Page 29 of Wild Sanctuary

“You’re spot on, actually.” I shake my head as my entire body rumbles with laughter. “What about you, Maggie? Anyone in the picture?”

Maggie takes a long sip of wine. “Puh-lease. The dating pool in Blackstone Creek is ankle-deep and full of rocks.”

Behind her, June catches my eye and shakes her head once. Slowly.

Something in Maggie’s tone tells me these particular rocks have names, so in the interest of self-preservation, I leave well enough alone.

Between sips of wine and second helpings of cobbler, they tell me about June’s event-planning business and how she’s been turning the ranch’s guest facilities into a destination for weddings and corporate retreats. They tell me about Maggie’s vet practice, the long hours, the emergency calls at three in the morning, and the satisfaction of saving an animal’s life.

Then, in turn, they want to know what I’ve been up to, and I find myself telling them. Not everything, not the investigation or the fifty-thousand-dollar question that’s burning a hole in my memory, but the real stuff. The stuff that matters.

The feeling that I’m running in place while everyone else moves forward, and the way I still reach for my phone to text my dad sometimes, three years later, before I remember.

They listen. They understand. They pour more wine.

My phone vibrates against the table and I glance down out of habit.

MOM

Just sending a reminder so you don’t forget Aunt Linda’s birthday next week. Love you.

Two sentences.

No mention of Montana. No mention of the ranch. No mention of Dad.

I lock the screen and set the phone face down on the table.

“Everything okay?” June asks.

“Just my mom.” I reach for my wine. “Nothing important.”

The words taste worse than they should.

My mother isn’t unimportant. She’s just absent—from Montana, from the conversation, from anything that still carries Dad’s name. We keep it surface like Aunt Linda’s birthday. Nothing that costs either of us anything real.

I trace the rim of my wine glass with one finger and keep my face steady, because the women sitting across from me just spent an hour listening to me like every part of me mattered, while my own mother can’t say the name of the man I loved most.

I set my glass down as June’s phone vibrates, and she glances at the screen with a small frown.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie asks.

“Just fundraiser stuff.” She sets the phone down with a sigh. “We’re doing what we can for the Hendersons, but it never feels like enough.”

“The Hendersons?” The name tugs at a memory of an older couple of empty nesters with a small spread on the other side of town. “What happened?”

“Bank repossessed their ranch last month.” Maggie’s voice is flat with suppressed anger. “Three generations on that land, and they lost it all. Couldn’t keep up with the payments after Ed’s health issues.”

“That’s awful.”

“It gets worse. The bank moved on them so fast they didn’t even get a chance to fight it. Sold to some holding company before it ever hit auction.” She sets down her phone with a decisive clink. “Same story every time. The Millers a few years back, then the Coopers, then the Holburns. Now the Hendersons. Four ranches lost the same way, and nobody can figure out who’s really behind it.”

I file that information away. Four ranches. Lightning-fast sales. Mysterious holding companies. Patterns nobody else has connected.

And I don’t believe in coincidences anymore.

“The fundraiser’s Friday night,” Maggie continues. “Town hall. They’re trying to raise enough to help the Hendersons relocate, at least.”

“Shelby Reynolds has been a godsend,” June adds. “Her family owns the Blackstone Inn. She’s donating a weekend stay for the silent auction and basically co-organizing the whole thing with me.”