Page 5 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
Rowan's gaze flicks to me. Just once. Not asking. Not pleading.
Checking. Like I'm still the only person whose answer matters.
Something pulls tight behind my ribs. The barn is too quiet.
The stream runs somewhere beyond the trees, louder after last night's rain, like it's been listening this whole time.
Rowan's voice drops even lower.
"Do you want me gone?"
My mouth tastes like iron. Every sensible part of me screams yes.
Every honest part of me refuses.
"No."
Beck's hand drops to his side. His mouth opens, then closes.
He looks at me the way he looked at me the day we buried Daddy. Like I just made a decision he can't undo, and he hasn't figured out yet whether to fight it or grieve it.
The barn holds the silence.
And Rowan Cade doesn't move.
Rowan
The punch lands before the argument really starts.
Beck's fist connects with my jaw hard enough that the world tilts sideways. Gravel bites through my palm when I catch myself against the barn post.
I let it land. Figured I had it coming.
The taste of blood settles under my tongue.
Beck stands in front of me breathing hard, chest rising like he's still deciding whether to swing again. Eight years of silence between us, and this is how it starts.
Can't say I blame him.
We learned to throw punches in the same yard. Same summer.
His daddy taught both of us how to keep our thumbs outside our fists while Calla sat on the fence rail eating an apple and calling out scores.
Beck was thirteen. I was fourteen. We thought we were invincible.
That was before the stream. Before everything.
I straighten slowly. My jaw throbs where he caught me clean. I haven’t wiped the blood yet.
Beck notices. His shoulders shift. Not regret. Recognition. Like he's remembering who taught us both.
"You finished."
"Yes."
He glances toward the barn. Toward her. Then back to me.
"Then leave."
