"Wouldn't be my first choice either." Walker's voice is dry. "I've got a spare room. It's not fancy, but there's heat and a door that locks."
I'm already shaking my head at the thought. "I can't just?—"
"She'd love that," Danner interrupts. His face brightens with an enthusiasm I immediately distrust. "Walker's place is great. And Lucy will be thrilled to have company."
Lucy. The daughter. The one who was vibrating with excitement over Christmas lights.
I look between my brother's hopeful expression and Walker's unreadable one. Outside, the wind howls and the first drops of rain start to patter against the windows.
No. Not happening.
"That's very generous. But I don't want to impose on your family," I say to Walker. "We will find other accommodations."
Something flickers across Walker's face. "It's just Lucy and me. Has been for a while now. You'll stay with us."
The words land heavier than they should. Just me and Lucy. No mother in the picture. No partner. Just a man raising hisdaughter alone on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. But also, what the fuck is it with the men in this town making suggestions as if they're facts?
Danner squeezes my shoulder. "It's just one night, Eliza. I promise we'll figure everything out tomorrow." He pulls me into another hug, and this time I don't fight it. "I'm really glad you're here. Even if you did come to kidnap me."
"Rescue," I mutter into his shoulder. "I came to rescue you."
He laughs, and it's such a familiar sound that my chest aches. "Sure. Let me go tell Becca you're staying. She's dying to meet you."
Then he's gone, and I'm alone with Walker again.
The silence stretches between us, thick with everything unsaid. Rain lashes against the windows now, and somewhere in the distance, lightning splits the sky.
"One night, then I'll be on my way no matter what," I say finally.
"One night," he agrees. "Then we'll see."
5
eliza
Walker's house is nothing like I expect.
From the outside, it's a modest cabin set back from the main ranch buildings. Warm light glows through the windows despite the growing storm. But inside, it's… lived in. Loved, even.
There are crayon drawings taped to the refrigerator and a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. A basket of folded laundry sits by the couch, and a handmade quilt is draped by the fireplace. The whole place smells like pine and something sweet. Cookies, maybe.
This is what a home looks like. I wouldn't know.
“Dad!” Lucy barrels down the hallway in fuzzy socks and a nightgown covered in cartoon emojis. “Patty June let me frost three cookies, and she only yelled at me once about the sprinkles. Which was fair, I poured in the rest of the jar.”
Walker catches her mid-leap, swinging her up like she weighs nothing. “Only once? That’s a new record.”
“I was very restrained.” She spots me over his shoulder, and her eyes go wide. “Oh! Hi! The lawyer is here. Why don’t you like Christmas?”
“I never said I don’t like Christmas.”
“You made a face at our tree.” She narrows her eyes with the devastating honesty of a child. “It was a judgy face.”
“Lucy.” Walker’s voice carries a gentle warning.
“It’s fine.” I find myself almost smiling despite everything. “I probably did make a face. The star is crooked.”
“I know!” Lucy throws her hands up. “I told Dad to fix it, but he says it has character.”
