Page 100 of Wild Sanctuary

It’s not fine. None of this is fine. Someone killed my father and someone broke into my cabin, and I’m standing in his bedroom with my hands shaking and my chest tight and nowhere to hide from any of it.

But he believed me. He listened and he believed me, and he’s downstairs making coffee instead of sending me back to Denver.

That’s enough. For now, that’s enough.

I pick up the black dress from the floor, pull it back on and go downstairs.

Wyatt is at the kitchen counter with two mugs and a face like thunder. He slides one toward me without a word.

Then the back door opens, and Maggie walks in smelling like barn and antiseptic, peeling off latex gloves. She stops dead when she sees me, and I can almost see the cogs in her mind taking in the evidence before her.

Daisy Monroe in last night’s dress and barefoot, standing in her family’s kitchen at six in the morning.

Her eyes dart to Wyatt, then to me, before zipping back to Wyatt.

“Hold on.”

She holds up one finger, walks to the pantry, and comes back with a bag of popcorn. Then she hops up onto the kitchen counter, legs swinging as she opens the bag before looking up and nodding once.

“Okay. Go.”

24

DAISY

Maggie looks at me like I’m the season finale.

I shrug. “I don’t know where to start.”

“The dress.” She pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth and chews with what can only be described as a devilish smirk. “Start with the dress and work forward.”

I open my mouth, but Wyatt cuts in before I get a single word out.

“There was a break-in at her cabin last night.”

Maggie’s legs stop swinging as her hand lingers mid-air, halfway between the popcorn bag and her mouth.

“Someone trashed the place while we were at the auction dinner,” he continues, and I notice the way he angles himself as he says it. Just a small shift, but he’s been doing it since last night. Small repositions that put his body between me and whatever direction a threat might come from.

I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it.

“Trashed it how?” Maggie’s voice has dropped the teasing note entirely.

“Laptop’s gone. Cushions sliced open. Cabinets emptied.” Wyatt’s voice is flat and matter-of-fact, but his jaw is set in that way that tells me he’s been replaying it on a loop since we walked through that door.

Maggie looks at me, her navy-blue eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

The words come out more controlled than I feel, though there’s something about the way she’s looking at me that makes it hard to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat.

“And the sheriff’s been called?” she questions her brother.

“Last night.”

“So you’re stayin’ here now.” This she directs at me, but it’s not really a question. It’s a Hartley confirming a decision that’s already been made.

“I’m staying here.”