Page 68 of Cowboy Don't Go

“No, I would never have—it was my choice. That was how it had to be. I couldn’t tell you.”

“If I had known—”

“What? What could you have done?”

“I never would have let you sit in prison all those years. I would have told the truth about what Tom had done. About what Evan was paying him for. We would have walked away from all of this. Away from Tom and his lies. I should have. But I lost courage when you went away. Our marriage was over long before you and I fell in love.” She cupped her hand against his cheek. “I know you did that for me. For us. I’ll never be able to repay you for your sacrifice.”

He pulled her closer and threaded his fingers through her hair. “There is nothing to make up. I would do it all over again today.”

“It’s over now,” she said. “Done. Thank God it’s over now. Except for . . .”

“What?”

“Your son. My daughter. She’s furious with him for not telling her about Trey. For—in her mind—connecting us to the scandal. And she said things I think she doesn’t mean. At least, I hope she didn’t mean them. He was devastated.”

“Oh, no.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “This is all because of me. What’ll it take to fix this?”

She sighed. “She’s my stubborn one. I really don’t know. A miracle?”

Chapter Thirteen

Almost four days had passed since Cooper had packed his things and left. Ray went with him, and they moved out back to their own place. Shay had watched him go from her room upstairs and said nothing to stop him. Even though a thousand times, she’d wanted to. He’d looked angry. Hurt. His jaw set. He’d quit that night, despite Liam begging him to stay.

Now all of them blamed her for his leaving, even though they all could see how it must have looked. At first.

But there were things they didn’t know about her and Cooper. How far they’d taken things. How she’d let herself imagine a life with him. How heartbroken she felt. How foolish. And not just because she’d jumped all over him that day at the round barn without giving him a chance to defend himself. Or even because this mess had hurt all of them—Liam, Ryan . . . all of them. But mostly because she couldn’t seem to make herself take it back. Because her stubborn pride wouldn’t allow it. And now it was too late.

Her own kneejerk reaction to what had happened was what bothered her most. Had she learned nothing in all these years since Ethan’s denial? Her own father’s? Had she not moved past all that or was that always going to be a reflex that belied reason? A button that once pushed, she just . . . reacted.

She’d spent hours—usually during a sleepless night—revising her words to him in a useless rewritten version of that day. One that made her seem logical. Reasonable, even. But that old scar, the one he’d inadvertently nicked, had grown thicker with age, and it somehow still bled. It was there to protect her. But scars never fully heal the wound that caused them. They only cover up the damage like a warning for the next potential injury.

But was it all her fault? He lied to her. And what about that money? Had he known about it? Was that what he’d been looking for himself? Was he keeping it? And what about what her father had done? Trey promised to keep them out of it, but would he? And Cooper had quit all on his own. She hadn’t even fired him. Which all just proved to her that it was for the best.

Ahhhhh! Her brain felt on tilt.

She couldn’t sort it out. She needed to clear her mind.

For the past four days, she’d thrown herself into keeping busy—cleaning, going through closets and tossing things they didn’t want or need anymore, mucking stalls in the barn. Riding alone up the newly cleared trails on Lulu or She-Ra.

Remembering that first kiss.

But mostly she’d baked. It was a mindless task, like now, as she peeled a bowlful of green apples for a pie. She bent to her work over the kitchen sink, alone, slicing them before dousing them with lemon juice. Then a dusting of cinnamon/sugar and a pinch of cloves along with a handful of flour. Reaching into the bowl, she massaged the apples with her hands before spilling them into the pie crust she’d made. Dotting the filling with chunks of butter, she covered it all with a second crust and pinched the edges. It smelled divine already and she sliced a few vents in the top before sliding it into the oven.

She stared at it through the oven window, willing it to bake faster. There was something about the finished product that made her feel okay, if only for a few minutes.

As mad as everyone was with her about Ray and Cooper leaving, no one complained about the cookies, brownies, or the freshly baked bread she had churned out this week. Or the chicken potpie she’d made for dinner last night as they sat around the dinner table.

Listening to them all talk about their days and the ranch, she couldn’t help but imagine Cooper’s eyes lighting up if he were here, tasting this food, enjoying it—because he’d invaded her thoughts throughout the making of it. With each ingredient, each addition, it was his smile she remembered. Or some little joke he’d made her laugh about. Or a touch that had calmed her or made her tremble. He’d be grateful for the food, maybe even pull her up against him after the meal and kiss her.

Then she’d remember the look in his eyes when she’d ended things. And she’d regret everything.

Opinionated to a fault, her father used to say, your greatest strength and weakness at once.

Now she stared at the oven door, trying to picture her life going forward. Alone. Without him. Without his touch or smile or the way he looked at her.

“Well, that smells heavenly.” Cami breezed into the kitchen after getting home from school and inhaled deeply. “Like autumn should smell. Is that apple crisp?”

“Pie,” Shay corrected quietly.

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