Page 21 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
She stops when she sees the blood dried at the corner of my mouth.
Her eyes sharpen the way they do when she's measuring damage. Precise and careful at the same time, like a woman who has learned to assess things quickly and act faster.
"You should clean that."
A wet rag appears in her hand. No question attached. No softness on the surface.
Just care wearing a hard face.
I lean back against the stall wall. The barn smells like hay and horse sweat and rain-soaked wood. Familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
Calla steps in close. Her warmth cuts through the chill immediately.
The rag touches the corner of my mouth. Cold water, then her fingers, careful against my skin. My jaw tightens at the simple intimacy of it.
It shouldn't affect me this much. It does anyway.
Beck's punch wasn't the part that hurt. This is.
Her mouth stays set while she works. Like she's angry at the bruise for existing. Like she's angry at me for letting it happen.
"I didn't ask you to take that."
"I didn't ask him to throw it."
Her eyes lift up to mine. A flash of something softer. Then it locks back down.
"You let him."
"Yes."
The rag moves again. Her knuckles graze my jaw, and a jolt runs straight down my spine. Calla doesn't flinch. She's too controlled for that. But I see the slight catch in her breath.
She felt it too.
"Don't do that again."
"Depends."
"On what."
"On whether he needs it again."
Her lips press into a line. The ridge wind slides through the barn door. Cold and clean, carrying the sound of the stream far off through the trees.
"Halford drove by," she says.
"Yes."
"He saw us."
"Yes."
She pulls the rag away. Studies my jaw one last second. Then she steps back and folds the rag over her hand.
"I'm going to town," she says. "For feed."
"Beck going."
