Chapter Twenty-Two

Prison Bars

Two weeks later,

T he drive to Florence Prison didn’t take long enough for Dale Berger. He wasn’t ready to face Willow, to deliver the weight of the news he carried. He had rehearsed the words, discarded them, and finally came to accept there was nothing he could say to soften what he came to tell her.

Not long after Joan had moved onto her property, Dale had taken it upon himself to find out more about her. He’d looked her up online, curiosity leading him to the quiet secret of Willow, the granddaughter Joan only spoke about once. She’d casually mentioned Willow and the strongbox. “If anything happens,” she’d said, though she never shared more. Dale had laughed it off at the time, joking that Joan would likely outlive him, never knowing how much those words would weigh on him now.

The day before, he had called the prison to arrange this meeting. Given the circumstances, the staff had been accommodating, though they told him Willow wouldn’t be permitted to attend the funeral. Not that Joan had wanted one. She’d made it clear in the letter Dale now carried in his jacket pocket, carefully folded and pressed against his chest.

He flashed his badge at the front, explained his purpose, and was quickly escorted to a private visitation room. He wore plain clothes, hoping to avoid overwhelming Willow with the uniformed presence of law enforcement. He sat at the table, his nerves twisted as he waited for her.

When the door opened, she entered with a cautious expression, looking at him inquisitively. Dale rose.

“I’m Dale Berger,” he introduced quietly watching the understanding dawn in her eyes.

Her expression shattered, a flicker of dread replacing the quiet expectation. Her head moved in a slow, resisting shake.

“Sit down, please,” he urged, his tone almost pleading .

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Willow’s voice broke.

“Please, sit down,” he repeated, gently, coaxing her.

She didn’t sit. Instead, she sank to the floor, her gaze locked onto his as her hands went to her hair, clutching it as if it could keep her grounded.

“Don’t… don’t do this,” she begged.

Dale crouched beside her, keeping his voice steady. “I have a letter from your grandmother,” he said. “She was the bravest person I’ve ever known. Please, Willow, come sit and let me explain.”

After a moment, he helped her to her feet and guided her to a chair. Pulling his chair close. He took her trembling hand in his, surprised when she didn’t pull away. Her fingers quivered, her lashes fluttered as she fought to hold back tears, and he knew she’d endured far more than her share of hardship. He’d read her court transcripts and knew how the system had failed her.

“I’m Dale Berger,” he said again, softer this time, hoping to build some bridge of familiarity.

“The deputy?” Her voice carried a faint, brittle edge.

It hadn’t occurred to him she would know who he was. “Yes, the deputy.”

“How did she die?” she whispered, her eyes locked on his.

He saw the first glimmer of grief, raw and unprocessed, a wound so deep it hadn’t fully settled into pain yet. It lingered in her expression, hanging between disbelief and the first sharp sting of loss. His own grief intensified as he prepared to give her the truth she needed, even if it hurt.

“Did she tell you about the Hoggs?” he asked, testing how much she knew.

“Jeb Hogg.” Her tone was almost lifeless, but he could hear the fury simmering beneath it, her gaze hardened as she stared over his shoulder.

“Yes,” he replied quietly.

Her eyes shot back to his. “Carrie?”

He shook his head. “It was too late for Carrie. But Joan tried.”

Willow’s gaze fell to the floor before she lifted it again, hollow but steely. “Tell me.”

Dale took a steadying breath and recounted what he knew. It had taken his department a week to figure out the series of events. He told her about the Hoggs destroying Joan’s home, her trek through the wilderness, and the relentless search until she found Carrie’s body. He spoke about Joan’s struggle to survive.

“We couldn’t use the bloodhounds because their owner wouldn’t take the chance with rabies. It took us half a day to find Carrie’s body.”

Willow stared at the wall for most of his retelling, as her cheeks became wet with silent tears.

“We found everyone except Lance Hogg, Jeb’s son. We suspect he didn’t survive long out there. Wildlife likely took care of the body.” He paused, letting her absorb what happened. “We’re monitoring for rabies in the area now.”

The silence between them grew thick. Finally, he broke it, his voice soft but determined. “Willow, I want to help.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t refuse when you haven’t heard what I’m offering yet,” he said gently. “I loved your grandmother. I never told her, because she was an ornery old bird, but I loved her. And I know she loved you. I want to honor her by helping you.” Willow looked at him. “My place isn’t much; I live in a travel trailer about five miles from your grandmother’s property. I’m retiring from the sheriff’s department, so I’ll have plenty of time to do what needs doing.” Her expression didn’t change. “If Joan’s property is not kept up, it won’t be worth living in by the time you get out. My offer is this: I’ll move my trailer there and repair the damage. I’ll keep the place livable, and it won’t get ransacked.” He rushed the next part. “I’ll visit here monthly like she did, if you’ll have me as a friend.”

Willow studied him for a long, intense moment, her eyes taking him in. “Where is Max?” she asked finally.

“I have him back at my trailer. He’s your dog now, but taking care of him is part of my offer,” he said firmly. “When you get out, I’ll pick you up, move my things off the property, and leave Max with you. I’m happy to put it all in writing so it’s official.”

A slow nod was her only reply, but her eyes, so like Joan’s, flickered with a glimmer of hope.

Then her composure crumbled, the weight of grief finally overtaking her as she fell against him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as sobs wracked her body. He fought back his own tears, sharing in her loss, giving her a space to mourn, bound by a love for the ornery, fiercely brave woman they’d each lost.