swing as if
inviting Madeline to sit beside her. “Don’t you want to guess what your dear husband is up to?”
Madeline does not. She does not want to play these stupid head games with her sister. “Listen, Lucy, I’m tired. Are you going
to tell me where Wes is or not?” she asks, arms crossed.
“Fine,” Lucy says, her voice thick. “They found Dix,” she slurs.
“Wes drove to Salt Lake City to see him. Isn’t that a refreshing concept?
Someone looking out for their sibling?” That’s when Madeline spies the beer bottles at Lucy’s feet.
She’d been out here for a while. “Come sit down, Mads,” Lucy says, patting the space beside her.
Madeline fights the urge to settle next to her sister on the swing, to lay her head on Lucy’s shoulder, like she did when she was little.
“Did Wes say when he was coming home?” Madeline asks, begrudgingly. “My phone got lost in the explosion,” she adds by way
of explanation as to why she hasn’t gotten this information from Wes himself.
“He said tomorrow, if all goes well.” Lucy adds another bottle to the pile at her feet. She checks the watch on her wrist.
“Make that today.”
“Christ,” Madeline says, rubbing her forehead. “He has a head injury, Lucy. How could you let him go off on his own like that?
He shouldn’t be driving. He could hurt someone.”
Lucy shrugs. “He insisted. And you, better than anyone, know how stubborn Wes can be. If it’s any consolation, he seemed fine.
But what do I know?”
“Listen,” Madeline says, her voice taking on a resigned note, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything that happened back home.
I said some things I shouldn’t have. Can’t we just forget about it?”
Lucy opens her mouth to interrupt, but Madeline doesn’t give her the chance. “You can have Sonnet back. And I’ll talk to a
lawyer, find a way to get you your share of the money. I know Dad left the money and horses to me”—Madeline can’t help but
get that dig in—“but I also know he wouldn’t want this for us either.”
Lucy shifts in her seat, planting her feet on the porch floor so that the swing stops swaying. She leans forward, elbows on
knees, and looks up at Madeline. “You know that my dad’s trust is rock solid. Do you think you can give me a horse, my horse
for that matter, and I’ll just go away? Uh-uh,” Lucy says shaking her head. “You said things I’ll never, ever be able to forget.
And you know me. I can hold a grudge.”
Madeline holds up a hand. “Come on, Lucy, I’m offering you a way out. I’m giving you Sonnet, I’ll get you the money. Why can’t that be enough?”
“You know why,” Lucy says, grabbing Madeline by the wrist, the slur in her voice replaced with steel. “And who the hell is
this Mellie person? And why is she staying here?”
“Mellie?” Madeline says, shaking off her sister’s hand. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know, but she’s around here somewhere,” Lucy says. “Do you really think it’s a good idea inviting a stranger into
your house at a time like this?”
Madeline hates to admit that Lucy is right. Having Mellie here when things are so chaotic isn’t helping her stress levels,
but what else could she do? The poor girl is all alone and pregnant with nowhere to stay. “She’ll only be here for a few days.
Just until she finds a different apartment.”
“Uh-huh,” Lucy says, nodding her head. “Right. But my advice would be to send her on her way as soon as possible.”
“Everything okay?” comes a voice from the dark. Madeline lets out a breath, relieved to see the silhouette of Trent standing
a few yards away. Madeline has always liked Trent. He’s a hard worker, is at once gentle but firm with the horses, always
has their best interest in mind. She worries about him as a sister would a brother, as she has heard he can be reckless in
his personal life—a hard drinker, messy relationships—but he always gets the job done. She also thinks Trent may have a bit
of a crush on her.
Lucy gives Madeline’s wrist a final squeeze before releasing her. Trent’s eyes flick between the sisters. “Madeline?” Trent
prompts.
“Everything’s fine,” she replies.
Lucy rises from the swing, her foot banging against the empty beer bottles, sending them scattering. “Yes, everything is fine.
Everything is always fine with Madeline Drake,” Lucy says, her voice sharp with sarcasm. “I’m going to bed.”
Lucy brushes past her and moves down the porch steps, and Madeline can feel Trent’s eyes on her. Her face burns with embarrassment.
“You okay?”
“I’m okay.” Together they step from the porch and walk toward the rear of the house. Trent rests a hand lightly on Madeline’s
elbow, and she’s grateful for his proximity. The last few days have left her reeling, bereft, bruised, and strangely alone.
Madeline feels a surge of anger toward Wes. He should be here.
At night, even in mid-May, the smell of snow can drift down from the mountains, and Madeline breathes it in—the crisp, clean
air that has replaced the sooty stink from the explosion. A wolf howls in the distance, and the spell is broken. Madeline
rushes to the door.
She tugs on the sliding glass door, half expecting that Lucy has locked her out of her own home, but it slides open with ease.
“Come on in,” Madeline invites, and Trent follows her inside. She flips on the lights. Her house feels strange to her now,
different. A man has died here. A woman has died just outside these windowpanes. “I’ll be right back. I just want to grab
a sweatshirt.”
She moves to the stairs; the landing above is curtained in darkness. Madeline stops short as she puts one foot on the first
step. Upstairs is where Dalton Monaghan died. Their baby’s nursery is splashed with his blood.
“Madeline?” Trent says, watching her with concern.
She can’t move. Her foot is glued in place. Madeline knows that Dalton can’t hurt them any longer, that the danger has passed.
But has it?
Madeline looks to Trent helplessly, and he seems to read her mind.
“Come sit down for a minute.” He reaches for her hand and guides her to the great room.
His fingers are strong and warm, but Madeline is hesitant to enter that space, doesn’t want to see the carnage Dalton left behind.
But Trent gently pulls her along. “It’s okay,” he murmurs.
And to her surprise, it is. There is a new door and all the broken glass and wrecked furniture is gone.
The only remnants of the carnage are the boarded-up windows.
“You did all this?” Madeline asks.
“Yeah,” Trent says, almost shyly. “I figured the last thing you needed to come home to is a family of raccoons.”
“Yes, the door, but you cleaned up all of this,” Madeline sweeps her hand over the space. “That was above and beyond. Thank
you so much.” Madeline settles onto the soft leather sofa, and the dull ache in her belly eases.
“The police released the scene earlier today, and that girl Mellie moved back into the house. Was that okay?” Madeline nods.
“And your sister did too,” Trent says, and from the stiffness in his voice Madeline knows that Lucy hasn’t left much of an
impression on him. “Want me to kick her out?” he asks, and Madeline can’t help but smile.
It’s tempting, but she’s too tired to face more drama tonight. “No, thanks,” Madeline says. “Lucy will be moving on in the
next few days.” She hopes this is true.
“I don’t trust her,” Trent says, sitting on the edge of a chair across from Madeline.
She gives a little laugh. “You’ve caught on early. You’re smarter than most.”
“I’m serious, Madeline,” he says. “I caught her in the stable office earlier,” he says.
At this Madeline sits up straight. “My office? What was she doing?”
“Just looking around, but it was weird. She was acting squirrelly,” Trent says, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning
forward. “I’m telling you, she’s up to something.”
Had Lucy been in her desk? She must have found the hidden compartment in the drawer. God, how embarrassing.
Trent is eyeing her with concern. “You all right?”
“The baby is kicking up a storm,” Madeline says, trying to conceal her worry. “She must be hungry.” She. They are having a little girl. The thought floods her with excitement, worry, fathomless love.
Trent hops up from the chair. “Want me grab you something to eat?”
“Oh, no,” Madeline says, but it’s half-hearted. She is hungry and thirsty and beyond exhausted. The baby gives another jab
to her kidneys, and Madeline lets out a soft gasp. Standing above her, Trent looks so worried it’s almost comical. “Want to
feel?” Madeline asks. She doesn’t wait for his answer, she pulls his hand, rough and calloused, toward her and lays it on
her midsection. The baby rolls and swirls all elbows and knees in search of a comfortable position.
Trent’s face lights up. “That’s amazing,” he breathes out. Their faces are so close that she can feel his breath on her cheek.
It is, Madeline thinks. It is amazing. This little being floating beneath her rib cage, unaware of the turmoil happening outside
her insulated world. Wes should be the one here with her right now, the one with his fingers splayed across her stomach. Trent
must be thinking the same thing, because he pulls his hand back and stands upright as if burned.
“Your fingers are cold,” he says.
“A little,” she admits. She looks around the room for the chenille throw usually tossed over the arm of the sofa, but it’s
nowhere to be seen.
“Here,” Trent says, slipping off the flannel shirt he’s wearing over his T-shirt and wrapping it around her shoulders.
Madeline tries to murmur her thanks, but she’s so very tired.
“Hey,” comes a voice from the shadows.
“Mellie,” Madeline says, jerking to attention. “How are you?”
“Well, you two look cozy,” Mellie says, coming into the room. “And I should be asking you that.”
“I’m good.” Mellie looks much better than she had when she first arrived on Madeline’s doorstep. The grime and soot have been
washed away, and instead of the hospital scrubs she’s dressed in Madeline’s clothes—soft, wide-legged cotton pants and one
of her old Iowa Hawkeyes sweatshirts.
Her surprise must be obvious, because Mellie blushes. “I grabbed them from the laundry room. I hope that was okay. I don’t
have any of my clothes.”
“No, it’s fine,” Madeline says, but a new unease tugs at her. “Borrow what you need.”
Mellie smiles her thanks. “I’m glad you’re back. You look exhausted.” Mellie’s eyes flick toward Trent. “I bet you’ll be glad
to be in your own bed tonight.”
“I am,” Madeline says. “It’s good to be home.”
Trent gets to his feet. “It is getting late,” he says. “Madeline, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Nell has a cut on her hind quarter
that you’ll want to take a look at.” He gives a curt nod to Mellie and is gone.
“I should get to bed too,” Mellie says, with a yawn, then pats her stomach. “This little guy saps all my energy. See you in
the morning.”
“See you in the morning,” Madeline echoes and watches as Mellie retreats into the shadows and out of sight.
Madeline doesn’t mind that Mellie borrowed some clean clothes to wear, but she hasn’t worn that sweatshirt in weeks and hasn’t
fit into those pants since she was three months pregnant. Mellie didn’t find them in the laundry room. They were both hanging
in the back recess of Madeline’s bedroom closet. So why is Mellie lying? And what was she doing in Madeline’s bedroom?