Page 156 of Things Left Unsaid

Me: Wanna explain to me how Fen escaped from his stall?

Callan: WHAT?!

Me: I put him there myself before I had to leave for town.

Callan: Dammit. I’ll figure it out. I’m almost home.

Me: Lydia Armstrong was killed today.

Callan: I know. It’s all the school’s been gossiping about since the triplets were escorted off school grounds by the RCMP.

Me: Their truck was found on our land. I was brought in for questioning too. I’m home now.

Callan: Everything okay?

Me: Of course. Might not be here when you get back. But will see you at dinner.

Callan: Gotcha

That done and the situation downplayed, I head for the nearest tack room on the homestead, suit Fen up with a harness, and make my way across Seven Cs’ turf and onto the Bar 9.

It’d have been easier to drive there, but I’m a cowboy—why would I drive when I can ride?

The journey’s a chance to decompress too.

I wasn’t worried. I didn’t mow down Lydia Armstrong. But that doesn’t mean having Zee’s alibi won’t make my life a hell of a lot easier.

Much like their sibling, the triplets are waiting for me at the border of our land.

Calder, ever outspoken, yells, “We didn’t do it. And if we did, we’d never have dumped the truck on your land. We like you.”

My lips curve at his declaration, but we’re far away enough from one another that I can erase my smile before I reach him.

As I jump from Fen’s back, Carson mutters, “He’s so fucking cool and he doesn’t even know it.”

“Who rides without a saddle?” Colby agrees with a hiss.

Barely withholding the urge to laugh, I turn to them, demanding, “What happened?”

“Nothing! We didn’t even know the truck was ready to drive. If we did, I wouldn’t have had to deal with Ten-Hand Tracy today,” Carson grumbles.

Calder continues, “Didn’t you hear what I said? If we’d done it, we wouldn’t have dumped it on your land.”

His sullen tone has me rolling my eyes. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, guys. Thank God you were up to mischief when Lydia was killed.”

Colby smirks. “It was a full choreographed routine.”

“I’ll bet,” I counter. “I was told it was memorable.”

“Lucky that it was today,” Carson admits. “Yesterday, we snuck out to practice.”

My jaw works at that news. “Clyde targeted you. Do you know why?”

Calder bites off, “We didn’t do it.”

“I’m not saying you did, dammit. I’m saying the opposite.”

Colby clears his throat. “We didn’t like Mrs. Armstrong.”

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