It had to be the shock that caused him to flip back in time and act as if his wife were there. As if Maisey was going to stroll home from the school at any minute.
Bugsy and I shared a look. She’d grown up in town too. She knew Marjorie Campbell was dead, knew Maisey was not at school—high school, college, or otherwise.
“Will you stay with him?” I asked. “I’m going to call Maisey.”
Bugsy nodded, and I jogged to the wagon, searching for the phone I’d tossed aside. I didn’t want to call her through the emergency channels. I didn’t want her to panic and assume the worst.
She’d be distraught.
What I wanted to do was go pick her up and drive her here myself, but I couldn’t. I had a job to do. Mop up to continue. An investigation to start.
Most likely, it was a kitchen accident gone wildly wrong. But they’d need the paperwork completed for the insurance. Maisey had already mentioned her dad didn’t have the money to fix the place up. This would hurt more.
I didn’t have to scroll to find her name. It was already at the top of my list. Still, I paused before hitting the call button.
How was I going to break it to her that her dad was okay but that he wasn’t all there?
That he’d made a mess of their home while I’d been making a mess of her life with a lie.
I promised I’d fix it all the best I could.
Somehow, I’d make everything right.
Chapter Seven
Maisey
BROKEN IN
Performed by Ella Langley
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
HER: I don’t know what to do.
HIM: What’s wrong?
HER: Dad left this morning. Chelsea didn’t come home. And Mom is gone.
HIM: What?
HER: I came in to check on her before I went to sleep. But she’s…
HER: She’s…God. I can’t type it.
HIM: Dad and I are coming over. We’ll be right there, Maise. We’re coming.
PRESENT DAY
As I closed the door onTitan’s stall after rubbing him down, I reached into the bag I’d hung on a hook by his door and pulled out an apple. He softly nuzzled my palm as he took it, eyes bright with affection.
My emotions had been a problem for us in the corral today. I’d missed tricks I shouldn’t have, and it wasn’t just because I was rusty from lack of practice. If Titan hadn’t been as steady as a rock, I’d be leaving the ranch with a lot more bumps and bruises.
If I didn’t get my act together, I was going to fall on my ass during the Fourth of July show. I’d have to double my practices between now and then because I refused to embarrass myself or Fallon. Neither of us got to perform much anymore, mostly for special occasions, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make it the best show we’d done since we’d started performing as teens.
I ran a hand over Titan’s silky mane. The American Paint’s white-and-chestnut design that ran down his neck, over his body, and down his fetlocks was smooth and healthy. He’d never once missed a meal or day of training, and that was all due to Fallon and her family taking him on when Dad had sold him.
The ranch had saved my horse while Fallon and Beckett had saved me.