Page 44 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
He did not sleep. I can see it in the set of his jaw, the alertness of a man who spent the night listening instead of resting. He was watching the house. Watching for Halford.
"You don't have to do that," I say.
"Yes, I do."
He says it simply. No performance behind it. Just fact.
I wrap both hands around my mug. "Town today."
"Yes."
"Beck will find out before we get there."
"Probably."
"You ready for that?"
Rowan looks at me over the rim of his cup. His eyes are dark and completely untroubled.
"Yes."
I nod. I believe him.
We work through the morning chores together. Horses fed and watered, stalls turned out, the north fence line walked and checked. I catch myself humming while I fill the water troughs and stop when I realize I'm doing it.
Rowan glances over from the stall he's mucking. "Don't stop on my account."
"I wasn't humming."
"You were humming."
"It was breathing. With melody."
His mouth does the thing where it almost smiles but doesn't quite commit. I want to make it commit. I want to make this man smile like it's my full-time job.
I go back to the troughs. Still not humming. Definitely not.
By mid-morning the sky is clear and cold and sharp-edged the way it gets after a hard rain. The ridge smells like clean earth and pine.
I change into clean jeans and a flannel that doesn't have mud on the sleeves. I pull my hair back.
I look in the mirror and think about the town and Halford and the way gossip moves on a small mountain like weather. Fast, sideways, gets into everything.
Then I think about Rowan's voice in the kitchen last night.
I want to draw a line.
I stop thinking about the town.
Rowan is waiting by the truck when I come outside. He's cleaned up too. Fresh shirt, jaw set, hat pulled low. He looks like a man walking into something he's already made his peace with.
He opens the passenger door before I reach it.
I stop. Look at him.
"I can open my own door."
"I know."
