Chapter 45
cade
The courtroom smells of old wood polish and stale coffee—just like it has every day these past few weeks, while we’ve sat waiting, listening, testifying during Violet’s sentencing hearings.
Sarah’s hand is in mine. I glance at her and catch the small lift of her chin, her braid pulled over her shoulder, the steel hard in her green eyes.
My Dove walked through hellfire to be here.
Judge Hamilton clears his throat, and his voice carries through the hushed room. “Violet Mercer, you’ve been found guilty of conspiracy, attempted murder, and obstruction of justice. On the charge of first-degree murder, this court sentences you to life imprisonment without parole.”
Sarah exhales sharply, like she’s been holding her breath for a decade. My thumb rubs slow circles across her knuckles.
There’s a flurry in the aisles packed with reporters. With phones banned inside the courthouse, they’re scribbling furiously, scrambling to relay updates to the crews waiting outside with satellite links to their newsrooms.
Violet stands stiffly, lips painted, hair immaculate, eyes empty as stone. No tears. No apology. Just a cold mask as deputies step forward and cuff her wrists.
Next to me, Mav mutters, “Good riddance,” low enough only I hear.
Aria lays a hand on her husband’s arm, eyes wet but proud.
Joy dabs at her cheeks with a handkerchief, sitting straight-backed and elegant, her free hand curled into Hunt’s.
Sarah leans into me. “It’s over.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, my heart aching. “It’s over.”
When the deputies lead Violet away, her heels click sharp against the tile. I don’t watch her go. I turn to Sarah and to the people who showed up for us, the ones who never once flinched, no matter how difficult the times got.
Mav catches my gaze and nods once. He’s the kind of friend a man thanks God for.
Joy squeezes Sarah’s hand as we file out, murmuring something soft—something only women can say and somehow make sound like a promise. If I said it to either of them, they’d call me a chauvinist. Which means I probably will, just to rile them up.
Outside, the September sun is bright—almost jarringly so after the dim courtroom.
Reporters crowd behind the barricades, shouting questions, cameras flashing.
I step closer to Sarah, shielding her with my body until we get into my truck.
It takes a couple of hours to drive home from Boulder.
She’s sleeping when I pull up the drive.
Blue Rock spreads wide before us; the barns glow gold in the late sun, the mountains protecting us, eternal.
Sarah looks peaceful in the passenger seat, braid loose from the long day, eyes closed. The courthouse is behind us. Violet is behind us. All that ugliness can stay there.
Before I can wake Sarah, the front door bangs open and Evie barrels out, Bandit barking at her heels. She’s in her new favorite cowboy boots, curls flying, her jeans and T-shirt, grass-stained.
“Daddy!” she squeals, eyes as big as silver dollars. “Mama K, you’re home!”
Evie’s started calling her Mama K a few months after Sarah began living with us. It was organic and came out of nowhere. The first time Evie called her that, Sarah cried—ugly cried—she was so happy.
Sarah wakes with a start and hurries out of the cab.
She crouches and opens her arms. Evie crashes into her, Bandit circling and yapping like he knows this moment matters.
My throat tightens watching them—my girls.
I take a long breath and get ready to get on with my life.
The plan’s simple. Evie and I’ve been waiting all week for this.
Tillie is on the porch, nodding at me with a broad smile, telling me that, yeah, Evie’s got what I need for the moment.
“Hey, Dove?” I call, voice low, casual.
She looks up, hair tumbling across her cheek, Evie still clinging to her neck. “What?”
“You gonna marry me?”
Her mouth falls open. “Cade—”
But before she can say more, Evie giggles and squirms free, running to me. She digs in her pocket and pulls out a little box, holding it up with both hands like treasure. “Ask her, Daddy! Ask her now!”
I drop to one knee right there in the dirt, take the box from Evie, and flip it open. The diamond catches the late afternoon sunlight, throwing sparks. I saved hard to buy this for her.
Then Evie surprises us both.
She kneels down, too, little knees in the dust, and looks at Sarah with her wide, shining eyes. “Mama K…will you be our family?”
Sarah’s hand flies to her mouth. Tears spill, quick and bright, and her smile breaks, wide and full of love.
I reach for her hand. “Marry me, Dove. Marry us.”
She laughs through her tears, shaking her head like she can’t believe this is happening, then nods hard. “Yes. Oh my God, yes.”
Evie claps with delight. Bandit barks again.
I slip the ring onto Sarah’s finger with hands that feel too unsteady for the job, then stand and pull both my girls into my arms.
Nothing in my life has ever felt this right.