Page 17 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
Rowan's voice slides in low and close. Not accusation. Just fact.
I keep my hand on the carving. "I needed air."
"You always did."
I finally turn.
He stands at the edge of the trees. Rain beads on his shoulders. His hair curls damp at the temples. His eyes are the color of the stream in winter. The kind of water that doesn't warn you about the depth.
"You followed me."
"Yes."
No apology attached.
Part of me wants to be angry. The honest part is relieved.
"You shouldn't be here," I say.
"At the stream."
"Anywhere near me."
Rowan takes one step forward. The mud doesn't slow him.
"You remember it," I say.
His jaw works. He looks at the water, then looks back at me.
"I remember everything."
My hand drops from the carving.
"Then you know why this place matters."
Rowan's eyes move to the oak. To the initials. To the scar we left on living wood when we were young enough to think promises carved into trees would hold forever.
"I know why you come here," he says.
I step closer to the bank. The ground holds.
"Beck thinks you shouldn't be here."
"Beck thinks a lot of things."
"Beck thinks you left because you didn't care."
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
"That's not what happened."
"Then tell me what happened."
The stream seems to go quiet for just a moment. The oak stands between us like a witness that doesn't blink.
I look at the water. The place where the bank curves under the oak roots, where the current runs fast and deep after rain. I know exactly where I went in. I've stood at this spot a hundred times since.
I know the shape of what happened by heart, my side of it, anyway.
