Page 22 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
"I didn't ask."
"That's not a no."
Her eyes cut to mine. Sharp and a little sassy. The way they get when she knows she's been read and doesn't want to admit it.
"He can come if he wants."
She turns away like the conversation is finished.
My eyes stay on her back. The way her braid swings against her shoulder. The way her posture never bends. The way she walks like the land only answers to her now.
Because it does.
I grab my hat off the peg and follow her out.
The sky sits low and gray again. No storm yet. Just threat, the way the ridge likes to keep things.
Calla drives. Hands on the wheel. Eyes forward. She doesn't look at me in the passenger seat. She doesn't need to. The truck cab feels too small anyway. Her soap and leather and the faint trace of rain filling every inch of it.
My jaw throbs when I shift. Calla glanced once. Then back to the road.
"You're quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"About what."
I watch the tree line pass. The stream is hidden behind it. The oak with the carving. The way she felt pressed against me at the bank. Warm and real and not pulling away.
"Work," I say.
Calla's mouth tilts. She knows it's a lie. She lets it go. That's new too.
She looks out at the road.
After a moment she says, almost to herself, "My financial advisor in Asheville calls once a quarter. Tells me the accounts Daddy left are still growing, and I should consider doing something with them."
"What do you tell him."
"Nothing. I buy feed and fix fences and let the money sit." She's quiet for a beat. "Six thousand acres of watershed and timber. Mineral leases that make the county assessor sweat every January. Water rights older than the state constitution."
Her hands settle on the wheel. "Halford's been watching all of that for a long time."
"Yes."
"I know what this land looks like to a man like him." Her voice stays even. "I just need it to keep looking like mine."
She says it simply. Not a performance. Not a warning. Just the plain truth of a woman who has known exactly what she's holding and exactly what it costs.
The feed store appears at the end of the road.
"It will," I say.
Calla doesn't answer. But her hands eased up on the wheel.
The feed store bell rings when we push inside.
Every head turns.
