Page 8 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
"Beck." Her voice drops to a register I've only heard twice. Both times someone was about to find out exactly how much steel this woman carries underneath the sunshine.
"I said he stays. That's the end of it."
Beck stares at her. Then at me. Then at the space between us that says everything neither of us has said out loud.
His nostrils flare. He puts his hat on. Pulls it down low.
"Fine."
The word sounds like gravel.
He points at me. Says nothing. The silence says enough.
He walks back to his truck. The engine turns over. Gravel sprays the whole way down the ridge road. No wave. No look back.
Just the fury of a man who loves two people and just lost an argument he wasn't prepared to lose.
The yard settles into the kind of quiet that only comes after storms.
Calla moves closer. Her gaze drifts to my jaw, clinical and careful at the same time.
"You're bleeding."
"I noticed."
Her hand lifts. Stops halfway. Like she's remembering all the years we spent pretending touch didn't exist between us.
"You should clean it."
"I will."
She studies me. Too closely. Like she's looking for something under the injury.
"Why did you let him hit you."
"He needed it."
"You didn't."
"He did."
She doesn't argue.
That's new. The girl I remember would have pushed until she got a better answer. The woman standing in front of me knows when a fight is already finished.
The wind shifts across the pasture, carrying the sound of water. The stream is running hard after last night's rain.
Calla's eyes drift toward the tree line like she feels the pull of it too.
"I'm going down there."
My chest goes tight immediately. "You shouldn't."
Her eyebrow lifts. "My land."
She turns toward the tree line without waiting for an answer. Doesn't look back either.
I wait exactly three seconds.
