Page 102 of Danger

Winnie just sips her coffee, and when I catch her eye, she smiles—a real one, not her usual sharp-edged smirk. It’s almost enough to make me believe whatever this is could be something real.

But I know better.

Women leave. That’s what they do.

“What can I do?” she asks, gesturing at the coffee pot.

I shake my head. “Sit there and look pretty.”

She smiles, wrapping both hands around her mug. “Fine. Pull my leg.”

I do. Light. Just enough to feel the warmth of her. She bites her lip like she’s deciding whether to call me on it or let it slide.

Then small footsteps pad down the hall.

“Dad? Winnie?” Fisher’s voice is thick with sleep. “We ready to do morning chores?”

Winnie glances toward the hallway, already pushing back her chair. “And that’s my cue.” She pauses. “Hey—can I grab a hoodie on my way out?”

I arch a brow. “Am I gonna get it back?”

She grins, evil and sweet all at once. “Nope.”

Something loosens in my chest as I nod. “Take what you want.”

She’s already moving, Fisher trailing behind her, both of them laughing about something I don’t hear. The door shuts. And just like that, the kitchen goes quiet.

The coffee’s still warm in my hand—but whatever she left behind?

Gone.

By the time I finish a day of ranch work and get my legs burned in the practice pen, I haul my ass back to the house just before the sun goes down.

Fisher asked to stay at mama’s tonight, which means I get to enjoy a long ass, hot shower.

When I step out, the wind is picking up, rattling the windows. There’s a storm coming. I can feel it in the way the pressure drops behind my eyes. Part of me wants to go outside, walk into the thick of it, see what happens when it hits. That’s what I’ve always done: run toward something I shouldn’t.

My phone vibrates on the table. I consider ignoring it, but usually someone only calls after dark if something’s up. I answer on the third buzz.

“What’s up?” I say.

“Hey, boss. Sorry to bug you. I’m posted at the south gate—you’ll never guess who just drove through.”

“I don’t have time for games. Spit it out.”

He laughs, nervous. “It’s Rylee. She’s headed your way.”

I close my eyes. “You sure?”

“Sure as shit. You want me to?—”

“No,” I interrupt. “Let her through. Thanks for the heads up.”

He hangs up.

Rylee isn’t the giving-up type. If she’s come all this way, it means she’s got something to say, and even if I had the ranch hands stop her, she’d be back. At least Fisher is at mama’s and she didn’t come when he’s out wanderin’ the ranch.

I hear her before I see her—those heels she wears are clicking against the porch boards. There’s a second where I remember what I liked about her, back when I was too young and too stupid to know better. She could light up a room, and she knew it. She always wanted more, and she never cared who she had to hurt to get it.