Page 98

“Marty? Hector? This is Maggie.”

“Hey there, Ms. Newman. This is Marty. Everything okay?”

She shook her head while she responded. “No. There’s a fire. I can see the plume of smoke.”

“Fire? Where?”

“The canyon. I can see it from 290. You can’t?”

“We can smell smoke, but there’s not much visibility here with the canyon walls. I think we’re okay where we’re at, but I’ll run it by Hector since he’s in charge.”

“You’re in the canyon already? Is Bennett with you?” Why wasn’t he the trail boss?

“Nope. Told Hector he’d catch up with us. Hold on and I’ll get Hector on the line so he can fill you in. Better than a game of telephone.”

Maggie paced on the side of the road while she waited for a reply. The early afternoon sun bore down on her with repressive heat, though, so she sought out the shady protection of the truck cab. If she started heading back to the ranch, she risked losing the tenuous connection with Hector and hopefully Bennett.

Panic made her hands tremble. She applied Chapstick from one of the three she’d discarded and tapped her foot nervously, trying to keep her mind off Bennett and where he might be if he wasn’t running the show anymore.

The white, crumpled envelope caught her eye. It’d been in her purse for weeks—no, months, since she first arrived. Where had she found it? Her father’s coffee table with the rest of the detritus to his life?

She tore it open, and a knot formed in her throat.

It was a letter. To her. From her father. It was addressed like he meant to send it, but no stamp in the corner told a different story.

Heat pressed against her skull, the back of her eyes, her cheeks. Her world was on fire for real, but her own flames scorched her from within. Seeing her dad’s handwriting after all this time was the only thing that could take her mind off Bennett and the pervasive fear he was in danger.

She scanned the letter once, in a state of shock as her eyes drifted over it again, lingering on certain passages.

I have a confession, hon. I did something unforgivable. Sorry for sending it in this letter, but I hope if you read it and take your time processing it, you’ll want to hear me out next time we meet.

He went on to confirm what he’d done at the fair that night. Maggie was head-over-heels in love with Bennett, who was a good ranch hand, but a dead end, at least as it seemed to her dad. And his daughter? Well, she had the world at her fingertips and sticking around in a one-way town with a ring on her finger and a future pulled away from her wasn’t what he’d wanted for her. When the barrel racer had shown interest in the horses the Marshalls had up for auction, Carl had taken the opportunity to pretend there had been more between the two than professional curiosity. It was, according to him, the only way to get Maggie to chase her own dreams. Of course, not even he had the forethought to imagine what would have put the final nail in that coffin—Jax’s brief relationship with the woman had made Maggie think the worst of Bennett when she’d seen them lip-locked.

It’s too much to ask, but not to hope. Will you forgive me, Maggie? I did what I did out of love, but that’s no excuse.

Her eyes pressed tightly closed to ward off the sting of memories. Nothing he did was unforgivable. She’d do it all again to have him back.

The admission almost did her in, especially with the radio behind her still silent. But it was the last two paragraphs that were her undoing.

You should know I was wrong. If it weren’t for Bennett, I’d have lost this place years ago. He’s a good guy, Mags. A real good guy. I don’t regret sending you away (just the way I did) because you became something more than I ever could.

I’m so dang proud of you, hon. So proud.

The tears fell heavy on her blouse, staining it. The radio crackled but then went silent again. Maggie swiped at her cheeks with the heel of her palm, but it was like trying to stop a flash flood with a chain-link fence.

I love you, Mags. Always have and always will.

I love you, too, Dad.

The letter was lovely, a voice from the past she missed dearly. But it wasn’t necessary. She’d already made up her mind about her life and what she wanted it to look like. There was no way of knowing whether her father would’ve approved, but she was choosing Bennett and the life laid out before them, rife with possibility.

Because it was her life to live.

Maggie had barely finished the letter for the third time when the radio not only crackled to life, but she recognized the voice on the other end.

“Ms. Newman? This is Hector. What can I do for you?”

“Hector,” she cried, her fear exploding in the single word. “Where’s Bennett?”