"Good morning." She doesn't wait for an invitation, just walks past me into the cottage. "I brought breakfast. Have you eaten?"
In the last five days? No, I have not. "Not really."
"I figured." She sets the basket on the counter and starts pulling out muffins—blueberry, banana nut, something that smells like cinnamon and apples. "Sit down. I’ll bring it over to you."
I sit at the small kitchen table while she moves around my space.
The table is covered with folders and papers—the case I've been building against Senator Martinez. I start gatheringthem quickly, not wanting her to see the evidence I've compiled. It may not work out and I can’t bear to get her hopes up.
She sets a plate with two muffins in front of me and takes the chair across from me. "Eat," she commands, and I obey because saying no to Sarah Halloway feels impossible.
The muffin is still warm, buttery and perfect. I didn't realize how hungry I was until the first bite. Funny how heartbreak makes you forget basic things like eating. It’s like my body's too busy dealing with pain to remember it needs fuel.
Sarah watches me eat with the satisfied expression of a woman who knows food is love in its most basic form. "I wanted to talk to you about something."
I swallow, bracing myself. "Okay."
"You said you were staying until Wyatt came home or we finished this fight with the government." She gestures vaguely toward the ranch beyond the windows. "Well, Wyatt's home now, and he seems to have his head on straight. But I'm not ready to lose you.”
"I'll stay," I say quietly.
Sarah blinks, clearly surprised by how easily I agreed. "You will?"
I give her a half-smile that feels like it might crack my face. "I made it through the hardest part, which was seeing him again for the first time. And I need to see this through.”
It's a lie wrapped in truth. The case against Martinez is real. And if I can prove what he did, maybe I can save the ranch.
The problem is proof.
I have paper trails that show Martinezinitiated the fire hazard designation process. I have evidence that suggests he manipulated environmental studies to support the designation.
But none of it proves his motives were self-serving. Senators propose policy changes all the time. It's not illegal unless I can prove he used his position specifically for personal gain.
And the only person who can testify to that is Wyatt—his word against a sitting senator's about a private conversation where Martinez allegedly threatened to destroy the ranch unless Wyatt married his daughter.
It's not enough. Not for a congressional hearing. Not for the kind of takedown that would actually stop Martinez.
I need more. But I'm running out of places to look.
Sarah reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. "Don't sacrifice your happiness trying to save everyone else. You’re allowed to be happy too.”
I huff a breath that says I don’t believe her.
"I know. I did that for a long time too.” Her smile is sad and knowing. "But Oscar taught me that I’m worth loving without having to prove it—you are too.”
Her advice is exactly what I need and didn't know how to ask for.
She stands and starts gathering the dishes. "You should go for a ride this afternoon. Clear your head.”
This is the second time she’s tried to get me on a horse. "I might do that,” I say to appease her.
"Good." She leaves and I turn back to my case files, spreading them across the table in neat categories: property records, environmental studies, communications logs, financial transfers. Everything organized, everything documented.
Everything except the one piece that would make it allmatter. I just have to dig deeper. Somewhere in all this paper, there's a thread I haven't pulled yet—one that unravels everything Martinez built.
I’m going to burry myself in work because if last night proved anything–it’s that I’m too much in love with Wyatt to tell him no. If he showed up on my doorstep I’d let him in the cottage and back in my heart. The love is too strong, and I'm too weak when it comes to him.
Fifty-One