Chapter 15
cade
Evie usually spends Thursday afternoons after kindergarten with Joy at her store. She loves it there, and Joy’s a saint for taking her. Tillie takes Thursdays off to drive her mother to dialysis, so she and Joy worked out this setup.
I’m grateful. Being a single parent is hard, and every bit of help matters. I feel damn lucky to have people like Joy in my corner.
The bell over Joy’s boutique door jingles when I walk in. Racks of denim and dresses give off a faint cedar-and-lavender scent, but the place is empty.
“Evie? Joy?” I call. Usually, they’re up front with Evie “helping” with inventory.
Joy pops out of the stockroom. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Where’s Evie? Normally, she’s sprinting at me by now, talking a mile a minute about whatever mischief she and Joy got up to, confessing to ice cream or cake like it’s a federal crime.
“Evie isn’t here—but I’m just about to get her.”
I lift an eyebrow. I trust Joy. If she left my girl somewhere, she had a reason—and it’s safe.
“We found a hurt dog.” She locks the stockroom and heads toward me. “Gonna close up for a bit.”
I set a hand on her shoulder. “Where is she?” I’ve got a guess, especially after she mentioned a dog.
Joy gives me a sheepish smile. “Now, don’t blow a gasket. The dog was hurt…and underweight.”
“And?”
She steps outside, waits for me, locks the door, and grins sheepishly. “We took him to the vet.”
My stomach tightens. “She’s at Sarah’s clinic?”
Joy flinches just a fraction. “She got attached to the dog and—”
“I don’t trust her,” I snap.
“You’re right—I should’ve brought Evie with me,” she says, nodding. “But she was—”
“Attached to the dog,” I finish, dragging a hand through my hair.
“And I trust Sarah. More importantly, Evie does, too.”
I look at her, equal parts frustrated and desperate. “Hell, Joy. I don’t want that woman around my kid.”
“Your kid has other ideas, Cade.”
I lean in close, anger throbbing just under the surface. “I need to be able to trust you when I leave my daughter with you. You can’t just hand her off to someone else.”
She narrows her eyes. “If it had been Elena, would you be mad?”
That’s happened—more than once. This is a small town. Sometimes I have to pick Evie up at the Wilders because she finagled a lesson out of Elena.
“Sarah isn’t Elena,” I grind out.
I spin and head down Main Street, boots rapping pavement, anger building with every step.
“Cade,” Joy cries out, but I ignore her.
I’m about to push through the clinic door when I spot them through the glass. Evie sits on a blanket on the floor beside a skinny dog. Sarah has her arm around my girl.
I open the door. Sarah looks up, swallows. She’s braced for me to blow—just not for the reason she thinks.
The sight guts me. Together, they look like they belong.
“Bandit,” Evie murmurs.
“I like it.” Sarah eases away from Evie. “Your daddy’s here.”
“Evie.” My voice comes out rough.
She beams, scrambles up. “Daddy! Dr. K fixed him. He was hurt, but now he’s gonna be okay.”
Sarah’s gaze flicks to mine, then away. I catch the hurt there before she shutters it.
What is she so sore about? She’s the one who blew us apart.
I want to yell, haul Evie out, slam the door. But how do you scold a kid for loving a dog? For loving…Sarah?
Evie drags me to the blanket. I crouch.
She lays her hand on the mutt’s ribs. “Daddy, can we keep him? Please?”
Joy was right—someone did a number on this dog. My fist wants a word with that someone. His coat’s patchy, brindle and black, white blaze across the face. One ear’s half-torn. He opens his eyes—one brown, one ice blue—and dares me to say no.
“Darlin’, I don’t—”
“Bandit’s last human wasn’t nice,” Evie cuts in. “But we will be. Right, Daddy?”
We’ve got ranch dogs and barn cats. But none at the house.
“He’s a fighter.” Sarah puts space between us. “He wasn’t cared for, but he still trusts.”
My lungs stall. She’s not just talking about the dog.
Bandit whimpers.
“Is he hurting, Dr. K?” Evie whispers.
“He’s just sleepy. Pat his head, and he’ll drift off.”
“Will he sleep here alone?” It’s obvious Evie hates that idea.
“No.” Sarah walks behind the counter like she needs the barrier. “I’ll take him home so I can monitor him.” She glances at me. “I don’t board animals here.”
Right. She’s a large-animal vet.
“But I can come tomorrow and help give him a bath, right?” Evie is practically bouncing.
I should say something. Nothing comes out. I’m watching my kid with the woman who should’ve been the mother of my children. It ought to feel wrong. It doesn’t.
“You named him Bandit?” I stroke Evie’s hair.
“‘Cause he’s got a mask,” she explains seriously.
Sure enough, darker fur crosses the mutt’s eyes.
“That’s a great name.” It’s not easy to form words around the knot in my throat. I’m talking to Evie, but I’m looking at Sarah.
Hunger tears through me—not just for her body, though I crave that like sin—but for something deeper, the kind that feeds a man’s soul. Hating her was easy when she was out of sight. But here, now, with that face and those eyes on me, I can’t make myself believe she lied.
Which leaves me staring down the other truth: that Landon raped my girlfriend. That’s harder to swallow than thinking she got drunk and fell into his bed.
And yet….
“Evie picked it,” Sarah says softly, smiling at Evie. “She wanted a strong name. A survivor’s name.”
My kid’s four and already wiser than most adults I know.
I scrub my face and exhale. She wants the dog. I want her to have the world. Tillie’s going to skin me for walking in with a new animal unannounced.
“If you don’t want him,” Sarah says hesitantly. “I’ll keep him. He’ll be safe with me.”
That twists something mean in me. The thought of her raising something Evie already loves…it’s too close to the line I’ve tried to keep.
Bandit lets out a tired huff. Evie eases down and cuddles up to him.
The doorbell tinkles, and Joy comes in then, all smiles. “Looks like the dog picked his family.”
I glare, but Evie’s looking at me with her gentle eyes, and the fight drains out.
“Fine,” I agree wearily. “After Dr. K says he’s ready. Shots first. And”—I look at Sarah—“he’s getting neutered.”
Evie squeals and hugs Bandit. He licks her ear and grumbles like a laugh.
Sarah’s gaze meets mine for half a heartbeat, then she looks back at the dog—at the girl—as if she didn’t just loosen another brick in my wall.
I can’t stand it. “Evie, I’ll be outside.”
I step out.
Joy follows.
“Hey, Cade.”
I stop by my truck and lean on the door, pulling in long breaths. Whatever happened in there, between that dog, Evie, and Sarah, I’m spun sideways.
Joy touches my arm.
“You don’t get it,” I say pathetically, eyes closed like darkness might help.
“I do.” Her hand smooths down my sleeve. “You’re clutching something that’s gutting you. And meanwhile, you want your daughter to hate someone who hasn’t earned it.”
“You weren’t there. You don’t know what she did.”
Joy eases me back against the truck door. I let her. I’m tired down to the bone, and it’s taking everything not to walk back in there and pretend Sarah is mine the way Evie is.
“I’ve gotten to know Sarah,” Joy says gently. “She works harder than anyone. She’s loyal and straight as a fence post. Answer me this: would animals trust her the way they do if she were this ugly person you’ve made her out to be?”
I’ve got no response to that—not one that makes sense to me.
The clinic door opens. The two people who’ve ever truly mattered to me step out. Sarah crouches to talk to Evie. I can’t hear the words. I don’t need to. Evie hugs her, and Sarah holds her close.
My heart stutters.
“Cade,” Joy says softly, “she wouldn’t lie about something like that. Women rarely do.”
Doubt, which has already sunk its claws into me, wedges deeper.
“I’m taking my kid home.” My voice is rough, like it hasn’t been used in a while.
“Okay.” Joy steps back. “Just…promise me you’ll stop punishing my friend for something that you don’t even know is true.”
I give her a measured look. “I’ll try.”
It’s half a lie. The vendetta that lived easily while she was a ghost is crumbling now that she’s flesh and light again.
Part of me knows—maybe always has—that she didn’t lie. Which makes Landon exactly what I don’t want him to be. And it makes me a man who chose the easy story over the hard truth.
And that brings up the most painful question of all.
Am I dodging the truth because of what it says about Landon—or because of what it says about me?