"Lucky me." Her voice is dry, but there's no real bite to it.
She wraps both hands around the mug and moves to stand beside me at the window. She’s close enough that I can smell her. Something floral underneath the scent of my laundry detergent. The combination does things to me that it shouldn’t.
"Are you always up this early?" she asks.
"Yeah, I try to be. The ranch doesn't run itself. Cows don't care if you got a full eight hours."
"Sounds exhausting."
"Sounds like life. It isn’t too bad. Peaceful before all those jackass brothers of yours have a chance to cause havoc on the place." I take a sip of my coffee. "What about you? What time does a fancy California lawyer usually roll out of bed?"
"Depends on the case. Sometimes five. Sometimes I don't sleep at all." She stares out at the storm. "There's always another fire to put out. Another marriage to untangle. Another person convinced that love is the answer to all their problems, right up until it becomes the source of their undoing."
"That's a hell of a way to look at the world."
"It's a realistic way." She turns to face me, and in the gray morning light, she looks younger. Softer. Tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. "I've seen what happens when people believe in fairy tales. They end up in my office, crying over custody agreements and dividing up Christmas ornaments."
"Not everyone ends up there."
"Enough do. I’ve never been married, but I’m working through my three hundred and forty-second divorce."
I study her face, searching for the cracks beneath the polish. "Is that what happened to your mom and Pa Kingridge? They believed in the fairy tale, and it fell apart?"
She flinches. Just barely, but I catch it.
"My mother believed," she says quietly. "My father… Hell, you know him better than I do at this point." Her laugh is bitter, hollow. "So no, I don't put much stock in happily-ever-after. In my experience, it's just a lie people tell themselves until reality catches up."
The pieces click into place. No wonder she came here with her armor locked in place. No wonder she wants nothing to do with this ranch.
"I know enough about him. He’s a good man who made some terrible choices. And he missed out on knowing you. So that means he isn’t that smart." I set my mug down on the counter and turn to face her fully. "I know you came here expecting to hate this place. These people. I know you've got walls up so high you probably can't even see over them anymore. And I know you're scared."
Her eyes flash. I’ve got her attention. "I'm not scared of anything."
"Bullshit." I take a step closer.
She doesn't back away.
"You're terrified. Not of this ranch or your brothers or even the skeletons in your father’s closet. You're scared that maybe you're wrong about all of it. That love isn't the trap you've convinced yourself it is. That people can actually stay."
"People don't stay." Her voice is barely a whisper. "They never stay."
"I stayed."
The words hang between us, heavy and raw. I watch them land against her armor, and her resolve falters.
"Well, they don’t make men like you where I’m from." Her voice is soft, and it breaks my damn heart.
"Lucy’s mother walked out when she was eighteen months old," I continue. "Said she wasn't cut out for this life. I was never sure if it was ranching life, motherhood, or me that pushed her over the edge." I shrug, though the old wound still aches if I press on it too hard. "I didn’t have a choice of who to be at that point. That little girl down the hall deserves a father who believes in something. Who shows up even when it's hard. So that’s who I became."
Eliza stares at me, and for the first time since she arrived, the mask slips completely. I see the hurt underneath. The loneliness.
"Walker…" She says my name like it costs her something. "You are an incredible father. She’s lucky to have you in her corner."
"I’m lucky to have her." I close the distance between us until we're inches apart. Until I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. "And I’m lucky that you’re standing here in my kitchen, looking more stunning than anyone has a right to be in that shirt."
Her breath catches. Her lips part. Her eyes drop to my mouth. Every ounce of self-control I possess screams at me to close the gap. Everything in me is desperate to take what I've wanted since the moment I saw her.
I reach up and brush a strand of hair from her face. Her skin is impossibly soft beneath my calloused fingers. She leans into the touch, just slightly, and a sound escapes her. Something between a sigh and a whimper.
