The Road Home: A Friends to Lovers,

Forced Proximity, Small Town

Romance (Landry Love Series Book 6)
Amy Alves
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/the-road-home-a-friends-to-lovers-forced-proximity-s
mall-town-romance-landry-love-series-book-6-amy-alves/
THE ROAD HOME
A LANDRY LOVE NOVEL
AMY ALVES
AMY ALVES BOOKS INC.
Copyright © 2022 by Amy Alves Books Inc.

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-7780263-1-7 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-7780263-2-4 (paperback)
https://amyalvesbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Braden Power
Editor: Lilypad Lit
Proofreader: Little Tweaks
Created with Vellum
 C O NT E NT S

Landry Character Tree

Preface

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue

Also by Amy Alves

Acknowledgments
About the Author
 D E D I C AT I O N

To anyone who has suffered through domestic abuse, and made to feel small. I hope you are able to
find your road home, just as Sadie does.

And that somewhere along the way you find a sexy hunk like Sean to have hot gym sex with.

XOXO
 P R E FAC E

This book contains lots of sexy scenes, but also some serious subject matter. (And— as always—a
happily-ever-after ending)

TW: Contains themes of past domestic abuse and domestic violence.

C HAPTER 1
 SEAN

D id I accidentally join a prenatal yoga class? Yes. Did I rock it? Also, yes.
It’s been a good deal of stretching, which I’ve recently discovered I’m terrible at, and a
variety of flow poses. We also spent a fair amount of time breathing through our peritoneum. Or
something. I got a little lightheaded when she started talking about loosening ligaments and widening
body cavities. I did my best to breathe in through my mouth and out through my nose while we did
squat and pigeon poses.
Wait.
Should I have been breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth? Fuck. Why is this
hard? I bike ten miles several times a week and can bench almost two hundred pounds. Apparently,
that means jack shit in yoga.
“Alright, let’s settle into savasana, our last pose.” Sadie, my angel-faced yoga instructor,
gracefully makes her way across the room, a sweet smile curving her bubblegum-pink lips.
I look at the ladies around me for a clue about how the hell we do a pose whose name I’ve
already forgotten how to pronounce.
Beside me, a pregnant lady falters, trying to get down to the floor. Reaching out, I offer my hand to
stabilize her as she lowers herself.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
Yeah. Once I realized this was prenatal yoga, I may have on-the-spot come up with a backstory
for my presence in the class. I told them I was doing daddy research. The ladies aw’d and assumed I
was a daddy-to-be.
Let me be clear—I would be a kick-ass dad. I’ve had years of experiencing the what-not-to-do
moments from my father, so I feel like I’m prime daddy material. I just am not one yet and have no
plans to be until I convince “the one” to give me a chance. Because, yes, I believe “the one” exists.
Anyway, now the entire class—and Sadie, judging by her shocked expression—thinks I’m an
overeager soon-to-be daddy and have been calling me “Daddy” all class. It’s a little unsettling, but I
made my bed. And now the woman I haven’t been able to stop obsessing over thinks I’m about to be a
father.
“We got this, ladies. Last pose. Let’s push it out!” I clap my hands, pumping up the group because
these women are rock stars. They deserve considerable encouragement leading up to the day that a
living being powers through their most sensitive area.
Lana, beside me, snorts with laughter. I grin at her, reaching out for a fist bump. Her cheeks turn a
little rosier when her fist meets mine. “Atta girl. Now show me how it’s done.” I pause and hitch my
chin at her. “No, really. I don’t have a clue what we’re doing here.” I gesture to my mat and the
surrounding women.
Before she can respond, my angel appears beside me, a light sheen still illuminating her face from
the Hot Power Flow class she mentioned teaching before this one. The same class I was supposed to
attend but read the schedule wrong and ended up in this one instead.
“Sweet Sadie, I might need some help.” I look around. “I’ve been trying to follow, but it looks
like most of the class is down for the count.”
A small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth before she bites her lip to pull it back in. Shit. I’m
openly gawking at her. Usually, when I see her in town, I can get away with sneaking a glance, but not
while in her own class. I feel like a douche.
But who can say “I’m desperate to date my yoga instructor” and not sound like a douche?
“Um, Sean, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, yoga is a quiet, meditative kind of fitness class.”
“Is there a loud, wild yoga class? I think that might be better for me.”
“Um, no. Plus, I thought you wanted to learn all about prenatal yoga to be a better daddy?” Her
brows raise. Fuck. She knows.
“I believe I said something about learning the ropes and expanding my baby-mama knowledge.”
She hums at me. “Well, this is our final resting pose. Savasana calms the mind and the body. It’s a
crucial part of nearly every yoga class.”
I glance at Lana, who is now lying flat on her back, eyes closed, arms and legs spread out, looking
like she passed out. I hear a soft snore from her throat.
“We get to take a little nap? I’m in.”
Sadie's lips purse as she decides what to do with me. “Lie down, and I’ll talk you through it.”
Her sweet, melodic voice floats around me as she talks us through this last pose, and I find my
body relaxing in pleasant ways and tightening in others.
Get your thoughts out of the gutter, and calm your damn mind!
I focus on the sultry, smooth pull of Sadie's voice and let go.

“S ean?”Ishift slightly, confused. “Hm?”

“You’ll want to roll on to your side, slowly bringing awareness back into your body. Eyes closed;
arm tucked beneath your head.”
What?
I crack my eyelids and peer up at the blonde goddess above me.
Solid dream. Approve. Ten out of ten. Mental high five.
“Pretty yoga lady of my dreams.”
A thud sounds from somewhere in my bedroom.
Rational thought trickles in, and I realize that is not my ceiling above me, which means this is not
my bedroom. I scrub at my face, wishing I weren’t constantly making an ass of myself in front of this
woman.
I exhale and launch myself up and off my yoga mat—only to smack straight into something. A soft
“oomph” releases from the person I’ve launched into.
“Sorry! You okay? I thought you were still standing. Shit.”
I’m staring straight into the nearly navy eyes I seek out as much as possible. They are crystal blue
toward the center, like a starburst in the vastness of the night sky.
She cradles her cheek, and I immediately reach out to check her for damage. Sadie’s hand moves
away, allowing me to assess her injury. I run my fingers along her jaw, up to her high cheekbone in
soft strokes. Her cheek is pink, but not swollen.
“Let’s get you some ice. Do you have ice packs?”
“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have gotten so close to you. I was just worried. You’ve been out for over
twenty minutes.”
My hand is still on her face, but she doesn’t move away. I tear my gaze away from her to take a
quick peek around the now empty yoga studio. My eyes go back to the woman kneeling in front of me.
Her face is full of kindness, her lavender scent filling the surrounding space—yeah, I have three
sisters, so I know what lavender smells like—and she looks like a fucking wet dream in black yoga
shorts and a matching cropped, strappy top.
I skim my fingers over her smooth skin once more. She blinks at me like she’s just as mesmerized
as I am.
Drawing my hand away, I run my fingers through my hair—a nervous habit I haven’t been able to
kick—and bring my knees up, discreetly hiding my unintentional physical reaction.
Casually, I prop my arms on my knees. She glances down at my biceps so quickly, I almost
question if it happened.
I’m taking her in, questions swirling in my brain. I need to know so much more about the woman
my friend Lauren told me about when I first moved here. Lauren and Sadie have been friends for a
while, and with them both being teachers, they get to spend a lot of time together. Unlike me and
Sadie. We’ve only spent time together with our mutual friends, or I’ll sometimes see her at Taps &
Tapas or at town events.
Sadie stands, blinking rapidly, looking slightly flustered. Shit, I stared too long, probably creeping
her out.
“Let me go grab my stuff and then I’ll help you lock up or whatever, since I’ve kept you later than
usual.”
She shakes her head, and a raised hand tells me she’s going to turn down my offer, but I’m already
nearly to the door. I hold up a finger and say, “Be right back!” as I exit the room.
The moment I’m in the changing room, I grab my phone, and shoot a text to Lauren.
ME: I just made a fool of myself in Sadie’s yoga class. You have to meet us at Taps, so I can
buy her tacos and drinks to make it up to her. Maybe she’ll be up for just going with me solo, but
if not, I need you there. Then you’re going to have something come up and leave so we can have
time alone. If she’s comfortable. But if she’s not into me, that’s a totally different thing. If this
works out, I may even let you take a sliver of credit. Like one percent.
I give her one minute before sending her another message.
ME: Teach. Wing-woman. I need you. Tell me you’re able to meet us at Taps.
When I first met Lauren, she insisted Sadie was the woman of my dreams, and it didn’t take long
for me to believe she just might be right. I’m eager to find out everything about her.
LAUREN: Fine, yes, I can be there. I love the idea of you two hitting it off. Even if you end
up only being friends, you’re two of the sweetest people I know.
ME: I’m lucky to know you, friend.
LAUREN: Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you don’t get the onion rings. We all know what
happens when you eat those.
 ME: I’m not an idiot. I’m trying to get her to want to spend time with me, not leave crying. I
got this.
ME: Also. Why haven’t you arranged this before? Fuck, she’s so sweet. And gorgeous.
Dammit, woman. I’m disappointed in you. We’re supposed to be friends.
LAUREN: Sean. There’s something you should know about Sadie’s situation . . .
I put my phone back in my pocket, not wanting to let her psych me out.
Once I’m back inside the studio, I rub my hands together. “Alright, put me to work, then we can
get out of here and enjoy our evening.”
“No, no. Don’t worry about helping me. I don’t have much to do afterward.”
If that’s not an invitation, I don’t know what is.
“I can fix that. Come to Taps for a drink. Or maybe tacos?”
“Oh, that’s, um, so nice of you to offer. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was digging for an
invitation. I just didn’t want you to feel you were messing up my evening. My current plans are to go
home and cut out planet shapes for tomorrow’s science lesson.”
“You’re saying no to tacos? Is everything I’ve ever learned about women a lie?” I clutch my chest
dramatically, and her smile widens. “Do your feet never get cold too? If you tell me you don’t own at
least one scrunchy and a thousand bobby pins, I’ll be shattered.”
Her laughter echoes throughout the studio as I stare at her, mesmerized by her radiance. I’m so
screwed. And happily, at that.
I take a few steps closer, and she tracks my movements. At five foot eleven, I’m the shortest man
of nearly all my male relatives, but I still tower over the gorgeous pixie in front of me—the one who
just took a step away from me.
Skittish. Noted.
“Come on. My treat. Plus, I get to make sure your face doesn’t swell. We’ll grab an ice pack and
then head to Taps.” The local bar and grill, Taps & Tapas, has become one of my favorite places in
Landry since I moved here a couple months ago. When I was a kid, it didn’t exist when I visited my
family in the summer. It’s a fairly recent addition to the town, and it’s got delicious food. You can
catch up with just about everyone there, and grab a local brew, glass of wine, or whatever concoction
the bartenders, Evan and Ricky, whip up. How can she say no to all that?
“I shouldn’t. I have work to do and . . .” She fumbles for a reason, playing with the edge of her
cropped tank top. It only draws my attention to her toned belly.
Shit. I’m asking her out while alone in a yoga studio, attempting to lure her to a second location.
I’m a walking red flag.
“I’ll get Lauren to meet us there. Say in thirty minutes? Bring your teacher work. I’m great at arts
and crafts.” I grin at her, keeping my hands on my hips and my posture relaxed, so she doesn’t know
how nervous and desperate I am.
“Do you know what’s going on with her?”
“Lauren? Nope. I’m likely more in the dark than you. Hell, I just moved here a couple of months
ago. You’ve known her for what? A year or two?”
She hums in agreement. “A year and a half. You two didn’t know each other before?”
“No. We met when she tried setting me up with her friend, Emma, on a dating app.” Her eyebrows
lift in surprise, and I immediately clear up any confusion. “That sounds bad, but I swear, I’m not a
dating app guy. I tried it for a few months right before I moved here, that’s all. Lauren had made a fake
profile for Emma, and got us to meet. There was absolutely no romantic connection, but it was great
to make some friends.” I smile and puff out my chest. “And I got to orchestrate Emma and Jess’s
reunion. I’m practically the relationship whisperer.”
She gives a dainty snort. “I think you need more than one relationship mended to be considered a
relationship whisperer. Don’t you think?”
“You’re right. New goal: help all my friends and family find love. Even the stubborn ones like
Garrett.”
Her eyebrow quirks and her smile grows. “That’s quite the goal. Something tells me your cousin
wouldn’t like you butting into his personal life.”
She’s not wrong. But with Garrett, ruffling his stoic feathers is part of the draw. I’ve only seen
one other person able to rile him up more than I can, and she’s trouble. Thankfully for him, she’s
trouble that doesn’t reside in Landry anymore.
“Plus, shouldn’t you try to work out your Baby Daddy situation first?”
That wipes the shit-eating grin off my face.
“So, here’s the thing . . .”
“No, no. Sorry, that’s not my business. I have no idea what the boundaries of your relationship
are.”
Wait. Does she think I’m in a relationship with someone? Fuck. And I invited Lauren to join us,
which could possibly give Sadie the wrong idea. I’m an idiot.
“I’m not in a relationship. Haven’t been in a while. To be honest, you’re the only woman who has
interested me for quite some time.”
Her eyes widen in shock, cheeks turning a deep pink.
Stop fucking talking. Look at her! You’ve freaked her the fuck out.
I don’t want to blindside her and pretend my invitation is strictly platonic. But I don’t want to
make her feel uncomfortable.
Yet I can’t seem to help myself. I’ve developed some kind of Pavlovian response to her. See
Sadie, bask in her smile, heart races. Now, all it takes is a glimpse of her. “That baby daddy thing
was just—”
A sigh leaves her and her eyes dart between mine. “I don’t know what to say. I think there’s been
a misunderstanding. You’re great. An incredible catch. I mean, look at you.” Her cheeks flame and she
covers her face with both hands for a moment. “Never mind. What I mean to say is—”
“Sadie, glad I caught you.” A man in a navy suit walks into the room like he owns it, sliding right
up next to my little pixie. “I almost headed to your place first, but this was closer driving in from
Vaughn.”
Sadie jumps a little, mouth open in a wide o. “I, um, didn’t realize you were coming into town
tonight.”
“I can see that.” His eyes cut over to me.
“You said your schedule wasn’t firmed up yet.” She glances at me briefly before turning back to
him. “Class just ended. This is Sean. He recently moved to town and is one of my yoga students.”
The scowling man in the suit slides a possessive hand over to clasp Sadie’s shoulder. A sinking
feeling settles into the pit of my stomach.
Social etiquette has me holding out my hand to greet the man who has now labeled himself as my
competition.
“Nice to meet you.”
He says nothing, just squeezes my hand to assert some kind of dominance. I could one-handed toss
this asshole across the room.
My gaze flickers back to Sadie, who looks uncomfortable.
 “Aren’t you going to introduce me, doll? Must have given you quite the surprise if you’ve so
easily forgotten your manners.” He smiles at her like he’s teasing, but it’s off-putting, darker than it
should be.
What a prick. If he talks to her like that again, I’ll be hauling him outside.
When I look back at Sadie, the muscles of her delicate jaw clench before she speaks. “Right.
Sorry.” She gives him a wide, stiff smile before turning back to me. “Sean, this is Keith. My
boyfriend.”
Well, fuck.
Guess that’s what Lauren was about to tell me about Sadie’s situation.
“Soon to be a live-in boyfriend. Right, baby?”
Double fuck.
In my mind, I hear the ugly, heaving death sounds from that Street Fighter game when a fighter gets
knocked out.
Her brow furrows as she turns to face him. “What?” she asks, her voice quiet. “What are you
talking about, Keith?”
“I put an offer on that house on the north end of town. That was what all the paperwork you signed
the other day was about. I just heard the offer was accepted and came here to celebrate.” He turns to
me, and there’s a glint in his eye. “I hope you don’t mind, Sean, but my lady and I plan to talk about
the house for a while and then spend some time together. We only get to see each other a couple times
a week since I live out of town. But now that Sadie’s buying a bigger house here—with my help, of
course—you’ll see me around more often.”
“Great,” I say, expressionless, taking a few backward steps, reaching the studio doors. My eyes
remain fixed on Sadie. “Congrats on the house.”
She just stares at me in response, and I force myself to come to terms with my role in her life—the
boyfriend-in-waiting.
C HAPTER 2
SADIE
PRE S E NT

I tap my pen anxiously against my notebook, staring blankly at the list I started.

How To Fix My Messy Life:

1. Take my therapist’s advice when she says I should build a support system and that telling
people is a part of healing.
2. Tell someone. Anyone. No more hiding, pretending, or making excuses.
3. File a report at the Sheriff’s Office.
4. Move out.

There are dozens more items to add, but I put the list down, and lean back against the headboard
of my king-sized bed. I’m in my room, alone and miserable—in a house I hate, living a life I regret.
Beside me sits a baseball bat, a bottle of ibuprofen, an ice pack, and my daunting list of tasks.
The realization that I might have to go to the hospital in Vaughn also draws nearer. The gouge on
my head won’t stop bleeding, and I’ve felt nauseous since last night. Chloe, my nurse practitioner
friend, would probably tell me I need stitches and checked for a concussion.
But since I have no intention of showing up where she works at Caldwell Medical with a head
wound, plenty of bruising, and a swollen wrist—all of which scream domestic abuse—I will have to
find my way to the hospital closest to Landry.
Which means I’d get to check off “tell someone” on my list. But I don’t know if I’m ready—I feel
too broken.
Though the most prominent feeling is probably shame. For the better part of a year, I’ve had
sleepless nights thinking about how I became stuck in this life.
And despite being a crappy friend, and currently being neck-deep in emotional baggage, I know
they’ll still show up for me. Though I often question if I deserve it.
Faint rumbling from outside causes me to pick up my bat. I slink into the living room, slipping a
small portion of the drapes aside to see whose vehicle is on my street.
A big black truck idles out front, and I’m pummeled with a contrasting sense of both calm and
panic. I release the curtain immediately and hit the hardwood floor just in case he can somehow see
inside. Because Sean absolutely cannot see me like this.
I just won’t answer the door.
My car is in the garage. He’ll never know.
A jaunty knock has a ghost of a smile pulling at my lips because even his knocking is upbeat and
cute. But that will change the moment he sees me battered and bruised. How the heck am I going to get
out of this situation without everyone knowing? How am I going to hold my head up in town while
everyone knows what I let happen? Who is going to want the pathetic woman I’ve become?
Stupid. Worthless. Disappointing.
The voice echoes in my head.
More knocking at the door snaps me out of my self-loathing.
 Go away, Sean. I can’t face you like this.
I can hear my phone ringing in the other room. Crap. Can he hear it too?
“Sadie! Come on, sweets. Open the door.” He gives a few more raps against the wood. “I don’t
care what you look like. You could be covered in vomit, a fever sweat dripping down your face, and
smell like death, and I’d still want to see you. I mean, I’d stay a good ten feet away, but I’d toss you a
towel and some food every so often.”
I hear a thud as if he’s resting his arm or head against the door.
“Sadie. I’m kidding. Let me in. I come bearing gifts.”
It’s quiet for a while, and I hold my breath. The footfalls against the front deck sound like they’re
moving away from the house. I blow out the breath I’ve been holding, my body relaxing as I creep my
way back to my room.
A tiny voice in my mind asks how long I can hole up here. My problem isn’t going away. In fact,
he may come back any time now. And legally, I don’t know what my options are.
Knocking again.
I tiptoe down the hall and into my room to check my phone to see who’s been calling, but a few
texts pop up first.
LAUREN: Babe. I know you’ve been busy lately (see last five unreturned text messages).
But I wanted to give a heads up that Sean is blowing up my phone about you. He’s worried
you’re too sick to even come to the door.
A minute later, I get another text.
LAUREN: He’s moments away from using your hidden key and storming the tower to save
the princess.
Darn it.
ME: Sorry. I was in the shower.
More lies. But what’s one more after all the rest?
LAUREN: Hi! Wasn’t sure that would work. Good to know I’m guaranteed a response if I
bring Sean up.
This is followed by several winking face emojis.
ME: He’s going to knock my door right off the hinges. Can you tell him to stand down, and
I’ll be there in a minute?
LAUREN: On it.
ME: And Lauren?
LAUREN: Yeah, Dee?
ME: Thank you for checking on me. And for continuing to check on me even though I’ve
been so absent lately. I appreciate it more than you know.
LAUREN: Of course. I’m always here for you! Now go answer the door. He’s found the key.
I do a quick appraisal of my sweatpants, tank top, and loose, wavy hair. Not terrible, but I’ll have
to keep my left side out of view. Today I need to focus on getting myself together. Tomorrow, I’ll start
checking things off my list.
“Coming!” I shout as I walk to the front of the house.
I take a deep breath and partially open the door, keeping my body angled behind it while trying for
a stance that looks casual but is probably failing. My gaze finds Sean’s green irises. In the evening
light, they shine like beacons.
I can’t seem to keep from looking him over. His deep mahogany brown hair is a mess, the longer
pieces on top falling forward like he’s been raking his hands through it and loosened any product he
might have used to tame it. He’s in a black hoodie that’s stretched across a tight, wide chest. It hangs
loose at his waist, but I know what lurks beneath. God, how I know. How many nights did guilt and
desire gnaw at me, thinking about what’s beneath that shirt? Too many.
One beach volleyball game a few summers ago ruined the male physique for me. Well, the normal
male physique. Sean is so far above average in almost every way. His disarming, lopsided grin, the
dimples he gives out freely, the joy he brings out of everyone he meets, the way he connects with
people.
Then there’s the way he tests the tensile strength of fabric with one curled bicep. To put it mildly,
being friends with him has been complicated.
I’m in such an emotional fog right now I have no idea how long my perusal of his many attributes
lasts. Thank God it’s fairly dark outside.
Even with the dim light, Sean notices things. He always has. His eyes seem to devour me, seeing
more than anyone ever has.
That small, ashamed voice inside me tells me he needs to go. I don’t want him to see me like this.
But a bigger part of me wants him to stay. God, do I ever want him to stay.
C HAPTER 3
SEAN
T WO HO U RS PRE VIO U S

I swagger into the Power Flow yoga class with my usual grin and pep. I’ve gotten better at
yoga. After three years of practice, some might even say I’m shockingly decent. My body can
now do things I didn’t think would ever be possible, and the heat doesn’t kick my ass as much as it
used to either. But I’m no expert and in many classes I find myself zoned out, my focus singular—
Sadie.
Is it pathetic to be completely gone over a woman who’s in a long-term relationship? Yep. And it
feels really fucking pathetic that I now have to avoid her and Keith on the rare occasion I see them
together. Not only does it burn me up from the inside, but I can’t stand how they are together. They
aren’t overly cute and have never been the PDA type. Quite the opposite, actually. And I don’t fucking
get it. He’s rarely in town, leads her around like an accessory, and dims that inner radiance of hers.
“Namaste. My name is Heather. I’ll be leading this Hot Power Flow class today.”
Huh? My head whips to the front. “Sadie okay?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
Heather peeks around a student and waves at me. “Hi, Sean. I’m not sure. Stella called me late
last night asking if I could fill in. So here I am with all you wonderful people.”
I frown and glance around, trying to see if anyone knows anything. I have no issue badgering
people for answers.
Sadie hardly ever misses class. The last few times were because she caught a bug from her
kindergarten students. As a friend—because that’s all I can be—I always texted her to find out if she
was okay or needed anything. Now, she lets me know when she’s not going to be in class. I think
because she knows I worry. But also, because when she’s sick, she knows I’ll bring her my famous
care basket. And I don’t care what she says—I know she loves it.
The class drags on unbearably, and the minute it’s over, I grab my things and race to the change
room. A glance at my phone shows only two messages. The first is from Hayden, who owns the local
auto repair shop, asking if we are still meeting up later. The second is from one of my employees
asking for Friday off.
I text my diesel mechanic back and let him know we are on the job site at a farm on Friday and I
need him since I recently fired my other certified diesel mechanic for being an incompetent,
dangerous asshole. Otherwise, my staff and business are going surprisingly well.
If only my romantic life was as successful.
I’m a likeable guy. I make friends easily, and I’m great at networking, charming customers, and
confidently striding through the life I’ve built here in Landry. People love me. With one notable
exception, and long ago, my heart decided that one person is the only one who matters—the only one I
need to build the future I’ve always wanted.
I knew one day I’d meet a woman—the woman—who would light my life on fire and make me
want to lay my heart at her feet. I’d get all up in her life and keep her so fucking happy it would be all
I’d think about. Then, three years ago, I met Sadie and found my woman—the woman. Shortly after,
she introduced me to her douchebag boyfriend.
And what makes this torturous waiting game even more difficult is knowing the piece of shit
boyfriend doesn’t deserve a single second of Sadie’s time.
 I want to be the guy that deserves her. The one taking prenatal yoga with my beautiful pregnant
wife. The one with a houseful of kids and dogs. Showing up at the grandparents’ house and unleashing
the kids on them while I whisk my little pixie on a surprise vacation.
I’m a family guy, and I want the family life I had when I was growing up. Well, the one I had up
until my late teens. After Dad and I had a falling out, things weren’t quite the same.
So, my family and romantic life are both in various stages of upheaval. And until I see a way to do
something about either of those things, I keep living my small-town life just as I’ve been doing the last
few years.
I head out of the building and get in my truck, sulking about not having any messages from Sadie.
One hour from now, when I’m finished my workout and watching Netflix, I’ll be wondering if Sadie
is sick, if she ate dinner, if anyone is taking care of her.
Maybe I’ll just call Chloe quickly and see if she’s seen Sadie come into the clinic or anything.
“Hey, Sean. We were just talking about you.”
“About how strong, handsome, and incredibly skilled I am? Continue boasting about your amazing
cousin. I’ve only got a minute, though, so hit me with the highlights.”
“Ha. Aria and I were talking about how you still haven’t gone to Book Club.”
“Well, your girl Aria was supposed to go with me—because going alone is asking for the kind of
trouble even I wouldn’t be able to wriggle out of—but her knocked up ass ditched me and took your
brother.”
Worth it though. There are pictures all over town of stoic, grumpy Garrett getting wild at Book
Club, and it makes me smile every single time. I bring it up as often as I can, and usually get the same
response from him, “Stop or I will come after your truck.”
Asshole always goes for my truck as if I won’t be able to fix whatever he does. I started out as an
auto mechanic and since specialized in diesel mechanics. I can fix just about anything with a motor.
Though, I’ll admit, auto body work is not my expertise. But Hayden toys with body work as a hobby
these days, so I’d practically be doing him a favor. Or that’s what I’d tell myself if I had to drop my
truck off with him.
Hayden almost had me considering running Erle’s Tire Shop—which is actually a full auto repair
shop. But I enjoy being my own boss and the challenge that heavy equipment brings to the job. Some
days, it’s fucking hard and you’re working on axles or replacing a pump coupler out in the mud with
barely enough room to get underneath the machine. All the parts are ten times the size of your average
automobile part, but it keeps me profitable and in great shape.
The ladies are talking about what they think my favorite part of Book Club will be when I clear
my throat. “Listen, I have to interrupt your Sean gushing time to ask if any of our friends came into the
clinic sick today.”
“Which friend?” Aria immediately asks. Chloe must have put the call on speaker.
“We can’t give out that information, Sean,” my cousin tells me, using her professional tone.
“There is a half dozen other people who would tell me exactly who was in the waiting room
today without a moment’s hesitation.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to ask them, because legally, I can’t,” Chloe states.
“Oh, I don’t have any legal oath thing preventing me from revealing who was in the waiting room.
Do I, Chloe?” Aria says.
“You work for the clinic,” my cousin reminds her.
“Sounds like that’s not a no. You’ve got wiggle room, Aria. Give me the deets.”
“Who do you need to know about?”
 Shit. This is the part I don’t want to admit. After I crashed and burned asking Sadie out, I’ve been
playing it fairly cool for the last few years. Now, directly asking my friends about her is something
I’ve been adamant to avoid.
Not because they’d tease me. No, that would be welcome.
They’d feel sorry for me.
I’m already somewhat the black sheep of my family, and now I’m a man who wants to be in a
relationship but can’t seem to fall for any available women.
“Oh. Sadie,” Aria says, her tone filled with so much meaning and sadness I don’t have time to
dissect.
“She wasn’t in class today, and I haven’t seen her around, so I thought I’d check in and see if she’s
been in the clinic.” They don’t need to know that I plan on bringing her a basket of shit. And I don’t
need to hear about how that might be inappropriate or pathetic given our circumstances. The
circumstances being that I am head over heels for Sadie, and she thinks of me as a goofy, sweet friend
whom her boyfriend hates.
Chloe makes a disappointed tsking sound I know well. “I've been worried too. Have you talked to
Lauren? She’s the best person to ask. She’s in The League, knows all the teachers in Landry, and goes
to all the staff events.”
I could ask Lauren. But she would know why I’m asking since she’s the only person I’ve
confessed to about my feelings for Sadie.
“Yeah, okay. I’ve got some shit to do on Main Street, so I’ll ask around, and if not, I’ll deploy
Lauren as a last resort,” I tell them before hanging up.
I frown, not liking the idea that no one has heard from Sadie in a while. Unfortunately, the one
person who has is probably the absolute last person I should ask.
As head of The Landry Life League—aka The League—our town’s information network and
gossip group, Stella is highly connected to all town happenings. And since tonight is Knitting Night
over at Baked Delights, I know exactly where she is right now.
My walk down Main Street doesn’t take long. I pass under shop awnings, waving back to people
through the large front windows. The old-fashioned feel of the central hub of our town always fills me
with warmth. Even on this cool, early-spring night.
Rounding the corner to the entrance of the bakery/cafe, I peek inside to see if the ladies are still
here. At the front table right near the door, I can see Lauren’s mother-in-law, Bev, and a few others:
Fern, Maria, and of course, Stella, whose eyes are locked on me.
Well, so much for casual.
Stella grins at me and tips her head, gesturing for me to come inside.
I open the door, take a breath, and put on my usual smirk.
“Ladies, you're looking cozy as all hell up in here. Maria, is that tiny cap for your sister’s new
grandbaby?” I give them all fist bumps, which they love. It may have taken some time to get them all
on board, but now they blush or smile every time, and it makes my damn day.
“It sure is, sweetie,” Maria tells me. “We don’t know if Camila’s having a boy or a girl yet, so it’s
just white and gray for now. Once that baby comes, I’m buying a bunch of new yarn.”
“She’s lucky to have such a talented aunt. I still use that scarf you made me.”
“Oh, Sean.” She waves off my compliment. “That was when I first started knitting. That thing was
supposed to be a sweater.”
“Yeah, and it has lots of extra fabric—which means extra coverage for these big shoulders and
chest.” I slap a hand across my puffed-up chest.
 The whole table chuckles at me.
“I’m going to grab some soup if Dani has any left, drop some off for Sadie, and then head home.
You ladies have a good night.”
I wave them off and take one, two, three steps before—
“Soup for Sadie, did you say?” a curious voice sounds from behind me.
Got her.
I turn slowly, an easy smile on my face. “Yeah. She missed yoga today, so I figured she was sick,
and Chloe and the rest of the girls wanted someone to check on her.” Technically, that’s true.
Stella’s eyes narrow lightly before she puts down her knitting needles. “She sent me a message
asking if I could find someone to cover for her classes for the rest of the week. I was told she called
in at the school too.”
Involuntarily I shuffle forward a couple of steps. “Must be a nasty bug.”
“She definitely has something bad.” Stella cocks her head to the side, assessing me. Her eyes
soften as she speaks again. “You should drop off one of your get-well baskets.” How the hell does she
know about that? I’ve only ever delivered them to two people: Sadie, and my sister Noa when she
had her appendix removed last year.
“Alright. If you insist.” I wink at her, and her shoulders shake well before the laugh bursts from
her mouth.
“Sean Caldwell. You are a rascal,” she says, a knowing smile on her face.
“I have no idea what you mean. I’m simply taking some soup to a friend as instructed. It’ll be my
last errand of the day.”
“Ha! Errand my ass,” Fern comments, not bothering to lower her voice. “Always been sweet on
that girl. And taking your damn time getting rid of that dreadful man who’s horned in on her life.” She
looks up at me from her knitting. “Don’t let us keep you. Go on and run your errand.” A gleeful giggle
follows her haughty tone.
I decide not to acknowledge that. Instead, I turn on my heel and get to the counter to order soup,
sandwiches, pastries, and some other treats.
I ask Dani, the owner, to pack it all to go since I’m dropping it off at Sadie’s, as per The League’s
instructions.
She rolls her eyes at me while grabbing a paper bag. “Sean, you are just too freaking adorable.”
I huff at her. I’m not adorable. Handsome? Sure. Charming? You bet. Sly? Absolutely. Not fucking
adorable. The term adorable is reserved for babies and puppies.
With my order all packaged, I head out, mentally making a list of the rest of my stops. With my
hands full, I spin around, using my back to open the door. Glancing at the knitting group, I discover
there are now significantly more women at the table than when I first came in. When did they all get
here?
They’re all looking at me with various forms of telling grins on their faces. Except Bev. For a
second, I think maybe she’s staying out of it because I’m friends with her son, Taylor, and her
daughter-in-law, Lauren. But then she winks at me and gives me a thumbs up.
This town thinks they know everything. Problem is, they usually do.

n the drive to her house on the other side of town, I think back to the last time Sadie missed yoga
O
class. A few months back, she texted me, “You’ll have a different instructor for class today. My uterus
is trying to kill me,” likely thinking that would deter me from asking around about why she
missed yoga or asking any follow-up questions.
Well, she figured wrong. Periods don’t scare me like they might other men. I grew up with three
sisters. Nothing shocks me anymore.
Despite the occasional text, hanging out without friends, and the wellness baskets, Sadie and I are
friends, but we keep a certain distance. It’s not smart to get too close to a woman you’ve had a crush
on for years but can’t have.
It’s called self-preservation. Though, I think if she let me in, if she let me get closer, I’d tell those
self-preservation instincts to fuck off.
All of our mutual friends tend not to discuss her boyfriend much. As a well-intentioned meddler,
this has plagued me. Keith is an asshole, and some of us get a bit wound up about an incredibly sweet,
fun, fucking adorable woman like Sadie being with such a prick.
He can’t be counted on to be there for Sadie when she needs it. Hence my visit and why I—or one
of our friends—always pop over when we think she might need someone. Even if it tears my fucking
heart out to not do more.
I pull up to Sadie’s house and notice the still, quiet darkness—almost as if no one is home. The
last remnants of sunlight are filtering through the trees behind her house, and it seems so peaceful. But
there’s a churning in my stomach making me worry.
My truck is a loud, jacked-up diesel, so if she’s home, she’ll definitely hear it.
Seeing the curtains flutter as I head up the walkway gives me a little hope that she’s home and
doing okay. I bang on the door and wait, basket in hand.
She doesn’t answer and I hear nothing.
So, I knock again—a few times. Nothing.
Maybe she’s not home. I head over to her garage and look inside to see if her car is there. It’s
skirting the line of creeper, but I can’t help but think she might be in there and in pain or too sick to
move and no one is here to help her. If Keith were here, he would have answered the door. And his
Jaguar would be in the garage, since he makes her park outside when he's in town.
I didn’t want to bring Lauren in on this because the woman sees and knows too much already, but
desperate times and all that. I send her a quick message telling her I’m worried that Sadie’s not
answering her door, but her car is here. Then I try calling Sadie again, but still no answer.
Would it be wrong to let myself in and check on her? I mean, people ignore the door when they
don’t want company, but what if she’s not answering because she physically can’t? She called into the
school and yoga for the rest of the week. That’s probably not just period cramps or a sinus infection.
I tell Lauren to try her again, just in case she’s just not answering because it’s me. I don’t think
I’ve done anything to piss her off this week. I’ve barely flirted with her because that’s when she
sometimes ghosts me for a while.
One time, I sent her a picture of Jess and me shirtless on a morning run. Yes, it was shameless, but
she’d made a joke about me being an overzealous, superficial flirt when we were all out the night
before, so I sent her that photo letting her know I have plenty of other assets she could add to the list.
She refused to text me back for weeks after that.
My phone buzzes.
LAUREN: Dial down your stage-five clinger status. Don’t go busting in. She was in the
shower. She’ll answer the door soon.
ME: Fine. She okay?
 LAUREN: I’m not sure. I think she will be though.
Sure, now is an excellent time to be cryptic as fuck.
Just as I’m about to ask her what she means, Sadie opens the door a crack. Not enough to let me
see much of her, but at least she’s getting around. I also wish the porch light were on because I can
barely see now that the sun has nearly set.
“Hey.” She gives me a tentative smile, and then narrows her eyes at my expression. “Uh oh. What
happened? Did Heather wake you during savasana? Not everyone lets you sleep as long as I do.
Unless you snore, then I give the rest of class permission to throw their foam blocks at you.”
“Heather was fine. Though she completely ignores my jokes and keeps a running tally of the
number of times I talk. What she does with that number, I have no idea.” I give her my usual grin, but
she looks down instead.
“So . . . you missed me? Is that what you’re saying?” she teases.
“Clearly.” She shifts slightly as I lean against the door frame. “And I was worried. You know I
worry when you don’t show up at yoga.” I think I’ve badgered her enough that she now knows if she
goes MIA, I investigate.
She rolls her eyes before looking down at her feet. “What did you think happened to me?” Her
voice is high, with a slight shakiness.
That’s when I really look her over.
Something’s wrong. Really wrong.
C HAPTER 4
SADIE
PRE S E NT

W hat did you think happened to me?

What a stupid question. When you think worst-case scenarios, what actually happened
ranks pretty high. Assaulted by shitty ex-boyfriend could be right up there with got into a car
accident.
“I’m not sure, and you know how I don’t like to leave a mystery unsolved.”
“It’s why you like those cold case file shows.”
“Exactly.” He shifts closer, and I hold strong making sure the door doesn’t budge. “So, are you
sick? Period? Mental health week? What’s going on? Should I get Chloe to come over?”
I give him a fake smile and look down, not wanting to lie right to his face. I go with a partial truth.
“No, no. Just not feeling so well. I’ll be healed up soon.”
“Healed up?”
Crap, my brain fog is getting to me. “Yeah. You know, inner healing.”
“Uh, sure, okay. I brought you your basket. Found some different books in the lending library than
usual. Did you know alien romance is a thing? Read that one first. I need to know more about it. We
can discuss after.”
I laugh and wince. That hurts my head and nearly the entire left side of my body. He frowns at me,
but I speak before he can question it. “Why don’t you borrow it after me? Oh! Maybe you can
convince Book Club to make it their next read!”
I’d love to be a fly on the wall at that event. Alien romance would bring it to a whole new level.
He chuckles and reaches down to grab the basket I didn’t even see.
“Not sure what ‘inner healing’ you’ll be needing, but this should hopefully do the trick. There are
soups and sandwiches in there too that should last you for a few days.”
His eyes search mine like he’s trying to read me, see me in ways no one has in years. I hold his
stare, a tingle of awareness lighting in my belly, my breath coming out in shallow pants. It’s always
been like this with him. And it’s why I try to keep my distance when I can.
He quickly extends the basket in my direction, catching me a little off guard. So off guard that I
release the door and grab the enormously over-filled thing with both hands.
A hiss of pain leaves me as the wrist that’s likely days away from pain-free mobility tries to hold
the weight of the basket. Sean’s eyes widen. I quickly shift the basket to my right arm.
“Sadie . . .”
His face morphs from fiery determination to concern. He leans closer and I lean away, thankful
for the cover of darkness. I can’t let him in here or he’ll see everything. He’ll see the version of me I
never want to be again.
“Fine, just a pain. No big deal. I just need some more rest.”
“Well, if you will not tell me what’s wrong or let me take you to the doctor, at least let me put that
inside for you. Or is your boyfriend home?” The way he says boyfriend has me wondering if he’s
always said it like that. If mentioning Keith has always put that tick in his jaw. I know he used to be
interested in me, but that was years ago. He’s moved on and I’ve stayed stuck.
He peers behind me, but I nudge the door with my foot, making sure he can’t see into the living
room. It’s still a wreck from last night.
“No. Keith’s not here.” I leave it at that for now. Figuring out what to tell people about Keith is on
the to-do list that’s sitting on my bed, waiting for me.
“Great. I’ll bring this in and heat some soup for you. The rest I’ll put in the fridge for later.” He
lifts the basket out of my arms, and I scramble to stop him.
“No, no. I can do it. Really.” I shift a few inches, preventing him from squeezing by. If he takes
one more step into this house, he’s going to see everything.
“Sadie. I have no idea why your boyfriend isn’t here taking care of you while you’re sick. Or why
you’ve been AWOL so much lately, but I won’t be talked out of taking care of you. Friends do this for
each other, so if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t. This is just one friend helping another.” He
gently nudges by me as I try to grip on to him with my good arm. “Holy fucking hell. Sadie, what the
fuck happened in here?”
Sean is muttering and actively trying to calm his breathing. “Sadie. I need to know what happened
here. Did you have an accident? Get broken into? I don’t even want to guess anything else.” He steps
closer and I step back, holding my wrist.
“Did that asshole do this?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
He walks over to the wall and turns on the lights. I whimper in pain. The light hurts. I close my
eyes and shield my face.
I can hear him getting closer, so I back up.
“Sadie, please, let me look at you. I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.” Tears come to my eyes.
That’s what I thought about Keith too. “Please, sweets. If you don’t want me to look, at least let me
call someone.”
I’m not ready to tell anyone else. “Okay. You can look. Just be careful.”
“Always,” he murmurs as he steps closer. “I’m always careful with you.”
He gently removes the hand shielding my face from the bright lights and replaces it with his own
so he can still see.
His chest rumbles right before he shouts, “Fuck.” My body jerks and he freezes, looking me in the
eye. “Shit, did that hurt? Did I touch something?”
“The shouting. It-It’s the shouting.” Keith shouted constantly near the end, probably because he
knew I was slipping out of his hold and it usually got me to back down.
“Christ. Sorry, sweets.”
He checks the multiple Band-Aids covering the gash on my forehead. Then moves on to my
slightly swollen eye and cheek. He breathes deeply through his nose and looks down for a moment
while he gathers himself.
“Where else?” he asks.
I hold out my wrist and he studies it, not touching. A growl of frustration leaves him as he sees the
finger-shaped bruises along my forearm.
“And my ribs,” I mutter.
He clears his throat and squeezes his eyes shut. “Will you let me check?”
I don’t want him to see all of my damage—inside or out—but it’s too late for that now. “Yes.”
I make a move to lift my shirt, but his eyes meet mine as he nods at it, silently asking if he can
help. I nod. His fingers barely graze my skin as he lifts the shirt to see the red and purple pattern
across my rib cage from when I fell into the coffee table. His fingers feather over them, leaving a cool
tingle in their wake.
 “You need to go to the clinic. Maybe the hospital.”
“I’ll be fine in a few days,” I tell him, licking my suddenly dry lips. “It looks worse than it is.”
“Sadie. Let me bring you in. Please. You could have a concussion, a broken wrist. That cut on
your head needs attention and unfortunately”—he swallows roughly—“I don’t have the skills.”
He looks pale, and there’s an intensity to his expression I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before.
“I don’t want anyone to know,” I admit, my voice a weak whisper.
“The clinic just closed a little while ago. I bet Garrett is still there. I’ll call him and get him to
open back up for us.”
The panic is creeping back in. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what will happen once I set
the wheels in motion. Once everyone knows.
“Please let me take you in.”
I stare into his sad, stormy green eyes. “Okay.”
After locking up, we head to his truck. Slowing to a stop right before we reach the passenger side,
I look up at it and know there’s no way I’m getting into this thing without it hurting a whole hell of a
lot.
He opens my door and turns to face me, immediately knowing why I’m hesitating. “I got you. Hold
on to my shoulders.”
I reach up, but the movement hurts my ribs, so I pull that arm back. He looks down at me,
assessing the best way to carry me. He dips down, takes my good arm and places it across his
shoulders, then gently scoops the back of my knees and my back. He easily lifts me into his truck.
When he leans across to buckle me in, I catch a whiff of his fresh-laundry-and-man scent that always
seems to calm me. I shouldn’t be appreciating anything about men right now, but this is a small
comfort I can’t help but appreciate.
Or maybe it has more to do with this specific man.
Maybe it means I’m going to be fine. That I’m going to get over this. That Keith didn’t break me
or my propensity for love and affection.
Or maybe it just proves how pathetic and stupid I am.
Sean gets in on the other side and looks over at me, scanning my entire body again, rage sparking
from his eyes as I flinch.
His shoulders slump, but his fists clench the steering wheel.
We don’t talk on the way to the clinic. I have a feeling he’s not capable right now, and frankly, I
don’t think I’m ready to do any explaining yet either.
C HAPTER 5
 SADIE

S ometimes white knights are actually villains in disguise. Those fake white knights get their
shiny armor by stepping on others, forcing the lowly masses to do their bidding, never having
to get their hands dirty.
In looking for my fairy-tale happily ever after, I chose the wrong man. I chose the villain
disguised as a knight.
God, I was so stupid.
It makes me question if I’ll ever be able to tell the difference. Because it didn’t start out awful.
There were no obvious signs, no discerning red flags. Not at first. But maybe there were. Maybe I
was so stuck in grief and loneliness, I didn’t notice.
As I sit in an enormous truck, with a fuming, practically shaking man beside me, I question for the
hundredth time why I stayed for as long as I did. The answer isn’t easy. They aren’t in these
situations, I suppose.
For the last couple of years, I felt as if the freedom to make the choice to separate—or any choice
—had slipped away. With every decision I had to run by him, every outing he requested I cancel,
every contention I made for him, I slipped farther and farther from who I was and what I wanted.
I’m so lost in my thoughts it doesn’t register that we’ve pulled up to the clinic until Sean gently
touches my hand. I startle and glance over at him. The fire is still in his eyes, his phone held up to his
ear, but he attempts a half smile.
“Garrett, I have someone outside your clinic who needs to be looked at. Answer your damn
phone.” He tosses the phone on to the console between us then gets out of the truck. “I’ll be right
back. I’m going to get Garrett to open the door. Stay here.”
He walks away and bangs on the door like he’s about to break it down. After a minute or two,
Garrett comes to the door and Sean shouts at him, pointing to the vehicle, and then storms back over
to the truck. Garrett follows a few paces behind him.
I untuck my hair from behind my ears and hope it’ll shield the worst of my messed-up face.
As Sean makes his way over, he pulls off the hoodie he’s wearing. Before I can grip the door
handle, Sean’s there, opening it and holding the hoodie out toward me.
My eyebrows scrunch as I try to understand if he wants me to put the hoodie in the back or—
“You can put it on and cover your face with it if you don’t want anyone to see or recognize you.”
I tear up a little at his thoughtfulness. While taking it from him, I glance down and know it’s going
to be a painful process to get it on.
He seems to pick up on that, scrunches it up, holding the neck opening out, and offers to put it over
my head. I lean forward and he slowly—carefully—guides my head through. My arms are next, and I
barely help, too distracted by being surrounded by his scent and the feel of rough hands on my skin.
I wonder what he must be thinking. Sean doesn’t touch me too often. Yet he’s the most affectionate
guy I’ve ever met. He sets those big arms over everyone’s shoulders, hugs all his friends and family
—in sympathy, excitement, adoration—ruffles hair, cuddles Lauren and Emma’s kids, and even takes
everyone for a spin on the dance floor at Taps. Not as much with me though.
For a while, I was grateful. It kept the lines from getting blurred, kept my focus on my relationship
with Keith and attempting to make it all I hoped for it to be. But Sean keeping this part of himself from
me always bothered me.
“Doing okay?” he asks.
I simply nod, unable to look at him when he’s this close and I feel so vulnerable.
He settles the hood over my head and pulls it down so it’s partly obstructing my face. Then softly,
almost in a whisper, he says, “I’m going to carry you in, okay?”
He’s not looking at me, and I feel pressure building behind my eyes. I haven’t cried since last
night. I’ve been too busy thinking, planning, and being angry with myself. But I think I’ve broken Sean,
the most positive, upbeat, charismatic person in Landry.
“Okay.”
He easily scoops me up, kicks the door closed, and takes me inside the clinic. My stomach whirls
at the feeling of being light and safe in his arms.
I see Aria first, and even under the cover of this enormous hoodie, face tucked into Sean’s warm
neck, I know she recognizes me. Her hand flutters up to cover her mouth, shock clear on her face.
A few months back, she witnessed a fight between Keith and me. One of my friends finally saw
how controlling and narcissistic Keith had become. I made excuses and told Aria I’d be leaving him
soon, but I had to do it my way. She kept her promise not to bring it up again but has been checking on
me regularly since.
The talk I had with Aria was the reality check I needed to push me into seeing a therapist the
following week. She’s helped me rebuild and reshape my mindset, but I wasn’t as mentally prepared
for a physical confrontation as I should have been.
Sean sets me on the exam table but keeps a hand on my back. When Garrett follows in after him,
he shifts even closer.
“I need you to check Sadie out. She has head, wrist, and rib injuries.”
“Of course.” Garrett points to his own head and I realize the hood is still up. Sean helps me
remove it, and I wait for the questions I know his cousin will have for me.
“Sadie, can you tell me how you got these injuries?” Garrett asks, his demeanor fully in doctor
mode.
I open my mouth but can’t seem to get the words out.
Garrett looks over at his cousin.
“She’ll tell you if she wants,” Sean says. “You can still treat her if she doesn’t, right?”
“Yes, I can. It just helps to know if I should be concerned about internal injuries. I’m also
required to report any injuries that I suspect are from an assault or abusive conduct”—he points at the
bruises on my arm—“and these are highly suspicious.”
I clear my throat. “I understand. I’m going to press charges. I just needed to get my head together
first. So I’d appreciate you filing any necessary reports as well.”
Garrett and Sean share a look before the good doc focuses back on me again. He lifts my arm and
asks if he can take some pictures of me. I agree, kicking myself for not thinking of doing that sooner.
“Check everything, Gar.” Sean’s gruff voice is closer than it was a moment ago.
 “Well, not everything. Chloe gave me my Pap just last month, so we are all good there for a
while,” I joke, hoping to break the tension. Garrett’s eyebrows raise slightly before he puts on his
blue gloves.
“You got jokes suddenly, huh?” Sean grumbles.
I shrug, attempting a smile. When his scowl remains in place, I lean over to bump his shoulder,
but the motion jostles my ribs, causing me to gasp.
His hand comes to my shoulder. “Sadie, just try not to move, okay?”
“I’ll start with the laceration on your head,” Garrett says. “You could use a couple stitches, and
then I’ll check for concussion. You’ll have to travel to Vaughn for an X-ray on your wrist and ribs.”
He looks pointedly at Sean.
“I’ll take her.”
We finish up the exam, and Sean carries me back out even though Garrett offers a wheelchair and I
tell him I can walk. Just slowly.
We’re halfway to Vaughn before Sean speaks again.
“He won’t hurt you again. He won’t even get near you. I’ll make sure of it.”
Through the lens of devastation and shame, I see Sean for so much more than he’s ever shown.
He’s protective, serious, loyal, and empathetic. He might seem laid-back, but he’s also sensitive and
puts all of himself into the people he cares for.
“Do you love him?” he asks, his voice hard.
“No. Not for a long time. And not the way I should have to stay with him that long.” I look away,
my hand fluttering over my mouth as my quiet confession escapes. “You know, I actually did some
research on how to improve our relationship because I couldn’t figure out how to get there—to that
place you should be at when someone makes you happy, makes you feel more.” I laugh lightly.
Right after Aria left that day a few months back, I started researching.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I like research. I wanted to know what I was doing wrong. Because I was looking at other
relationships, how other people felt, and ours fell so short. Comparison can be the thief of joy, but in
this case . . .”
“It made you look at yours with clear eyes?”
“It did. I mean, look at Lauren and Taylor and everything her father put them through, but they
persisted. I remember thinking I’d never seen a couple more in love. Then Jess and Emma? People
labeled him a permanent bachelor, and she didn’t even know what love was. Now she’s his universe.
They’re each other’s whole world.”
He hums in agreement. “I know what you mean. I couldn’t be happier for them, but when you’re
looking for love and everyone else around you have already found it, even if the road to get there was
rough . . . it’s a kick to the balls.”
“Was it especially hard because of how you initially felt about Lauren?” Even from what felt like
the outside as I watched our friend circle expand and change, I’ve always wondered.
“How I felt for Lauren? Uh, no. Lauren and I are friends. Even if she hadn’t already been
sneaking around with Taylor back then, we never had that kind of relationship. There was absolutely
no spark.” He turns his head to look at me, then back at the road, then back at me. “Did you actually
think I had a thing for Lauren?”
I did. I very much did. When I found out she was with Taylor, I wasn’t surprised because those
two had a ton of chemistry, but I will say I was also relieved. “A little bit. I mean, didn’t you? Even
for a moment before her and Taylor’s relationship came out?”
 “No. Hell no. I mean, she’s not heinous or anything, obviously. She’s gorgeous and fun, but she’s
practically a sister to me. I saw her boob pop out of her nursing top one time and my gaze did not
linger. I think I shouted, ‘Watch your milk bags, momma.’ If that doesn’t say platonic, I don’t know
what does.” I laugh, remembering how big Lauren’s rack got when she was pregnant. “She was my
first friend here, and I love the crap out of her—but no.”
“Didn’t even ogle her lactating tit, huh? Quite the gentleman.”
He shudders and puts a hand over my mouth. “No more tit talk.”
Sean always seems to know how to make me smile when I need it most. And I need that more than
ever right now.
Slowly I remove his rough palm from my mouth. “I guess what I was trying to say is there were
all these people in love, and it seemed so right. But here I was giving my all in a relationship I
thought was exactly what I needed but felt exhausted by, and disappointed in—like I was a failure. I
didn’t recognize that he was keeping me small, pulling me away from everything and everyone he
couldn’t control. That’s not love.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Want to know when I realized that?”
His gaze flicks over, and he hitches his chin up at me.
“Over a year ago. I just didn’t want to face the truth.”
His jaw clenches, and his eyes shift over to me briefly.
He likely assumes I’m referring to the truth that Keith is a giant turd that I spent too much of my
life on.
But that’s only part of my truth. My biggest truth is that I allowed myself to remain small—so
small I practically disappeared. I kept thinking about how I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough,
refined enough.
“You’re free now, Sadie. Focus on that. The rest will come.”
More than anything, I want to believe that.
But the last several months have proven otherwise. Because I’ve tried kicking him out, told him
we were over. Yet here I am still suffering the consequences of having Keith in my life.
He persisted in remaining in my life—begging for another chance, refusing to move out,
leveraging my relationship with his parents, and acting as if I was being unreasonable, and vying for
sympathy. And for too long, I gave in because I didn’t feel like I had the power to do anything else.
Makes it hard to believe that this was the final straw. That this is the last string I’d have to cut to
be free of him.
I’m almost grateful he hurt me because now he’ll be legally required to stay away from me.
Tomorrow I’m heading to the sheriff’s office and I’m going to press charges. Not because I
believe that will permanently keep him at bay. But it might just mess up his life a bit, and I like that
idea. I like it a lot.
C HAPTER 6
 SEAN

A mild concussion, sprained wrist, three stitches, and two cracked ribs.
He hurt her. Abused her.
She’s been living with a psycho, and I didn’t see in time. The friend who tries to be there for
everyone wasn’t there for the woman he thinks about every single day. By maintaining a friendly
distance and protecting my pansy-ass heart, I fucking missed this.
How the hell do I deal with that? Her boyfriend, the man with whom she shares a home, a life, her
body, is the same man who caused all this damage. I’m not normally a violent person. I settle things
with barbs, taunts, and smirks. Have I been in a fight? Sure, several. Growing up with the issues I had
in school, I could be a bit of a hothead. But I haven’t been that volatile, problematic boy in a long
time.
I keep my focus on the road as I drive us back to Landry, with Sadie asleep in the passenger seat.
It’s been a long day for her. She admitted to the doctors she hadn’t slept all night and wondered if that
was partly to blame for some of her grogginess.
What slays me is that she didn’t call anyone to come help her. To take her to the hospital. To yell
and cry and do whatever the hell else she needed after being assaulted by the piece of shit she trusted
and loved. Fuck. Even saying that she loved him feels like a knife to the heart.
Instead of letting the anger and resentment fester, I concentrate on getting my pretty lady back into
her house without waking her.
She refused my offer to take her to a friend’s, my place—any-fucking-where else. After insisting
she didn’t want to put anyone out or in danger before she files the restraining order, she asked if I
would stay with her. That way, if Keith showed up, she wouldn’t be alone, and there’d be a witness
when we called the police.
She said just for tonight, then we’d figure something else out.
I hated this plan and wanted to carry her right to my truck and take her home with me where I
could make sure she’s safe. But I will not force her. And letting her have control right now might be
what she needs. But what the fuck do I know?
Once I tuck her into bed, the pain meds keeping her asleep, I get to work cleaning up the
destruction in her living room.
She doesn’t need the reminder of what happened and she sure as hell shouldn’t have to clean up
the mess that fucker created.
Hours later, I’m still awake, still thinking, still fuming.
So, I message the only person I know who may have some answers.
ME: Hey, man. Have a hypothetical for you. Got a sec?
 ALEX: Who did what? I get these texts from you every couple of months and somehow your
hypotheticals always play out pretty damn close.
ME: Pure coincidence.
ALEX: Mhm. Ask away.
ME: Domestic violence situation. Medical staff are legally required to report their
suspicions even if the victim refuses to give details. What does the victim need to do other than
that? If he threatens her and she drops the charges, does he walk?
ALEX: I don’t know why we are talking in hypotheticals here, Sean. Garrett and the
physician at Vaughn Valley Medical Center already reported the “hypothetical” person’s
injuries as suspected domestic violence—as required by law.
ME: Because maybe some people made other people certain promises not to talk about said
hypothetical situation because people aren’t ready to talk about that situation yet.
ALEX: What?
ME: I’m going to call you. I don’t want to do anymore of this texting bullshit.
I call and he picks up on the second ring.
“Sean. How you doing?”
“It’s been a shitty day, Sheriff.”
“Tends to be that way sometimes. What can I help you with?”
“How does someone who is in a domestic violence situation make sure the fucker gets what’s
coming to him?”
“Well, once medical professionals report the abuse, someone from local Domestic Violence
Services will most likely visit the victim. Which means we need to know her most current address,
and we usually hope it’s different from the address where the assault occurred. You catch what I’m
saying, Wentholt?”
“The address issue will be—hypothetically—handled.”
“Good. The next step is having the victim come down to the station to press charges. Then we
take care of the rest. The abuser will be arrested, detained, and then likely released on bail. The
district attorney will decide how to proceed from there and will also determine whether testimony
from the victim is required. Whether the victim drops the charges is irrelevant. That is completely up
to the DA, not the complainant.”
“Okay. Shit, I should write this down.” I grab some paper from the magnetic notepad Sadie keeps
on her fridge for her grocery list.
“I would also highly encourage the victim to file a restraining order.”
“On it. Restraining order is on the list for tomorrow. Any advice about how to help someone in
this situation, Sheriff?” I’ll be doing some research, so I know how to help her through this.
He blows out a breath. “With a lot of support and patience. Listen to her. Tell her she’s done
absolutely nothing wrong. No one deserves to be abused. Offer her help, however you can.” I
scribble some more illegible notes. “And help her build her self-confidence back up. Typically, this
kind of abuse isn’t just physical. There’re often other factors—manipulation, isolation, and control
that aims to break the victim down, make her feel hopeless.”
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Yeah. And depending on the medical report and findings from Domestic Violence Services, they
may make an arrest without her even pressing charges, but it would certainly help. And Sadie would
benefit from a few support groups in the area.”
 I take down the information he shares before putting down my pen.
Now, for the second reason I called.
“Okay, next, let’s talk hypothetically about regular old assault charges. Someone beats the living
shit out of an abuser. What happens then?”
“Sean . . .”
“Alex . . .”
He mumbles a curse under his breath. “I’d seriously advise against it and hope that the great
residents of Landry put their faith into their law enforcement agents being able to do their damn jobs.”
I badly cover my snort with a cough.
“Because we want to punch people all the time too. But we know taking their time, money, and
power hurt them a hell of a lot more than black eyes, cracked ribs, or broken limbs.”
I think about taking everything away from Keith—his life, his career, his sparkly reputation, even
his stupid fucking car.
“I’ll, uh, pass that along. Though a broken face still sounds pretty fucking great right now. Thanks,
buddy.”
Maybe this advice from the sheriff will occur to me if I ever see Keith in person. The question is,
will it occur to me before my fists meet his face?

W hen I wake on Sadie’s couch, my feet are dangling off the couch and my right arm is numb,
but the smell of breakfast lingering in the air distracts me. I shift and nearly fall over the
edge of the too small piece of furniture. I may be just under six feet, but I’m wide as a truck and not
meant to sleep on dainty couches.
Before making up my couch bed last night, I set an hourly alarm to go check on Sadie and make
sure the house was secure. Keith has a key to this place, and I had no idea if he’d be back.
But I sure as fuck wasn’t taking any chances.
As I maneuver my way into a seated position, I focus on the smell wafting into the living room.
That’s bacon, but why the hell would—
Sadie. Goddammit. She should be resting.
When I enter the kitchen, she’s at the stove stirring something in a pan, her back toward me.
“Sweets. What are you doing?” I ask, my voice rough and deep from a mostly sleepless night.
She jumps in surprise and I wince in regret.
“Sean. Hi. Sorry if I woke you. I just wanted to thank you by making breakfast. I’ve got bacon,
some eggs, and toast.”
I stare at her, baffled.
“Oh God. Sorry. Do you not like eggs? I can do French toast or waffles instead. You just don’t
seem like the picky type. I mean, with food because, well, look at you.” Her eyes widen. “Crap.
Sorry. Um, I just meant you probably have to pack away a lot of calories to maintain all those—” She
turns back to the stove abruptly. “I’m just going to cook and stop talking now.”
I can’t help but grin. It’s just so cute how flustered she is. She throws me a glare over her
shoulder when I let out a small chuckle. There’s my angel.
“I meant, what are you doing up and cooking when you should rest?” She ignores that question
with a small shrug. “But you’re right. I’m not picky. I love all the breakfast foods. Except cream
cheese. The stuff freaks me out.”
She smiles at me, which gives me the little boost of energy I’ll need for this morning.
“Are you sure? I can eat the eggs and make you something better?” The look she flashes me seems
uncertain, nervous.
It’s too damn early for me to solve whatever kind of puzzle this is.
I stroll over to her, watching as she mixes cheese into the scrambled eggs. Her hand pauses as I
stop right beside her. She still seems nervous.
That fucking asshole did this to her. Made her jumpy, unsure of herself.
And it only makes me want to rip him apart more than I already do.
“Why would you make something else? I’m a big boy. If I lost my damn mind and told you I didn’t
want the food you cooked, I’d get off my ass and make my own breakfast.”
Her head swivels, and she gapes at me for a moment before turning back to the food.
“Well, okay.”
I lean a hand on the counter beside her. “Need a hand finishing up? Or should I get plates ready?”
“Oh. Um, sure. If you want to get plates and cups. I’ve got some orange juice and milk in the
fridge.”
“On it.”
Once everything is ready, we eat breakfast together. And it’s quiet. I know she’s waiting for me to
ask questions, and I want to—so damn bad. But first things first.
“Sweets?” Her eyes shoot to me expectantly. “You can’t stay here anymore. Tell me you know
that.”
“I know.” She frowns, looking deflated, but doesn’t disagree. “I just don’t know where else to
go.”
I blow out a breath. “You have lots of people who would love to have you stay with them. At least
until we figure out how to get that asshole out of your life for good. I’ll help you find somewhere.”
She’ll be staying with me, that’s a given, but I don’t want to push her too hard yet. “For today, I don’t
think it’s a good idea for you to be alone. How would you feel about coming to work with me for a
bit, and then I’ll take you wherever you want? I’ve got a light workload today.” That’s not a complete
lie. I’ve made my load light today. I’m the boss so I can do that.
She twists her hands and looks around the house. “I’ll file for a restraining order when we go
press charges. And then me and whoever I’m staying with should be safe.” I frown at her. If she thinks
a restraining order is going to prevent him from showing up when he’s already shown what a
controlling asshole he is, she’s being overly optimistic or naive. “I’ll figure it out. I mean, it was
never really my house to begin with. Keith bought it without me knowing, and tricked me into signing
the paperwork, making it so I couldn’t back out. That leaves some lingering resentment.”
A rumble leaves my chest as I try but cannot contain my anger.
“What?”
She freezes, then gets up from the table and starts tidying up the kitchen. “What time do you have
to be at work?” she asks, trying to divert my attention.
I guess talk of the house will have to be put on the back burner for now.
I blow out a breath and refocus. “Supposed to be on the farm by nine, but I have to head to the
shop first to grab my gear and the mobile shop truck.”
“I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Great. I’ll get the kitchen cleaned up and meet you out on the porch.”
She turns to me, trying to stop me. “No, no. You don’t have to do that. I can do it later when I
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Almighty in what they were about to do; then they went forth
heartened and emboldened by the conviction that the coming battle
was the Lords, and to fall therein would be a sure passport to
heaven. It would be untrue to say that all the Africanders were of this
belief and practice, but undoubtedly the majority of them so believed
and so acted.

Many of the whites quarreled with their ministers because they

persisted in teaching Christianity to the people held to be accursed—
by their masters. The Dutch term Zendeling, originally signifying
“missionary,” was turned into an epithet of reproach, bearing the new
interpretation of a petty artisan and pedlar, who, under pretense of
instructing the natives, wandered [127]about prosecuting a secular
business for gain—a man to be despised and shunned.

Instances are not wanting in the records of this period to show that
the spirit and practice of some Africanders were as set forth above.
Mr. Holden, in the appendix to his “History of Natal,” quotes from a
friend of the enslaved blacks as follows:

“As to slavery, in spite of the treaty with the Assistant Commissioner, two
Kaffir boys have this very week been sold here—the one for a hundred rix-
dollars to a Boer, and the other for a hundred and fifty rix-dollars to a
dealer at Rustenburg. Last month, also, two were sold to Messrs. S. and
G. Maritz, traders of Natal, and were immediately ‘booked’ (ingeboekt)
with the Landdrost of Potchefstroom for twenty-five years each! Is this
according to treaty? If not, why does not Governor Cathcart interfere by
force, if reasoning be unavailing? For, without some force, I see little
prospect of the natives being saved from utter and universal slavery.”

Mr. Holden also quotes from the “Grahamstown Journal” of

September 24, 1853, the following significant incident:

“We are credibly informed that, in a private interview with Sir G. R. Clark,
one of the most [128]respectable and loyal Boers, resident on a
 confiscated farm in the most disaffected district, ‘inter alias res,’ plainly
told Sir George that he had some twenty or thirty Bushman children on his
place; and that if government withdrew he must sell them, as, if he did not
do so, other persons would come and take them, and sell them. The reply,
as stated to us, was to the effect, ‘You have been too long a good subject
to lead me to think you would do such a thing now.’ To this the answer
was, ‘I have been a good subject; but if government will make me a rascal,
I cannot help it’ ”

These testimonies coming from separate and widely distant sources,

and giving the particulars of direct and positive slavery practiced
under another name, leave no reasonable doubt that the spirit of the
compact between the British government and the Africanders was
being violated.

It has been thought that the account of the same matter given by Mr.
Theal, in his “South Africa,” puts an entirely different aspect on the
practice of “apprenticeship.”

“At this time,” he writes (1857), “complaints were beginning to be heard

that the practice of transferring apprentices, or selling indentures, was
becoming frequent. It was rumored also [129]that several lawless
individuals were engaged in obtaining black children from neighboring
tribes, and disposing of them under the name of apprentices. How many
such cases occurred cannot be stated with any pretension to accuracy,
but the number was not great. The condition of the country made it almost
impossible to detain any one capable of performing service longer than he
chose to remain with a white master, so that even if the farmers in general
had been inclined to become slaveholders, they could not carry such
inclinations into practice. The acts of a few of the most unruly individuals
in the country might, however, endanger the peace and even the
independence of the republic. The president, therefore, on the 29th of
September, 1857, issued a proclamation pointing out that the sale or
barter of black children was forbidden by the recently adopted constitution,
and prohibiting transfers of apprenticeships, except when made before
landdrosts.”
Treating of a later period (1864–65), he returns to this matter, saying:

“A subject that was much discussed in Europe, as well as in South Africa,

during this period was the existence of slavery in the republic. Charges
against the burghers of reducing [130]weak and helpless blacks to a
condition of servitude were numerous and boldly stated on one side, and
were indignantly denied on the other. That the laws were clearly against
slavery goes for nothing, because in a time of anarchy law is a dead letter.
There is overwhelming evidence that blacks were transferred openly from
one individual to another, and there are the strongest assertions from men
of undoubted integrity that there was no slavery. To people in Europe it
seemed impossible that both should be true, and the opinion was
generally held that the farmers of the interior of South Africa were certainly
slave-holders.

“Since 1877 much concerning this matter that was previously doubtful has
been set at rest. On the 12th of April of that year the South African
republic was proclaimed British territory, and when, soon afterward,
investigation was made, not a single slave was set free, because there
was not one in the country. In the very heart of the territory kraals of
blacks were found in as prosperous a condition as in any part of South
Africa. It was ascertained that these blacks had always lived in peace with
the white inhabitants, and that they had no complaints to make. Quite as
strong was the evidence afforded by the number [131]of the Bantu. In 1877
there were, at the lowest estimate, six times as many black people living in
a state of semi-independence within the borders of the South African
Republic as there had been on the same ground forty years before. Surely
these people would not have moved in if the character of the burghers
was such as most Englishmen believed it to be. A statement of actual
facts is thus much more likely now to gain credence abroad than would
have been the case in 1864.

“The individuals who were termed slaves by the missionary party were
termed apprentices by the farmers. The great majority—probably nineteen
out of every twenty—were children who had been made prisoners in the
wars which the tribes were continually waging with each other. In olden
days it had been the custom for the conquering tribe to put all the
conquered to death, except the girls and a few boys who could be made
useful as carriers. More recently they had become less inhuman, from
 having found out that for smaller children they could obtain beads and
other merchandise.

“With a number of tribes bordering on the republic ready to sell their

captives, with the Betshuana everywhere prepared to dispose of the
[132]children of their hereditary slaves, a few adventurous Europeans were
found willing to embark in the odious traffic. Wagon loads of children were
brought into the republic, where they were apprenticed for a term of years
to the first holder, and the deeds of apprenticeship could afterward be
transferred before a landdrost. This was the slavery of the South African
Republic. Its equivalent was to be found a few years earlier in the Cape
colony, when negroes taken in slave-ships were apprenticed to
individuals. There would have been danger in the system if the demand
for apprentices had been greater. In that case the tribes might have
attacked each other purposely to obtain captives for sale. But the demand
was very limited, for the service of a raw black apprentice was of no great
value. A herd boy might be worth something more than his food, clothing,
and a few head of cattle which were given him when his apprenticeship
expired; but no other class of raw native was.

“It is an open question whether it was better that these children should
remain with the destroyers of their parents, and according to chance grow
up either as slaves or as adopted members of the conquering tribe; or that
they should serve ten or fifteen years as apprentices to white people,
[133]acquire some of the habits of European life, and then settle down as
freemen with a little property. It was answered in 1864, and will be
answered to-day according to the bias of the individual.”

After all, Mr. Theal’s account of it does not materially change the
aspect of the system of enforced servitude that prevailed in the
Africander communities after they became independent. These
bond-children were either captured or bought from dealers in
children; they were held under bill of sale and indenture; and they
were sold from master to master by legal transfer of indenture before
a magistrate.

Mr. Theal’s low estimate of the value of the services that could be
rendered by raw black children, and of the limited demand for them,
is not in harmony with his own statement that such children were
brought into the republic in wagon loads, nor with the testimony,
quoted by Mr. Holden, covering two specific cases wherein one Kaffir
boy was sold for one hundred, and another for one hundred and fifty
rix-dollars. And his averment that in 1877 the British authorities could
not find a single slave to liberate in all the territory of the South
African Republic is simply amusing when viewed in the light of what
he states on the next page—that this system of enforced
[134]servitude under indentures that were legally merchantable “was
the slavery of the South African Republic.” Undoubtedly; and, so far
as is known, no other form of slavery was ever seriously charged
against the Africanders after their independence was established. It
is matter of surprise, however, that the British conscience of this
period was not able to scent the malodor of slavery under the new
form and title of “apprenticeship” which covered a marketable
property-right in the human chattel. [135]
[Contents]
CHAPTER IX.
 THIRD CONTACT OF AFRICANDER AND BRITON—IN THE
ORANGE FREE STATE.

The “Great Trek” of 1836 and 1838 removed from the old colony at the Cape an
element in the population which, however worthy in some regards, was unrestful
and disaffected, leaving abundant room for a new immigration from Europe. It was
some years, however, before there was any considerable influx from continental
Europe. Judged by the grim rumors that were afloat everywhere, South Africa was a
dangerous country to live in because of the warlike and merciless Kaffirs; and the
trend of British emigration was yet towards America.

About 1845 the tide of fortune-seeking people was turned towards Cape Colony.
The British government of this time stimulated immigration to that field so liberally
that in five years between four and five thousand loyal subjects from the mother
country removed to the Cape. Later, [136]a considerable number of disbanded
German soldiers who had served under the British colors in the Crimean war were
sent there as citizens, and in 1858 over two thousand German civilians of the
peasant order were settled along the south coast on lands once occupied by the
Kaffirs.
 GENERAL JOUBERT.

Industries natural to the climate and soil were slowly but steadily developed. Sheep
and cattle raising, and agriculture to a limited extent, became sources of wealth,
and correspondingly expanded the export trade. Public finances were gradually
restored to a healthy state, churches and schools sprang up, and there was no
serious drawback to the progress of the colony but the frequent Kaffir invasions
across the eastern border. These cost much loss of life and property to the raided
settlements, but the expense of the resulting wars was borne by the home
government. Under British rule the population had increased from 26,000
Europeans in 1806 to 182,000 in 1865.
With the growth of population there came changes in the form of government. The
earlier governors exercised almost autocratic power, fearing nothing but a possible
appeal against their acts to the Colonial Office in London. It should be stated,
however, that the colonists [137]found as frequent cause to complain of the home
government as of their governors. The occasional irritation which broke out into
open protest was caused, for the most part, by difficulties with the natives. The
Europeans, dwelling among an inferior race, naturally looked upon the natives as
existing for their benefit, and bitterly resented the disposition of both the imperial
authorities and the governors to give equal civil rights and protection to the blacks.
The missionaries were the special objects of this resentment, because they held
themselves bound by their sacred office to denounce the wrongs inflicted on the
Kaffirs, and to even defend their conduct in rebelling against oppression.

These unfortunate dissensions had the effect of uniting the English and the Dutch
colonists in questions of policy and government regarding the natives. After various
attempts to satisfy the people with a governor appointed by the crown and a
Legislative Council constituted by the governor’s nomination and imperial
appointment, the home authorities, in 1854, yielded to the public demand for
representative institutions.

A legislature, consisting of a Legislative Council and a House of Assembly, was

established, both to be elected on a franchise wide [138]enough to include people of
any race or color holding the reasonable property qualification. The sole check upon
the colonial legislature retained by the imperial government was the right of the
British crown to disallow any of its acts considered objectionable, on constitutional
or other grounds, by her Majesty’s ministers. The executive power remained, for a
time, with the governor and his council, who were appointed by the crown and in no
way responsible to the colonial houses. Later, the executive power was taken from
the governors and vested in a cabinet of ministers responsible to the colonial
legislature and holding office during its pleasure.

The range of industries followed by the people of Cape Colony was not enlarged
until the discovery of diamonds in 1869. This brought in a sudden rush of population
from Europe and America and so inflated trade that the colonial revenue was more
than doubled in the next five years. Then began that unparalleled development of
mineral resources in South Africa which created immense wealth and furnished the
elements of a political situation whose outcome the wisest cannot foresee.

With this general view of the condition of Cape Colony in the three decades
succeeding the [139]Great Trek of the Africanders, we turn again to the special study
proposed and consider the chain of events that led up to the third unfriendly contact
between Boer and Briton—this time beginning in the Orange Free State.

By the conventions of 1852 and 1854 Great Britain formally relinquished all claim to
that part of the interior of South Africa lying to the north of Cape Colony, and
recognized the republics of the Orange Free State and the Transvaal. There can be
no doubt of the sincerity of the British government in taking this action. The
prevailing desires actuating both the parliament and the executive were to be rid of
the responsibility and expense of governing these regions, and to leave the two new
Africander republics to work out their own destiny in their own way.

For a few years the relations of the Cape government and its northern neighbors
were friendly. The first occurrence that disturbed the welcome peace and harmony
was a serious war which broke out in 1858 between the Basutos under Moshesh
and the Orange Free State. The Basutos laid claim to certain farms, held under
English titles, in Harrismith, Wynberg and Smithfield districts. These were taken
possession [140]of by the petty Basuto captains, and when attempts were made to
eject the intruders, Moshesh, the paramount chief, and his eldest son Letsie,
assumed the right to interfere. This episode, together with other unfriendly acts on
the part of the Basutos, brought on a condition which, it became evident, nothing
but war could remedy. Accordingly, the Volksraad of the Orange Free State
authorized the President, Mr. Boshof, to take any steps necessary to prevent
intrusion upon the territory of the State. After much and very insincere diplomatic
correspondence, the time of which was used by the Free State government in
collecting the forces of its western and northern divisions, and by the Basutos in
assembling their warriors, petty raids began the conflict and led on to hostilities on a
larger scale near the end of March, 1858.

By the 26th of April Mr. Boshof became convinced that the Free State could not
hold its own against the Basutos, and that the salvation of the country from being
overrun by its enemies depended upon obtaining aid from some quarter. Acting on
this conviction, on the 24th of April Mr. Boshof wrote Sir George Grey, governor of
Cape Colony, informing him of the critical condition of the Free State, and imploring
his mediation. [141]Sir George, after obtaining the sanction of the House Assembly
to such a course, immediately tendered his services as mediator to Mr. Boshof and
Moshesh, and was unconditionally and cordially accepted by both. Thereupon a
cessation of hostilities was agreed to pending the arrangement of final terms of
peace by Sir George.

In the meantime, the Free State was being ravaged on its western border by petty
chiefs, who saw in the struggle between the whites and the powerful Basutos a
favorable opportunity to enrich themselves with spoil. In the distress occasioned by
these forays the Free State was aided by a force of burghers from the Transvaal
Republic, under Commandant Paul Kruger.

Out of this friendly act there grew up a desire and even a proposition to unite the
two republics in one. President Pretorius, Commandant Paul Kruger, and about
twenty other representatives from the Transvaal visited Bloemfontein to confer with
the Free State Volksraad on the matter of union—a measure considered by many
the only means of saving the country from its savage foes.

While the conference on union was in progress there arrived, on the 11th of June, a
letter [142]from Sir George Grey announcing that in case an agreement to unite the
two republics were concluded, the conventions of 1852 and 1854—guaranteeing
their separate independence—would no longer be considered binding by Great
Britain. Undoubtedly this action evinced a desire, not to say a determination, that
the Free State should find safety not by union with the sister republic to the north,
but by coming again under British sovereignty and forming one of a group of
colonies to be united in a great British Dominion in South Africa. The negotiations
for union were dropped on the receipt of Sir George’s letter, and both parties
resolved to appoint commissioners to confer with him after peace with the Basutos
should be arranged.

It was not until the 20th of August that Sir George Grey arrived at Bloemfontein to
act as mediator between Moshesh and the Free State. While preliminaries were
being discussed the governor received urgent dispatches from London ordering him
to send all available troops to India, where the Sepoy rebellion was raging. It
became, therefore, a matter of supreme importance to establish peace between the
Free State and the Basutos at once—for not a soldier could safely be spared until
that was accomplished. [143]On the 29th of September the treaty was completed
and signed. It settled a new frontier for the Free State next to Basutoland, and
bound Moshesh to either punish marauders of his people himself, or consent that
the Free State authorities should do so.

This peace lasted only seven years. In 1865 new troubles arose leading to a
renewal of war between the Free State and Moshesh. Again the governor of Cape
Colony acted as mediator, but his decisions were rejected by the Basutos, and new
hostilities began. This time, by a heroic effort made in 1868, the whites defeated
and scattered the Basutos with great slaughter, and were at the point of utterly
breaking their power, when the always politic Moshesh appealed to the British High
Commissioner at the Cape to take his people under British protection.
The commissioner doubtless considered the interests of Cape Colony which, in the
event of a dispersion of the Basutos, might be overrun by the fugitives, and suffer
injury thereby. And it is evident that he was unwilling that the Free State should
strengthen itself, beyond the necessity of ever seeking readmission to the British
dominions, by the annexation of Basutoland. So, looking to the safety of the old
colony, and to the [144]hope of some day adding thereto the Orange Free State, the
commissioner took the defeated Basutos under the wing of the imperial government
and declared them British subjects.

The Free State was allowed to retain a considerable area of good land which it had
conquered on the north side of the Caledon River, but the adjustment reached was
anything but satisfactory. The British had now established their authority to the
south of the republic all the way from Cape Colony to Natal, and, thus, had
extinguished a second time the persistent Africander hope of extending their
territory to the sea. Thus, in 1869, recommenced the British advance toward the
interior.

Another momentous step towards enlarging the sphere of British influence was
taken almost immediately. Diamonds were discovered in 1869, in a district lying
between the Modder and the Vaal rivers, where the present town of Kimberley
stands. Within a few months thousands of diggers and speculators from all parts of
South Africa, Europe, America, and from some parts of Asia, thronged into the
region and transformed it into a place of surpassing value and interest. The
question of ownership was raised at once. The Orange Free State claimed it. The
Transvaal [145]Republic claimed it. It was claimed by Nicholas Waterboer, a Griqua
captain, son of old Andries Waterboer; his claim being based on an abortive treaty
made with the elder Waterboer in 1834, when, at Doctor Philip’s suggestion, the
attempt was made to interpose between the old colony and the northern
populations a line of three native states under British protection. And it was claimed
by a native Batlapin chief.

Three of these claimant—the Transvaal Republic, Nicholas Waterboer for the

Griquas, and the Batlapin chief for his clan—agreed to settle the conflict by
arbitration, naming the governor of Natal as arbitrator. The governor promptly
awarded the disputed ownership to Nicholas Waterboer the Griqua, who as
promptly placed himself under the British government, which, with equal
promptitude, constituted the district a crown colony under the name of Griqualand.
The Orange Free State, not having been a party to the arbitration, protested, and
was afterwards sustained by the decision of a British court, which found that
Waterboer’s claim to the territory was null and void. But the colony had been
constituted and the British flag unfurled over it before the finding of the court could
stay proceedings. [146]

Without admitting or denying the Free State’s contention, the British government
obtained a quitclaim title for a money consideration. It was represented that a
district so difficult to keep in order, because of the transient and turbulent character
of the population, should be under the control of a more vigorous government than
that of the Free State. Finally, the British offered and the Free State authorities
accepted, £90,000 in settlement of any claim the republic might have to the territory
of Griqualand.

The incident closed with the payment and acceptance, in 1876, of the price agreed
upon. But the Africanders of the Free State had the feeling at the time—and it never
ceased to rankle in their breasts—that they had been made the victims of sharp
practice; that the diamond-bearing territory had been rushed into the possession of
the British and made a crown colony without giving them a fair opportunity to prove
their claim to it; and that, while the price offered and paid was a tacit recognition of
the validity of their claim, it was so infinitesimal in proportion to the rights conveyed
as to imply that in British practice not only is possession nine points in ten of the law
but that it also justifies the holder in keeping back nine parts out of ten of the value.
[147]

Nor was this the only British grievance complained of at this time by the Free State.
The project of uniting the two republics for greater strength and mutual safety had
been vetoed for no apparent reason than to keep them weak so that they might the
sooner become willing to re-enter the British dominions in South Africa. And the
British High Commissioner at the Cape had taken the vanquished Basutos and their
territory under imperial protection at the moment when the victorious Free State
was about to reduce them to permanent submission, and to extend its territory to
the sea—again interposing the arm of Great Britain to prevent the strengthening of
the republic by its proposed acquisition of Basutoland and the gaining of a seaport
at the mouth of the St. John River.

Nevertheless, the Orange Free State accepted the situation philosophically and,
outwardly, continued on friendly terms with the British government until the outbreak
of war between that power and the Africanders of the Transvaal in 1899. [148]
[Contents]
CHAPTER X.
THIRD CONTACT OF AFRICANDER AND BRITON—IN THE
TRANSVAAL.

The aggressive policy of the British, which had served to widen and deepen the
breach between them and the Africanders of the Free State, was felt in the
Transvaal Republic, also, and led to an open rupture in 1880. It will be
necessary to trace somewhat carefully the conditions and events which brought
on that conflict.

The Africanders who had settled beyond the Vaal River were of a ruder sort than
their brethren of the Orange River district. Moreover, the reckless, unprincipled,
and even criminal classes were attracted to the Transvaal from various parts of
South Africa, seeking freedom from the restraints experienced under the stricter
government prevailing in the British colonies. These occasioned much scandal,
and provoked many conflicts with the Kaffirs by their lawlessness and violence
along the border and in the wilder districts of the territory. [149]

The farmers of the Vaal in a general way considered themselves one people, but
had become grouped in several districts separated by considerable distances.
Thus, in 1852, there were four separate communities—Potchefstroom, Utrecht,
Lyndenburg, and Zoutspansberg, each having its volksraad and president.
There was no co-ordinate action of the whole for internal administration and
public improvement, but for defense against the natives there was a sort of
federative union—more a matter of mutual understanding and consent than of
loyalty to a formal written document. That there was occasional independent
action by a single community in reference to outside matters is evident from the
invasion of the Orange Free State by the people of the Potchefstroom district in
1857, under the leadership of Mr. Pretorius. The object was to conquer the Free
State, and was abandoned only when it was found that the young sister republic
was disposed and prepared to defend itself. This invasion resulted in a treaty by
which the independence, boundaries and mutual obligations of the two republics
were fully defined and recognized.

In 1858 a single volksraad was chosen for all the four districts north of the Vaal,
and the [150]“Grondwet” on Fundamental Law—an instrument in the nature of a
federal constitution—was prepared by delegates specially elected for that
purpose. This was adopted at once by Potchefstroom and Zoutspansberg. In
1860 Lyndenburg and Utrecht followed their example. Although it has been
contended that the “Grondwet” is not to be regarded as a fixed constitution, like
that of the United States of America, the people of the Transvaal have looked
upon it as a sufficient federative bond for the union of the four semi-independent
districts in one nationality. The practical union of all was delayed, however, by a
civil war which broke out in 1862, and had a most disastrous influence on the
future of the country.

This internal strife grew out of the election of the president of the Transvaal
Republic, the younger Pretorius, to the presidency of the Orange Free State. It
was hoped by his partisans in both republics that the dual presidency would help
to bring about the desired union of the Free State and the Transvaal under one
government. While Mr. Pretorius was absent in the Free State, on a six months’
leave granted by the volksraad of the Transvaal, a faction hostile to him began
to protest against this double dignity [151]being enjoyed by any one man, and to
argue that the advantages of union would be largely with the Free State.
Hostility to Mr. Pretorius grew apace until it was strong enough to get a
resolution passed in the volksraad forbidding him to perform any executive act
north of the Vaal during the six months of his stay in the Free State, and
requiring him to give an account of his proceedings at the expiration of his leave.

On the 10th of September, 1860, Mr. Pretorius appeared before the volksraad of
the Transvaal, accompanied by a commission from the Free State appointed to
ask for a further leave of absence for the president, and to further the interests
of union. When Pretorius offered to give an account of his proceedings as
president of the Free State, the opposition raised the point that it was manifestly
illegal for any one to be president of the Transvaal Republic and of the Orange
Free State at the same time, for it was provided in their constitution that during
his term of office the president should follow no other occupation, and Mr.
Pretorius was pressed to resign one office or the other.

Pretorius at once resigned the presidency of the Transvaal; but his partisans
held a mass meeting at Potchefstroom, on the 8th and 9th of [152]October, at
which revolutionary proceedings were taken. It was resolved, almost
unanimously, that the volksraad no longer enjoyed the confidence of the people
they represented and must be held as having ceased to exist; that Mr. Pretorius
should remain president of the Transvaal Republic and have a year’s leave of
absence to bring about union with the Free State, Mr. Stephanas Schoeman—
instead of Mr. Grobbelear—to be acting president during his absence; and that
before the return of Mr. Pretorius to resume his duties a new volksraad should
be elected.

PIETERMARITZBURG.

The new election was so manipulated that only a thousand burghers voted, and
of these more than seven hundred declared in favor of the resolutions of the
Potchefstroom meeting. The committee that effected this clever political strategy
was composed of Messrs. D. Steyn, Preller, Lombard, Spruyt, and Bodenstein.
The new acting president, Mr. Schoeman, assumed official duty immediately.

With amazing inconsistency—for he was thought to be a loyal friend of Mr.

Pretorius—Schoeman called a meeting of the old volksraad that had been
dissolved by the revolution. He held his office from the same authority that had
declared this body to have forfeited confidence, [153]and to be non-existent, and
yet he acknowledged its legal existence. The old volksraad met on the 14th of
January, 1861, and after a session of two hours the majority of the members
resigned, being convinced of the general antagonism of the people. Not content
to let matters rest in a peaceful acquiescence in the revolution, Mr. Schoeman
called the old volksraad together a second time, under armed protection, and
procured an order for legal proceedings to be instituted against the committee
that had carried out the Potchefstroom resolutions. A court consisting of two
landdrosts—one of whom was Cornelius Potgieter, their bitterest political enemy
—tried the committee for sedition, on the 14th of February, found them guilty and
sentenced each to pay a fine of £100, except Mr. Bodenstein, whose fine was
only £15.

These proceedings led to great disturbances throughout the republic, and,

finally, to war. Schoeman assembled an armed force to support his authority.
Thereupon, Commandant Paul Kruger, of Rustenburg, called out the burghers of
his district and marched to Pretoria for the purpose of driving out Schoeman and
establishing a better government.

Among the expedients resorted to to prevent [154]bloodshed, a new volksraad

was elected, a new acting president was appointed, and for several months
there were two rival governments in the Transvaal. Acting President Schoeman,
supported by a strong party, persisted in endeavors to rule the country. So
grievous a state of anarchy prevailed that Kruger resolved to put an end to it by
the strong hand. Schoeman and his partisans retreated from Pretoria to
Potchefstroom, where he was besieged by the burgher force under Kruger. The
loss of life in the bombardment, and one sortie by the garrison, was not great;
but Schoeman became disheartened and fled, on the night of the 9th of October,
into the Free State, accompanied by his principal adherents.

A few days later, Kruger having moved his force to Klip River, Schoeman re-
entered Potchefstroom, rallied some eight hundred men around him, and Kruger
returned to give him battle. At this critical point President Pretorius interposed as
mediator, and an agreement was reached by which immediate hostilities were
prevented. Schoeman, however, continued to agitate.

Under the terms of agreement new elections were held by which W. C. Janse
Van Rensburg [155]was chosen president over Mr. Pretorius, and Paul Kruger
was made Commandant-General.

But the tribulations of the Transvaal were by no means over. On the pretense
that the ballot papers had been tampered with the standard of revolt was again
raised—this time by Jan Viljoen. The first encounter was against Kruger, who
had underestimated the strength of the new rebellion. Later, on the 5th of
January, 1864, a battle was fought in which Viljoen was defeated and compelled
to retreat to a fortified camp on the Limpopo.