Page 56 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
"Stay," she murmurs. Half asleep already.
I press my mouth to her hair.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say.
She sleeps.
I hold her.
And outside the window the burned barn frame stands dark against the stars. Broken, stubborn, and waiting to be rebuilt, the same way everything on this ridge has always waited for the people willing to do the work.
Calla
Iwake up warm.
That's the first thing I notice. The second is the weight of Rowan's arm across my waist. Heavy and unhesitating, like even in sleep he's decided he's staying put.
The bedroom is pale gray with early light. The ridge outside the window is still. The stream is a faint sound through the glass, low and settled.
I lie still for a moment and let myself have it.
This. Him. The quiet.
I haven't woken up feeling like this in eight years.
Like the house has weight to it again. Like the ranch is something shared instead of something I'm holding up alone with both hands and sheer stubbornness.
Rowan's breathing is slow and even against the back of my neck.
I could stay here all morning.
I ease out from under his arm.
He stirs. His hand catches my wrist. Light, not grabbing. Just enough.
"Early," he says. His voice is rough with sleep and does nothing good for my resolve.
"Horses," I say.
He tugs once. Gentle.
I should go. The ranch doesn't wait. The horses need feeding and the burned frame needs assessing in daylight and there are approximately seventeen things on my list that won't do themselves.
I sit back down on the edge of the bed.
Rowan's hand slides from my wrist to my hip. He doesn't pull me in. Just rests his palm there and watches me with those dark eyes that have always seen more than I want them to.
"You're already making lists," he says.
"I'm always making lists."
"Give yourself ten minutes."
"Ten minutes won't fix the barn."
"No." His thumb traces a slow circle against my hip. "But it might fix you."
I look at him. Sleep-warm and unhurried, the morning light catching the line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders against the white sheet. The bruise from Beck's punch has faded to yellow.
