Page 26 of Buried Roots

Anyway, I have no choice but to sell the estate, and Mary Louise seems motivated, which is always a good thing in a negotiation. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Wonderful. I’ll have Bill put a proposal together tonight, and we can meet you at the house first thing in the morning. Say nine a.m.?”

“Works for me.”

Dakota appears, giving Mary Louise a tentative smile and hello before turning to me. “So, Willow, how about we git ourselves to those fried pickles? You can’t leave town without trying those.”

“Sure.” I’m glad for the save, and I’m not sure why. I just got an offer on the house—I should be doing cartwheels.

Mary Louise waves. “You two have fun. See you tomorrow, Willow.”

As Dakota and I walk away, I tell her what just went down as we make our way to the pickle stand.

“Well, an offer is good news.” Dakota smiles hesitantly. “Just make sure you have Mr. Livingston check it over, okay?”

“I thought he was a probate attorney.”

“He is. And a property attorney. And a defense attorney. And a divorce attorney. I think he even worked as an immigration attorney once.”

“Impressive.” I chuckle, thinking about what a powerhouse that gentle, unassuming man is. “Well, with my restoration company, I have my own lawyers, but Mr. Livingston knows this area, so I’ll definitely bring him in too.”

While we’re digging into our samples of fried pickles—and surprise, surprise, they’re delicious—Dakota catches me up on the guy she met. “That was a flop. He wassomysterious, he disappeared.”

“Oh, no!”

After we both laugh, she groans. “His name’s Bennett, and he’s from Atlanta. He’s here checking out the local breweries for work. He and I were totally hitting it off, but then he got a call and had to leave.”

“You didn’t get a phone number?”

“Nope. He flew off like a chipmunk in a tailwind.”

I grin, but then the fireworks kick off, and everyone turns their gaze to the river, where they’re being launched.

After a few colorful explosions in the sky, Bailey runs up to us, all the blood drained from her face. “Have you seen Trinity?” she chokes out between labored breaths.

“What? No.” My eyes immediately scan the place, not seeing Trinity anywhere, although it’s dark and there are people everywhere.

Bailey scrubs her forehead, frantic. “I turned my back on her, for just a second, while Gertie was yammering on about her new brew kettle. When I turned back, Trinity was just… gone.” Her lips quiver and her eyes well with tears. “I lost her.”

10

The Runaway

WeallpresumeTrinity’sheaded to my horse stables, as she was destroyed when she heard I was going to sell the place. Also, come on—that’s where she loves to be.

Bailey and I exchange numbers, and we make a plan for me to return to Bo’s Château while she and Dakota stay and look for Trinity downtown. Bailey doesn’t want to call the police until I check the stables, which seems fair.

After racing to my rental, I look for her alongside the road as I drive home. When I don’t see her, my nerves ratchet up as I roll into the circular driveway and jump out of the car, locking it with my key fob on the run. It hits me that this is becoming a habit, and one I’m not particularly fond of.

I sprint to the stables, calling for Trinity as I run. No answer.

When I get inside, there’s no Trinity. My stomach plummets.

But there’s also no Eclipse or Oreo, either. My head flips to the wall, and Eclipse’s reins are missing.

That kid took the horses. How in the hell did she have time to run home and do that?

I call Owen and tell him what’s going on, and he says he’ll be here in two minutes. He tells me that Frankie’s with Kayla right now, getting everything ready for tomorrow’s rehearsal dinner.

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