Page 69 of Peaches & Pistols

“That’s a nice thought, Harp.”

Avoidance is my safest option tonight, so I kiss her forehead and wish her a good night.

Safe in the sanctuary of my bedroom, I replay Harper’s wish in my mind on repeat. The thing is…it doesn’t scare me. It emboldens me.

Because for as much as Harper wishes Mia was her mom, I need her to be my woman.

She already is. She just doesn’t know it yet.

23

Two-fifteen? That’s impossible.

I check the time on my phone again, revealing the same reality—I’m going to be late picking the girls up from school.

I’ve gotten closer with Delilah since I approached her about her women’s group. She invited me over for lunch today, and I couldn’t get here fast enough. For the first time since my sister died, I have a true friend.

Izzy and Livy are wonderful in their own ways, but Delilah might be the first best friend I’ve ever had.

She baked a bacon-cheddar quiche that melted in my mouth, served with her signature lemonade. We chatted about nothing in particular and it was the lightest I’ve felt in ages.

On my normal schedule, I’m in town for lunch because I like to get some chores done and make afternoon snack for the girls before getting to the school early. The pick-up line can be a bear, and I prefer being one of the first so we can get home quicker.

Two-fifteen is when I’m usually locking up the apartment and jogging down the stairs to the car for pick-up…

After lunch, Delilah had some work to do but she said I could stay as long as I wanted. I’d already missed lunch with Greyson, and petting the horses would surely distract me from missing my insanely sexy, gruff boss. I lost track of time.

Racing out of the stables, I slip on the icy snowpack, my yoga pants soaking through when I land on my butt. That’s going to bruise…

I frantically pat my jacket and am relieved to find my keys in the zipped pocket. The car turns over and I wait only a minute for the engine to warm up.

I’ve done this drive dozens of times and on a good weather day, it’s a solid fifteen minutes. But yesterday was unseasonably warm, melting enough of the snow that when temperatures dropped overnight the slush froze to deadly ice.

I crawled for over a half hour to the ranch this morning, terrified of sliding off the backroads. At least I have my ph⁠—

Where is it? It must’ve slipped out of my pocket when I fell. Shit.

I’m distracted patting around for my phone when the back tires fishtail and I white-knuckle the wheel to regain control of the car.

I know I need to drive slower in these conditions, but the thought of the girls standing outside the school with no one to pick them up has me pressing down on the accelerator.

Just past this coppice of evergreens is the turn-off from the ranch to the highway. The road crews work as hard as they can to plow and salt the major artery streets. I just have to get to the turn, and I might be able to make up time and get to the school.

It happens in a breathless moment before the world tilts—a fragile pause before the tailspin, when the road falls away.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, everything shatters.

24

“What can I do for you today, Judge?”

“I need to color match some paint for our upstairs bathroom remodel,” Judge Wilby says with a wink.

“Come on back.” I tilt my head for her to follow me.

The store’s been slow today, but there’s a customer or two puttering around and I can never be too careful.

I lead the judge to the back corner where the paint mixer is stationed. She grabs a random paint chip while I open a can of base white.