Page 38 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
"You don't know that."
"No." He looks at me. "But tomorrow we go to town. And we make sure every person on this ridge knows that Whispering Stream Ranch has two people standing on it now."
I hold his gaze. The night is cold and the porch is dark and Harlan Grayson's taillights have disappeared around the bend, but I can still feel the shape of his visit pressing against the walls of my house.
"Tomorrow," I say.
Rowan nods. His hand finds the small of my back. Brief. Warm. A point of contact that says I'm here without asking for anything in return.
Then he steps off the porch toward the shed to reseal the generator cap.
And I stand in the dark doorway of my father's house and think about the man who just stood on my porch and smiled at me and called it help.
And I think about the man crossing my yard in the rain who hasn't smiled once since he came back but has done more for this ranch in three days than Halford's kind of help would do in a lifetime.
The difference between those two men is the difference between a hand offered and a hand closing around your throat.
I know which one I trust.
Rowan
The door handle turns.
I step in front of Calla before she can reach it.
Not to take over. Not to perform. Just because eight years of staying away didn't kill the instinct to put myself between her and whatever comes through that door.
The door swings open.
Beck fills the frame.
Rain behind him. Hat pulled low. His gaze sweeps the room once. Table, lantern, Calla, then me. His jaw works like he's chewing on something he can't swallow.
"Well," he says. "That didn't take long."
I don't answer. Beck isn't the kind of man who needs a response. He needs a wall to throw himself against until the anger burns out.
His gaze moves around the kitchen. The two plates on the table. The lantern. The space between us is smaller than it should be.
"You are back on the ridge." He pulls his hat off. Turns it in his hands. "Didn't think you had the nerve."
"Didn't ask permission."
His mouth tightens. He steps inside. The kitchen shrinks.
Calla moves around me before I can stop her. Her posture is straight, her chin level.
"Say what you came to say."
Beck studies her. His shoulders are tight and his hands won't stop moving on the hat brim.
"You sure you want me to?"
"Yes."
He nods once. Exhales hard through his nose.
"You know what nobody talks about?" His voice drops. "The part after.
