Page 81 of The Grief We Hold

But he squeezes my fingers discreetly when we part ways on the sidewalk.

After dropping off Fen, I arrive at the diner with a pep in my step, ready to help despite it being my day off. Some men in leather cuts that state they are prospects are passing broken furniture out through the shattered windows. Margie is busy with a broom.

“Morning, Margie. How can I help?”

She glances up from her sweeping, but there is something in her eyes. A coldness that I don’t like.

I shake my head. I must be imagining things. Margie probably had a sleepless night due to stress over the future of the diner. I can’t imagine the insurance claim and police and everything else she has to deal with is easy for her.

“Behind the counter. Sweep everything, then vacuum. Glass got everywhere.”

Even though her words are curt, I refuse to overthink it.

Instead, I grab a dustpan and brush, then get to work.

It takes an hour for my path to cross with Margie again. “Have you been in contact with the insurance company?” I ask when she pours some coffee from the pot.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course I have.”

I take a breath. “Did I do something to upset you? I don’t expect pay for today if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Margie puts her hands on her hips. “I told Wraith, the night you blew into town, there was blood around the moon. The worst kind of omen. I guess trouble follows you.”

Her words couldn’t have hurt more if she’d punctuated them with actual punches. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me.” She steps closer to me. “Wraith was so busy looking after you, he didn’t do his job as sergeant at arms. He should have protected the diner, the people in it. But no. He dives on you and doesn’t even lift his gun. Butcher will be furious with him.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “I have nothing to do with his choices yesterday.”

Margie huffs, a thin-lipped smile on her face. “No? Is that why he bailed with you instead of helping me out here?”

“You’ll need to speak to him about his choices. But my personal life is, well, personal.”

“Not when it comes to my son-in-law.”

“Your son-in-law?” I ask. I always assumed she was his mom, the way he called herMa. Wraith is married?

Shit. Shit. Shit.

No. Didn’t he say hewasmarried? Like, past tense.

Now I’m confused.

“Yes,” she says. “And if you want to keep this job, you’ll leave Wraith alone.”

26

WRAITH

Spring on the ranch is quite possibly my favorite time of the year. New calves give us a chance to confirm if the breeding pairings we made yielded the offspring we hoped for. Milder weather means we no longer have to front for hay, as the livestock hit the land to graze. There’s also the time on horseback spent corralling through the pastures.

And there is optimism in surviving another harsh winter. Grass starts to green, geese return, the rivers flow easily without sheets of ice covering them.

For the first time in two years, I feel like I’m emerging from hibernation, in tune with the land, thanks to Raven.

“Earth to Wraith—come in, Wraith.”

I rein my horse from his lazy walk and turn to face Catfish, who removes his Stetson to push his hair back from his face and then returns it.

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