“Nothing about you two trying to take Sadie is funny to me, so no, I don’t find it a tad funny,” I retort, strength in my voice I haven’t used in quite some time. “And how would either of you know what my desires are? You can’t assert anything about my character, because as we all know neither of you know me at all.”
Quinn squeezes my hand hard and picks up where I leave off, smoothing out the lines of communication with a soft tone and a smile. I can’t help that I hold on to anger, that I’m so fucking angry with them. Not just for trying to take Sadie now, but for who they were to Amelia and how they were when she passed.
They are the worst.
But Quinn is making it better. She’s trying to salvage what my temper has messed up in just a few short minutes.
“Well, you know fate. She’s always working in wild ways,” Quinn says, stacking a palm over her heart. “I came out here to make this film about the local rodeo legend, a bareback bronc rider who hadn’t ridden since his wife passed.” When she looks at me again, I know the softness in her pupils isn’t fake, it isn’t part of the ruse against Marnie and Charles. It’s real. Everything she’s saying now, she means. “I expected to have a soft spot for Sadie, but I didn’t expect to enjoy it here so much, and enjoy learning about the way of life on a ranch.” She shoots me a wink, something I’m sure the Montgomerys don’t even catch. “But the most surprising thing about Sable Sky has been falling in love with Landry. I’ve never been in love. Not until now.” Finally she looks between them. Charles is smiling, but Marnie is not. “And as I suspected, I fell in love with Sadie immediately. Gosh, she’s just the brightest little thing.”
A warm, prickly sensation spreads through my chest at her proclamation. I know it’s not true, that this is just part of the plan. But I know one thing for sure: hearing her say it makes me want to earn it. I want her to love me the way she says she does. I want it so goddamn bad.
“She is,” Charles agrees. He looks around the small living space with a veneered smile. He doesn’t seem to be pressing me the way Marnie is, and I’m not surprised. Marnie’s done most of the driving in their parenting, I have no doubt she’s the spearhead of this claptrap custody suit. Glancing at his wife to discover she’s unhappy, he adds, “And where is our girl?”
Ourgirl. The two words coming from them makes me seethe. There is noourgirl, that’s what I want to say. No, I don’t want to say it. I want toscreamit. There could have beenanour girl, and I would have been open to anour girl, but the Montgomerys were nowhere to be found when we needed them the most. Two weeks after Amelia had passed, when I was so sick with grief I couldn’t eat or sleep and all I did was rock a crying baby that didn’t even yet know that her life had just changed forever,they weren’t there. They were on vacation, claiming their grief required the open waters, beaches, and fancy wines.
Fuck. No.
I was here, taking care of everything that I could, trying desperately to dig myself out. To think they can just show up one day, and say,Oh, the siding is worn and the house needs a coat of paint, and he’s so busy keeping his life together that he can’t find a wife. I guess that means we’re better parents than him, we should have Sadie, is absolutely wild. Not to mention if stability is what they seek for me, why do they hate that I’ve married Quinn?
I can hardly look at them, but like Tate says, play nice because no one ever ruins their life from playin’ nice.
I won’t put Quinn through this whole mess only to ruin it all by shouting at these idiots and losing Sadie. Shouting at them wouldn’t change them, it won’t change the unfairness of life or the situation that I’m in. Hell, I’m not even certain it would makemefeel better.
I’m starting to think the thing that makes me feel better is sitting cross-legged in my love seat half an inch away.
“Sadie is on her way home from school,” Quinn starts slowly, cautiously, maybe waiting to see if I’m going to jump in and stop her. But the Montgomerys can easily discover these details. They didn’t need to make a visit from Dallas to find out that Sadie has school Monday through Friday from eight to noon, like every other kindergartner since the dawn of time. Theycould havelooked up her school and found thebell schedule. They could have done a lot of things, but instead they came here unannounced. “Are you guys hoping for a grandparent-granddaughter impromptu day date? I’m okay with that, and I’m sure Landry would be okay, too, as long as the three of you stayed here at Vaughn Ranch.” She twists to smile up at me, and I find myself comfortably smiling down at her, and for a second, it escapes me that we’re putting on a show.
It feels normal talking about Sadie’s whereabouts and making plans with Quinn.
“Why must we stay here?” Marnie asks, snapping me from a sliver of reverie.
Quinn squeezes our joined hands, and I’m learning that's my cue to let her talk. “Landry’s training for the rodeo in a few weeks and he has another training session this afternoon. Sadie loves watching. Even if her attention span cuts out in favor of Daisy or Hector for a moment, she always brings her focus back to her daddy.” Another shiny-eyed gaze up at me from Quinn, and again, I don't think it’s for their sake. It’s confusing to be putting on a show and telling a lie when, as time goes on, so much of what we’re pretending to be has evolved into the real thing.
“But there’s lots to do here. Sadie can take you to feed the chickens, or you three can take the four-wheeler to the wishing well,” she says, pointing to the small Mason jar on the bookshelf full of old pennies. “Take a handful before you go.”
Charles peers back at the jar, while Marnie makes no attempts to pretend. “I thought we would take her to Stetson and buy her some new things to wear.” She gets lucky when she plucks the sweater from the arm of the couch and it happens to be one of Sadie’s sweatshirts, complete with holes and stains. “It would seem she’s in need of them.”
I have to fight the urge to laugh at the idea that Sadie would willingly go anywhere with these assholes. The last time they visited with plans to take her with them, Sadie was only two, and she was pretty fuzzy on who they were. She was fine to run around and play with them, but once it was time to leave, for them to take her back for a weekend sleepover, she absolutely freaked. And instead of sticking around to build a relationship with their only granddaughter and the only offspring of their deceased daughter, they moved.
They visited just once more, and the remaining contact with them over the years have been thanks to Hallmark, with the exception of a few phone calls.
“It’s been tight around here for a long time, but Sadie has what she needs,” I tell them, anger climbing through my veins as I try very hard not to get angry. Getting angry, I’ve learned, only hurts me. They don’t care if I’m angry, hurt, broke or homeless. They care about themselves and their agenda, which right now is apparently taking my daughter so they can go back to their Dallas socialite’s circle and feign heroism, being sidled with raising their dead daughter’s girl.
Overmydead body.
“Why did you choose Landry as the subject of your movie?” Marnie asks.
Quinn’s spine straightens ever so slightly, and she squeezes my hand, as if to tell me she’s ready for the barrage of questioning that is suddenly so very clearly coming.
“I didn’t, actually. The film company I work for,” she says, emphasizing the word film only slightly, her passive way of correcting Marnie. It’s kind of genius, being so subtle that Marnie doesn’t feel outwardly poked, but obvious enough for her to get the message. “Universal Broadcasting Service,” she clarifies, “has rolled out an initiative to make more films about regular people. Last year I did a piece on underprivilegedgirls attending a private school in the Bronx, focusing on the sacrifices their families made to get them there, and how those girls used that advantage to change their lives and their families’ lives.”
“It was an excellent film,” I tell Quinn, because I know I never told her that. I know I told her I watched it, and her others, but did I tell her how brilliant it was? I didn’t, but I should. She deserves to know she’s incredible, and that losing out on that award was their mistake, not her lack of focus. What asshole breaks their employee’s heart mid-project anyway?
I blame Melvin. It’s Melvin’s fault all the way.
“It was so poignant, the way you contrasted clips of the parents talking about what acceptance into the academy meant to them with clips of the students discussing how they perceive their family’s support.”
Her eyes shine, and my chest squeezes at the appreciative, beautiful expression on her face. “They saw the first cut together, at the screening, and it was so special watching everyone’s reactions. Truly.”
