“I put her before my pride, before my job, before my family—” His voice cracked, thinking of his mama recovering at home for the last three days without him. Andra clutched his hand, and he wondered if this would all backfire, if she’d hate him for leaving Mama in the care of their friends and neighbors. He swallowed and kept going, refusing to blink. “When you lied to Andra, where did you put her on your priority list, huh? Because it wasn’t in front of your pride.”

Bill’s chin quivered slightly, his skin paling like he could feel the argument slipping away from him. “So you’re going to drop your sick mother and move here for my daughter, is that what you’re telling me?”

LJ opened his mouth, and nothing came out. What could he say to that? Because no. The answer was no. He had to go back for a while whether or not Andra forgave him, and Bill was right. Mama wouldn’t move, and every time she ever called, he’d have to go.

“Jesus, Dad! What are you saying? It’s his mother.”

“I told you once that relationships weren’t as simple as you young people like to make them out to be,” Bill said, his tone as tired as his posture. “I told you being from different places would bring you nothing but hurt, but you didn’t care to listen. I don’t want him leaving you behind crying for him. Not once, not ever again. Where are you going to live, Andra?”

That was the question LJ hadn’t dared to ask, but his stomach curdled as he waited for her answer, her hand in his so far from a promise it felt like it might vanish if he squeezed too hard.

“I don’t know, but I’m not staying here. Not after everything you did behind my back.” Her voice was scathing. “Call a lawyer and have him draw up the papers. You’re buying out my share in the ranch, and I’m taking Gracie. I’ll be gone by morning.”

Her father flinched like she’d hit him, but LJ forgot to watch the rest of the other man’s reaction when Andra turned to him instead. He stared, reeling from her pronouncement. How could she say that? The ranch was her family, her future. She’d trained or bred nearly every horse on the place. If she left, she might as well shave off her fingerprints and rewrite her DNA.

Her eyes only met his for a second before they fell again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, for all of this.” She let go of his hand, caught her horse, and left.