Page 34 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
"Yes."
He moves first. Flashlight sweeping the shed floor, the walls, the door frame. Nothing was disturbed except the fuel cap. Whoever opened it knew exactly what they were doing. One small act of sabotage, quiet and precise.
A message dressed up as an accident.
I know who sends messages like that.
Outside, the rain has eased to a cold drizzle.
Rowan moves across the yard with the flashlight, and I stay a step behind him. Not because he asked, but because two sets of eyes are better than one and I know this land better than he does in the dark.
The barn is clear. Horses are unsettled but unhurt, shifting into their stalls with the particular anxiety animals get when something is wrong and nobody will tell them what.
"Easy," I murmur, running a hand along the nearest neck. She blows out a breath and stamps once. I press my forehead to hers for a second. Steady girl. I know exactly how she feels.
The pasture fence line is empty. The lower gate sits closed. No tire tracks visible in the wet grass.
Rowan stands at the fence, flashlight aimed at the ground, jaw set.
"Halford."
"Has to be," I say. "Or someone working for him."
"He's escalating."
"I know."
Inside, I strike a match and light the kitchen lantern. Warm light fills the room. The house smells like wood and old coffee and the faint ghost of my father's pipe smoke that never fully left the walls.
Rowan closes the back door. Checks the lock. Moves to the front window and looks out at the dark yard.
I pull bread and cheese and leftover cold chicken from the icebox and set it on the table without ceremony. Rowan sits. We eat in the kind of quiet that isn't uncomfortable. Two people who have run out of performance and are just existing in the same space.
His knee presses against mine under the table. I don't move away.
It's the most natural thing that's happened all day.
"Town will hear about the store visit by morning," I say.
"They already know."
"Mrs. Kincaid doesn't waste time."
"No." His mouth tilts. "Neither do you."
I tear a piece of bread. "Halford will spin it."
"Yes."
"He'll say you're taking advantage."
Rowan's eyes sharpen. "Of what."
"Of me. Of the ranch. Of a woman alone on a ridge." I keep my voice even. "It's the easiest story to tell about us and he knows it."
"What story do you want them to tell."
Nobody has ever asked me that before. Not the town, not Beck, not anyone. They all decided on the story and handed it to me already written.
