Page 46 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
"Morning," Rowan says.
"Morning." Halford takes a slow sip of his coffee. "You two are up early."
"Ranch doesn't sleep in."
"No." His eyes settle on me. "How are things up on the ridge, Calla."
"Fine."
"Generator running?"
The question lands with its edge out. He knows it isn't. He's the reason it isn't.
"It will be," I say.
Halford nods slowly. "Good." A pause. "Storms are hard on old places. Especially places running on one pair of hands."
The pressure sits inside the concern like a blade inside a glove. I feel it. He knows I feel it. That's the point.
"She's not alone," Rowan says.
The words fall quiet and flat.
Halford looks at him. The pleasant expression thins at the edges.
"That right?"
"Yes."
A long pause. The town listens.
Halford's gaze moves to our joined space. Rowan's hand, my shoulder, the absence of any distance between us. I watch him run the calculation.
Last night he thought he was dealing with a woman alone. Today the math is different.
"Well," he says finally. "I hope it works out for you both. I do." He lifts his coffee cup. "Sometimes these old ridge places just need the right people to take care of them. And sometimes they need someone willing to make the hard call."
The line sounds like a blessing. It feels like a threat.
"The only hard call on that ridge," I say, "is how early I set the alarm. And that's mine to make."
Halford's mouth tightens. Just a fraction. The first crack in the pleasant mask I've seen him show in public.
He turns back toward the feed store.
"You take care of that ridge, Calla." He pauses at the door. Looks over his shoulder. "All six thousand acres of it."
The number lands deliberate. He wants me to know he's done his homework. He wants the town to hear the scale of what he's circling.
The door closes behind him.
The street exhales.
Beck appears at my elbow.
"You two are really doing this," he says. Not a question. Recognition.
Rowan looks at him. "Yes."
