Page 87 of The Cowboy's Second Chance Bride

“We’re not scared,” I said.

“Well, you should be.”

I was done with this conversation. I held out my hand to Cal, who took it and tucked my arm under his with my hand resting on his forearm, and we walked away.

“How soon do you think we’ll see your dad’s counterstrike?” I asked.

“Any minute now.”

ChapterThirty-Four

SABRINA

Our presence at the gala did exactly what we’d set out to achieve.

1. We faced the backstabbers—Hitchens, mostly—and stared them down. Which in the end only helped Cal, as many came out in support of him and with offers to work on projects together.

2. We announced our marriage at the gala and with an Instagram post of our hands entwined with our wedding bands. Then we did a second with my engagement ring bright and shiny.

3. We spurred his dad into making a strike.

Cal was right—we were woefully unprepared for the counterstrike from Dalton. Our imaginations had not been good enough. He made us wait, which Cal said was an attempt to create a false sense of winning. On the surface, it looked like the narrative was swinging our way with the exception of a few comment jockeys who accused us of faking the marriage. We didn’t care about them. And while all that was playing out we moved forward with entwining our lives. Making Wyoming a hub for us both. Fort had set up an appointment with child protection services as we wanted to start the process to get custody of Rod, and I made plans to have my Texas home maintained on a schedule; leaving it empty unsettled me. Turning it into our vacation home felt very bougie, I told Cal on a laugh. This house was more than just a place I loved. It was a part of my history and held so much of me and my family.

But under the waters, a riptide was developing. We’d collapsed into bed late and fallen asleep after some slow, tender loving, only to be woken up an hour later by my phone. The number was for Flower Mound Police Department. It was three in the morning, West Coast time. Flower Mound was where I lived.

“Sabrina Holloway?” the voice asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you own the property on 257 Grapevine?”

“Yes.” I sat up and switched the phone to my other ear.

Cal turned on the bedside light and studied me.

“Ms. Holloway, my name is Detective Pham. I’m calling to say there has been an accident at your home.”

“What sort of accident?”

“A fire. Looks like it started in the garage. Your neighbor called it in. We need you to come do a walk-through with us.”

“There’s been a fire at my house,” I told Cal. “I need to go home.”

“Was it arson?’ he asked as he reached for his phone.

“Was it arson, Detective Pham?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. “That will be looked into. We need you to meet with the fire inspector. How soon can you be here?”

“I’m currently in California. I have to look at flights?—”

“I’ll have the company jet ready to go in an hour,” Cal said.

“I should be there in about four hours,” I told the detective. “Is it bad?”

“It’s not good.”

We made plans for me to call the detective as soon as I arrived, and he and the fire inspector would meet me at my house. While I was throwing my clothes into my suitcase, I called my insurance company. Cal was on the phone, coordinating the plane.

---