Page 16 of Branded Mine

“What are you doing, Ryder?” I whispered to myself.

I set the receipt down and crossed into the kitchen. There was no coffee waiting on the table. No note written in thick, black marker. And especially no broad-shouldered cowboy standing outside on the porch pretending he hadn’t been watching the house.

I made coffee for myself, poured too much sugar into the mug, and carried it outside.

The morning was clear and cool after the storm last night. Sunlight stretched across the pasture, catching on the wet grass and the puddles that remained along the fence line. The sky was so blue it looked almost fake, like an artist had taken his paintbrush and stroked it to life.

But beneath that natural beauty, the ranch still showed signs of the damage. Broken branches littered the yard, muddy tracks cut through the drive, and the living room window remained covered with plywood and tarp.

I leaned against the porch railing and stared toward the Kane property. I couldn’t see many details of his place aside from the main structure, and wondered if he was home.

It was ridiculous how quickly his absence became noticeable. Before returning to Rootstown Creek, I had spent years building a life where I answered to no one. I ate alone, slept alone, and handled whatever went wrong without waiting for someone to rescue me.

Most of all, I used that time to heal a splintered childhood. And I had been proud of that independence because it proved my father hadn’t broken me completely.

Yet, after only a handful of days, the silence Ryder left behind was too noticeable.

I told myself he was busy. He had his own shit to handle and didn’t owe me an explanation for staying away, especially after I had kissed him and then stood there afterward without explaining what the kiss meant to me.

I didn’t even know what any of it meant. That was probably why Ryder hadn’t returned today. He was giving me space to figure out my shit.

I finished my coffee and went inside to find my boots. If Ryder wanted to stay away, that was fine. I had more than enough work to keep me occupied. The house still needed to be cleared, the storm damage needed attention, and the ranch needed to be made presentable before Kacey sent a photographer.

I had returned to Rootstown Creek to settle the estate, not spend my mornings staring down the road hoping a certain cowboy would appear.

I started with the broken branches scattered across the yard. Most were small enough to drag toward the burn pile behind the barn, but the ground was still soft from the storm, and mud clung heavily to my boots. By the time I cleared the area around the porch, sweat dampened the back of my shirt and irritation had settled beneath my skin.

I told myself the irritation had nothing to do with Ryder. But I knew what a big fat lie that was.

The biggest question was whether I could stay away from him.

9

The sound of a vehicle coming up the drive made me stop so fast my boot slid in the mud.

My pulse jumped before I even looked up because all I could think about was it being Ryder. But when I glanced up, my disappointment sank to my stomach.

A white work van rolled toward the house with ROOTSTOWN GLASS printed across the side in faded blue lettering. The driver parked near the porch and climbed out carrying a clipboard. He was an older man with a gray beard, a round stomach, and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

“You Miss Lila Shaw?” he called.

“That’s me.” I used the rag slung over my shoulder to wipe off my hands as I moved toward him.

He glanced toward the plywood covering the living room window. “Figured this was the place.”

Confusion must have been written all over my face because he paused as I stopped in front of him.

“I didn’t call any glass companies,” I said. Then it clicked. Ryder.

“No?” He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. “Got a call this morning. Boss said it needed to be done first. Priority job.” He looked up and smiled, wrinkles forming around his denim-blue eyes. “Must be a friend of the big guy for him to put a rush on it.” He tapped his pen. “I’ve already got the measurements, but I’ll double-check them. Replacement glass should be here tomorrow afternoon or maybe the morning after if the supplier holds us up.”

“Of course he made the call,” I muttered under my breath, thinking of Ryder. An intense flush spread through me before I could stop it.

“Pardon, miss?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. Do you need anything from me?”

“No, ma’am. I’ll just get to work so I can get out of your hair.” He climbed the porch steps and examined the temporary covering.