The radio crackled, shifting songs. Outside, the late afternoon light softened, stretching long across the land.
For the first time since she’d arrived, she felt something loosen inside her chest.
Not safety.
Not certainty.
But the beginning of ease.
And she realised that was more dangerous than fear — because it made staying feel natural.
**CHAPTER SEVEN.
Cole didn’t seek her out.
That, more than anything, told her the conversation was coming. She found him at the edge of the property as the light began to fade, standing near the fence line with a tablet in one hand, eyes moving slowly across the land as if he were counting things only he could see. She stopped a few paces away. “You wanted to talk.”
He glanced at her, then nodded once. “Yes.”
No preamble. No softening.
He gestured for her to walk with him, and she did, matching his pace as they followed the fence. The ground dipped slightly here, the grass thicker, the view stretching out towards the hills.
“You’re settling in,” he said.
“I’m trying not to be in the way.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She waited.
“You’ve been helping,” he continued. “You follow instructions. You don’t push.”
“And?”
“And you make people adjust.”
There it was.
She stopped walking. “That sounds like a problem.”
Cole stopped too, turning to face her fully. Up close, his presence was more pronounced — not physical intimidation, but certainty. He didn’t fill space aggressively. He simply occupied it.
“It’s a variable,” he said. “I don’t like variables I don’t understand.” She crossed her arms. “Then ask.”
“I am.”
She considered him for a moment, then nodded. “All right.” “Why here?” he asked. “Not generally. Specifically.”
“Because you didn’t advertise,” she replied. “You don’t take people in. And you didn’t tell me to leave.”
Cole studied her carefully. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
“I know,” she said. “It was a risk assessment.”
Something shifted in his expression — interest sharpened, edged with caution.
“You knew we might turn you away,” he said.
