Page 36 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
I tilt my head into his palm. "It was exactly how it should have been."
He blinks. Not the answer he expected.
"Rowan. I'm a grown woman who wanted you in that shed. I got what I wanted." I hold his gaze. "The part that went wrong wasn't us. It was whoever was watching."
Something eases in his expression. Not all the way. But enough.
"When this happens again," he says quietly, "it won't be with someone ten feet away in the dark."
The word again sends heat through me that I must work to keep off my face.
"Spare room is down the hall," I say.
His mouth curves. Just barely.
"Yes ma'am."
"Don't push your luck."
The lantern throws shadows on the kitchen wall. The rain has softened to a whisper against the windows. For one second the house feels like what it hasn't felt like in years. Full. Warm. Held.
Then boots hit the front porch.
Heavy. Unhurried. Not Beck's stride. Beck walks like he's late for something even when he isn't. This is the walk of a man who wants each step heard.
The handle turns.
I go still.
Rowan is already moving. Past me, toward the door, his body shifting into that quiet readiness that means he's already three steps ahead of whatever is coming.
The door swings open.
Halford stands on my porch.
Taller than I remember up close. Broader. His hat is dry. He's been sitting in his truck while we searched the property. While we ate dinner. While we sat in my kitchen and talked about drawing lines.
He's been waiting. Letting us settle. Choosing his moment.
"Evening, Calla." He smiles. Pleasant and easy. Like he's returning a casserole dish instead of standing on the property of a woman whose generator he just sabotaged.
"Saw the lights were out. Wanted to make sure you were all right up here."
My skin crawls.
"I'm fine."
"Storm hit hard tonight." He looks past me at the kitchen. At the table. At Rowan, who stands three feet behind me and hasn't said a word. "Power go out?"
"Generator trouble."
"That’s right." He nods slowly. "Old machines, old wiring. Things break down when nobody's maintaining them."
The words sound like concern. They feel like an inventory.
"What do you want, Halford."
His smile doesn't waver. "I want to help. That's all." He shifts his weight. Unhurried. "I've been watching this ridge for a while. You know that. And I've seen how hard you work to keep this place running."
