“Sometimes,” he told her, “people make what seem to be snap decisions when they really aren’t. They’ve been thinking about doing something for a long time, then life throws them a curveball, and the next thing they know, they’ve done it.”

She drew back to look up at him. On the surface, Erin was a self-confident woman who had excelled as a law officer. But underneath that no-nonsense layer, she was sensitive and caring in ways that she kept hidden.

“When I became a cop, I believed I could make a big difference in the world. Only I found out right away that I couldn’t save even a tiny corner of it. Being a cop in the Seattle area nearly destroyed me. Coming to Mystic Creek gave me a break from the truly awful stuff, but now look what happened to Jen today. Right here in Mystic Creek, where there’s supposedly little crime. That is such bullshit. People here live with a false sense of security. It’s out there. The evilness and hopelessness is everywhere.”

Wyatt reached up to smooth her hair, which had been dented by the brim of her Stetson and come loose from its moorings when she tugged it off and laid it on the porch beside her. He had lived in Mystic Creek for over five years. The crime rate really was pretty low. What had happened to Jenette was an anomaly, perpetrated by a teenage boy who was mentally unstable. He chose not to voice any of those thoughts to Erin. He could tell that she was emotionally exhausted, and it wasn’t his place to decide whether or not she should have turned in her badge. If she changed her mind about that in the morning, Sheriff Adams would probably let her go back on duty. Maybe she wasn’t a happy cop, but she was a good one.

In the moonlight and shadows cast by the dim porchlight, he struggled to read her lips. She needed to talk, and Wyatt didn’t have anywhere to be. Kennedy had texted to tell him he was safe at the ranch and that he’d given Tex his truck keys before he opened a bottle of whiskey. Wyatt didn’t mind if his brother drank. He was twenty-two now, and that was his choice to make. Wyatt guessed this was a night when a lot of people felt compelled to drown their sorrows in booze.

Erin rambled as people do when their lives have fallen apart. Wyatt kept her wineglass filled and just listened. She told him about vomiting the first time she saw a gunshot victim. How scared she was when she’d been the one dodging a bullet. How hard it was for her to call Children’s Protective Services and just walk away from a little child in need of help.

“It did something to me,” she said. “Changed me, somehow.”

Wyatt couldn’t imagine being a law officer. “I think you made the right decision tonight,” he finally said. “When a job is that wrong for a person, maybe it’s better to make a quick, clean break.” He let her talk. Got her more wine. Over the next two hours, she polished off a full bottle all by herself while Wyatt still hadn’t finished his first glass. That was okay. He had drunk himself stupid once or twice, and he understood that sometimes people just needed to tie one on. Erin was no exception, and he knew she wasn’t upset only because she’d quit her job. She was a woman, and today she’d seen a girl who had endured one of the worst fates a female could experience.