That’s what I need to get my own father to understand, even if I have to hit him over the head with it.

“Call me,” he says. “Just let me know you’re okay tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll try to come find you during lunch. Do you know where you’ll be?”

“I’ll check in at the vet’s office around noon,” I say. “Unless they call me back into town for more questioning about that body.”

“I doubt they will” His mouth thins into a line. “You’ve told them everything.”

Over dinner, I shared with all three Bridger men what Lexie and I were asked, what we answered.

“True enough.” I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you. For everything.”

It’s late, but there are lights on in the house.

“All I did was wash your clothes, baby.”

I kiss his lips lightly. “You did a lot more than that, and you know it. Thank you for coming home. For… for choosing me.”

He trails a finger over my jawline, traces my lower lip. “Carly, there was no other choice.”

I open my mouth to speak, when—

My mother opens the door. She hasn’t changed for bed, still in tan pants and a blue top I know is her favorite. “Carly, it’s you! I heard a car pull up.”

“I’m sorry if we scared you.”

She looks between me and Austin. “Are you back?”

“For now.” I pull away from him. “Goodbye, Austin.”

“Hello, Mrs. Vance,” he says to Mom and then glances down at me. Brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “Good night, Carly. Call me.”

“I will.”

He steps back and returns to the Bridger Ranch truck he used to bring me home.

I walk inside and stand in front of the glass door, watching Austin as he heads down the drive. My heart breaks just a little, seeing him leave me. I drop to my knees and give Ernie lots of loves when he nudges my leg with his nose. I missed my silly dog, and if I do end up moving out, he’s coming with me.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask, glancing up at Mom.

“Where do you think? In that darned den of his. Still looking for answers.”

I sigh. “I think he needs to let it go, Mom. Especially the part about the Bridgers.”

“I wish he would.” Mom rubs her hands together. Clearly she has different opinions on the subject than Dad, probably staying quiet to keep the peace. Or maybe she hasn’t, and it’s put tension between them. Thus, the grumpy face.

“I can’t live my life afraid of my own shadow,” I say. “The man’s dead, so it’s not like anything will ever come of it. I have to let it go, and so does he.”

She twines her fingers. “But he’s convinced that—”

I stand and come close, pull her fingers apart and give her hand a squeeze. “I know. He told me. The whole town knows Jonathan Bridger was no saint. Maybe he truly was that evil. I mean, I just found a dead body on his land.”