Page 45 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
He waits. Patient.
I roll my eyes. But the corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. "You're ridiculous."
"Thank you."
I get in. And I'm smiling for the first three turns of the ridge road before the town comes into view and I put it away.
The drive down is quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just loaded, the way the air gets before something that can't be taken back.
The town appears around the bend.
Feed store. Post office. Gas station. The cafe with the cracked sign that's been cracked since I was twelve.
Trucks are already parked along the main road, their owners inside drinking coffee and sharing other people's business.
Rowan pulls into the center lot and cuts the engine.
We sit for one second.
"Ready," he says.
"Yes."
We get out together.
Every head turns. I feel it without looking. The subtle shift of attention that small towns do, the collective intake of breath before the exhale of judgment.
Rowan's hand finds the small of my back. A signal to the town and a promise to me.
I keep walking.
Beck's truck is parked at the far end of the lot. My brother leans against the hood with his arms folded and his expression doing that thing it does when he's already angry and deciding how loud to be about it.
He watches Rowan's hand on my back.
His jaw works.
But he doesn't move. Not yet. Something from last night is still working through him. I can see it in the way he holds his shoulders. Less rigid than the yard. Less certain than the kitchen.
Like a man who stayed up all night arguing with himself and hasn't picked a winner yet.
Halford's truck sits across the street. The man himself stands on the sidewalk outside the feed store. Hat low, coffee in hand, watching us with the patience of someone who has been expecting exactly this.
Different from last night on my porch. Last night he was performing concern. Today he's in his territory, and the confidence is visible. The way he stands, the way people give him space on the sidewalk without being asked.
We cross the lot.
Mrs. Kincaid appears in the feed store doorway. Two women from the church auxiliary materialize beside her. A man from the lumber yard steps onto the sidewalk, coffee in hand, squinting at us like the sun is suddenly very interesting.
The whole town arranges itself into an audience without admitting that's what it's doing.
Rowan stops in front of Halford.
I stand beside him. Not behind. Not tucked away.
But beside.
Halford's gaze moves between us. Down to Rowan's hand at my back. Back up.
