Chapter 10 #2
Trace’s mouth twitched, the closest thing to a real smile he’d given her today. His boots crunching on fresh powder as he led her into the paddock beside the barn. “Hard not to, little fox.”
They worked for an hour. Goldie spent half the time lunging at phantom shadows, her paws thundering on frozen earth, kicking up clumps of dirty snow Kip had to dodge.
She stumbled over frozen ruts but refused to let go, the rope burning her palms raw.
At least the sting in her hands gave her something to think about besides the ache in her chest.
Trace’s voice stayed steady behind her, a metronome of commands, warm breath fogging in the cold.
Heel. Sit. Good girl. When Goldie finally dropped to her haunches, tongue lolling pink and happy.
Kip’s arms trembled from the effort. She made a mental note to get herself a gym membership for Christmas.
Sweat beaded at her temples despite the icy chill in the air. Trace took the rope, his fingers brushing hers, warm, deliberate, smelling of leather and pine. The contact burned her like a brand.
“Tell me about the night Lonzo died,” he said, casual as asking the weather, but his eyes were locked on hers, blue as glacier ice, cutting through her defenses with a gentleness that hurt worse than anger.
Kip’s breath caught, white in the cold, her heart stuttering like a misfiring engine. She’d known this was coming, but Trace knew Lonzo’s name. She thought back through every conversation, trying to remember when she’d let the name slip. She would remember because she never made mistakes like that.
Trace didn’t miss much, and the way he looked at her last night, when she told him she murdered someone’s son, made her wonder if he searched the internet after she fell asleep. She tried to dismiss the suspicion that he’d done some digging on her, but the idea stuck like a burr in wool.
She had to find out. “How did you know his name?”
Trace froze, then let out an angry sigh. “Boone found it when I asked him to look into the stranger that’s been bothering you at the saloon.”
He’d looked into the stranger? Just because the man was bothering her?
She should be upset. He had no right to do that.
But she wasn’t upset. She was relieved. As a matter of fact, she’d never felt more protected.
.. more cared for... more Daddied. She could so easily fall in love with Trace Daniels.
Could fall in love? You fell for him weeks ago.
And she had. He was everything she could imagine a Daddy being, and beyond that, he was a wonderful man. Her heart was going to break when she left, and she needed to get it over with so it wouldn’t shatter completely.
“Six years ago,” she started, her voice small enough to fit in a thimble, “I married a nice man named Lonzo Rios. We didn’t tell anyone, not even our families.
We’d been married four days and were heading back from his parents’ place in Starry Vale.
I promised to let him drive, but he got sick.
I convinced him to let me drive, even though it had started to snow.
Before long, we were caught in a snowstorm.
Thundersnow, actually. I’d never seen it before, and I never want to again.
Lightning cracked and thunder boomed like cannons.
I was terrified, but he wasn’t in any condition to take back over. ”
She swallowed, throat as raw as if she’d screamed for hours, the memory clawing up her throat. “I don’t drive much for a reason. Left-right confused me even on sunny days, but in the snow… stop signs blurred, and my hands shook so bad I could barely grip the wheel.”
Her voice took on a pleading tone, as if begging Trace to understand. And she was. “I... I wanted to help. I thought I could do it. Told myself love would make me brave.”
Goldie must have picked up something in Kip's tone because the puppy nuzzled her palm and then sat down by her feet.
Trace didn’t move, just listened, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, the brass buckle glinting in the dusty light. He was the picture of patience carved from granite and wrapped in shearling, but her heart sank at the fierceness burning in his eyes.
“We were pulling into this small town and came to a traffic light. I looked, more than once, I swear. I didn’t see anyone coming, and I had a green light.
I pulled into the intersection… I didn’t see it until—” Her voice cracked, as sobs gripped her throat, trying to force their way out.
“Then all of a sudden, there was metal crunching, and glass was flying everywhere. I had shards in my hair, my mouth, tasting copper and gasoline.”
Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her, holding her safe. “Hush, babygirl. That’s enough. You don’t have to say any more. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
But she couldn’t stop now. He needed to see how horrible she was. How reckless. And if she didn’t get it out now, she never would.
Still cradled in his arms, she kept going.
“I woke up in the hospital. Machines beeped, but to me, they sounded like sirens. And that hospital smell... God, I’ll never forget it.
.. that… stinging my nose. A nurse told me to stay calm, but I couldn’t.
Lonzo wasn’t there, and I knew something was wrong.
I was so scared. I couldn’t breathe because several of my ribs were cracked.
And my head was killing me. They said I had a concussion, so they couldn’t give me anything for the pain. ”
Trace lifted her and carried her into the barn. It was warm, but her shivers didn’t stop. “That’s enough, Foxy. You can tell me more later if you need to. I’ve heard enough.”
But she couldn’t stop herself from talking. “They said Lonzo didn’t make it. Tension pneumo—something, fractured pelvis, liver lac—words I didn’t understand then, still don’t, it didn’t matter what they called it. He was gone, and it was my fault. His parents...”
She burrowed into his arms, still shivering despite the barn’s warmth. “They knew it was my fault. Knew I’d killed him.”
“I’m sure that’s not what they thought.”
“It was!” she screamed. “They blamed me, and they were right. They said I killed him. That I should’ve stopped at the light. I should have seen the truck.”
She clutched his jacket, desperate for him to believe it wasn’t her fault, even though she knew it was.
“I didn’t remember the truck lights. Still don’t.
But I remember the sound. Like the world folding in half, like God crumpling paper.
And the silence. The silence afterward was even worse than the crash. ”
Trace’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble, the smell of coffee on his breath sharp, his hands clenched at his sides. “You were twenty-one.”
“Twenty-two,” she corrected, letting out a bitter, hollow, broken laugh. “Old enough to know better, young enough to think love fixed everything. Thought if I just drove carefully enough, got him home, it’d be okay. Thought I was helping. Thought I could do it.”
He held her closer, close enough, she could smell coffee and cedar soap and the faint scent of gun oil on his hands.
His shadow cast over her like a shield. “Listen to me. You did not kill him, Kip. The storm did. The truck that hit you did. You had a green light, and you looked for oncoming traffic. Lonzo’s death was a tragic accident.
That’s not being a murderer. That’s being human. ”
She shook her head, hair falling across her face like a curtain, tickling her cheek. “It doesn’t feel that way. I can’t sleep because when I do, I relive the wreck over and over in my dreams.”
“Feelings lie, babygirl. Facts don’t.” His voice was gentle and warm, but his eyes blazed with a fury not aimed at her.
“You’re here. Breathing. Surrounded by people who care about you.
That’s what matters. I may not be able to take those bad feelings away, but I’ll be damned if I let you carry them alone anymore. ”
Kip’s eyes stung, tears hot and spilling down her cheeks.
She wanted to argue, to drown in the guilt that had been her constant companion for six years, to push him away like she’d pushed everyone else.
But Trace’s gaze pinned her in the present.
Steady and kind, yet unforgiving to those who sought to hurt her.
It tore something open in her chest—a raw, aching wound she hadn’t allowed anyone to touch.
“Come on,” he said, tipping his hat back. The felt brushed his hair. He spoke more softly now, but no less firm. “That Christmas tree’s out there waitin’ on us. And Ruby’s chicken’ll be frozen if we dawdle.”
Kip nodded, and her Daddy took her hand, grabbing the picnic basket on his way to his truck. Maybe he was right. Maybe everything would work out. Maybe she could stay in the town she loved, with the Daddy of her dreams, and live the life she had always wanted. Maybe.