The man on the left — younger, she thought, though it was hard to tell — glanced at her car, then back at her face. “What are you looking for?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
This was the moment she’d expected. The one where she could soften the truth, let it sound accidental, temporary. Easier for everyone. Instead, she said, “A place to stay. For a short while.”
The air shifted. Not hostile. Alert.
The central man’s gaze sharpened. “We don’t run a guesthouse.” “I’m not asking for one,” she replied calmly. “I’m asking for time.” The man on the right finally looked at her, his attention settling with quiet intensity. “Time from what?”
She met his eyes. “From a situation that isn’t mine to solve alone.” Silence stretched between them.
The central man folded his arms, considering her with an expression that gave nothing away. “You don’t look desperate.”
“No,” she agreed. “I’m careful.”
That earned her something like interest.
“We don’t take in strangers,” he said.
“I expected that.”
“Then why stop here?”
She gestured back down the road. “Because turning around would mean pretending this was never an option.”
Another pause.
Behind them, the ranch lay open and quiet, buildings spaced with intention, fences solid and well kept. This wasn’t a place that tolerated chaos. Or indecision.
Finally, the central man spoke. “If you stay, you follow our rules.” “What are they?”
“You don’t wander. You don’t lie. And you don’t bring trouble to our door.”
She nodded once. “That works for me.”
The man on the left let out a short breath, half a laugh. “You always this straightforward?”
“Only when it matters.”
The central man looked at her for a long moment, then turned and keyed the gate open.
“Park by the barn,” he said. “We’ll talk again before dark.” She didn’t thank him.
She simply got back into her car and drove through, the gate closing behind her with a weighty finality.
As she parked and stepped out, she was aware of it — not fear, not relief, but the quiet understanding that she had crossed a line she wouldn’t uncross easily.
This wasn’t refuge.
It was a decision.
And she would have to live with it.
** CHAPTER TWO.
She parked where she’d been told, beside a long, low barn that
smelled faintly of hay and oil. The engine ticked as it cooled, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet.
