Page 13 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
I used to love that about him. The way he never needed to fill silence. The way his hands already knew what to do.
His shoulder brushes mine when he reaches for the next staple. The contact sends a jolt through my arm that I pretend is from the cold. He pretends not to notice. We are both very good at pretending by now.
The rain thickens. It runs down the wire between us in silver lines, dripping from the barbs in small bright drops. The pasture beyond the fence is a wash of gray and green.
The horses have moved to the tree line for shelter, standing shoulder to shoulder the way horses do when the weather turns, their breath making small clouds in the cold air.
I watch Rowan's hands on the wire. The way he wraps the loose end around the post with three quick turns. The efficiency of it.The care. He handles the wire the way he handles everything. Like the thing in his hands matters, regardless of what it is.
My father worked the same way. Quiet attention paid to every task, no matter how small. Fence post or foaling stall, feed order or water line. The same hands, the same focus.
I think that's what my father recognized in Rowan before he recognized it as a threat. A boy who worked like he belonged here. A boy who loved the land the way the land deserved to be loved.
And then loved the rancher's daughter the same way.
"You're better at this than you were," he says. Not a compliment. An observation.
"I've had eight years of practice without you."
"Shows."
I don't know what to do with that. A man who left me complimenting the woman I became without him. So I do what I always do when I don't know what to feel. I work harder.
I shift my grip on the post. My boot slides on wet grass.
The ground tilts.
Rowan's hand catches my waist before I hit the mud. Solid and warm straight through the soaked denim. For one full second neither of us moves.
My breath stops somewhere behind my ribs.
His grip tightens. Just enough to steady me. Just enough that I feel every point of contact like a brand.
"Careful, sunshine."
The nickname lands low. Almost mocking. Almost something else entirely.
I straighten slowly. His hand stays at my waist a beat longer than necessary. Two beats.
"I don't need catching."
His fingers slide away. "That's never been true."
Lightning cracks somewhere over the ridge. The sound rolls through the pasture like a warning neither of us takes seriously enough.
I reach for the wire again. Rowan reaches at the same moment.
Our hands meet.
His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist. Small, accidental. The skin there goes so hot it feels like a burn and I'm sure he feels the change because his whole body goes still.
The rain runs down both of us. My shirt clings to my skin. His gaze drops for a second and the heat in it is enough to make me forget the cold entirely.
Then his eyes lift.
"You shouldn't be out here."
"It's my fence."
