Page 13 of The Lilac River

There it was. No grand explanation. No truth. Just sorry.

And I should’ve let her walk away.

But my heart was still thundering like I was eighteen again, watching her in my hoodie, barefoot in the grass, smiling like I was her whole world.

“I’ve heard enough,” I muttered. I couldn’t tell her I hated her, not really. Because I didn’t.

I turned and walked. Didn’t look back. Even when I felt her hand graze my elbow.

I shook it off and kept going.

It wasn’t until I got to my truck that I realized I’d called herLila.

The name only I used.When I’d loved her.

And I still did. In all the quiet corners of my life. In every silence that wasn’t filled with Bertie’s laughter.

When I got home, Gunner and Wilder were at the absurdly large dining table. Dad called it the Great Room. I called it overkill.

“What’s going on?” I snapped. “You’re supposed to be loading cattle.”

“Donny and the two new guys took care of it,” Gunner said. “We finished tagging.”

“And the creek? Feed stock?”

“I checked the creek, no contamination. Wilder did the feed inventory yesterday.”

Wilder leaned back. “You’d know if you looked at the system. We’re digital now, remember?”

He wasn’t wrong.

“No, I’m not that old,” I said. “But you could’ve mentioned it at dinner.”

Wilder chewed his cheek, clearly holding something in.

Gunner cut in. “Did you talk to Dougie?”

“Yeah, he’s digging. Why?”

“Sit down,” Gunner said.

I dropped into the head chair, bracing.

“A realtor came by,” Gunner said. “Some slick guy from Denver.”

“He said Dad set it up,” Wilder added. “But that’s not all.”

Gunner continued, “I saw him outside. Taking pictures of the house.”

I stiffened. “No way. This is our home.”

“Legally, it’s Dad’s,” Wilder muttered.

“Then I’ll buy it from him.”

“With what?” Gunner snapped. “We don’t have millions, Nash.”

“I’ll find a way.”

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