But his expression is unreadable. His jaw’s tight, his eyes shadowed. He doesn’t give me the softness I thought I glimpsed out on the trail. Doesn’t even look at me for more than a heartbeat before he turns away.
Without a word, he gathers both sets of reins and leads the horses into the barn. His broad back disappears into the dimness, leaving me alone in the fading sunlight.
I stand there with my arms wrapped around myself, skin still buzzing from his touch, pulse drumming too hard, and one thought echoing repeatedly in my head:
What the hell just happened?
And why does it feel like he took something with him when he walked away?
By the time I drag myself upstairs, my body feels like it’s been wrung out and left in the sun. Every muscle aches from being so tightly wound, and even after a hot shower, I can’t seem to shake the sensation of Colter’s strong presence on the trail. His calm, controlled energy grounding me.
I curl into the worn chair in my room with a book balanced in my lap, though the words blur almost immediately. My eyelids are heavy, my mind foggy. But sleep doesn’t come easy after a day like today. Not with adrenaline still humming in my veins, sharp and restless.
A knock at the door breaks my fog. “Hey, you got a second?”
It’s Lee.
I nod. “Yeah…come in.”
He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. He doesn’t swagger or joke this time. He leans against the doorway for a moment, watching me.
“I…wanted to apologize,” he says quietly. “Jackson and I shouldn’t have taken off like we did. We left you behind, and that was dumb. You’re new to riding, and I should’ve been paying more attention.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. His apology is straightforward and honest. Something I’ve rarely experience.
I manage a small shrug. “It’s fine. You didn’t know a rattlesnake was going to jump out of the bushes.”
He shakes his head. “Still. We left you out there, and it scared me half to death when I realized you were gone. I should’ve had your back.”
I lower the book in my lap, finally meeting his gaze. He looks…sincere. Concerned. Not like Colter, whose silence leaves me guessing. Lee’s worry is open, tangible, and comfortable.
“Thanks, Lee,” I murmur, voice quiet. “I appreciate it.”
He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “Anytime. What are big brother for, right? Making sure their little sister doesn’t get herself hurt.”
A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “Yeah. I guess you are.”
He grins faintly, ruffling my hair gently. “Always.”
Then, without a backward glance, he slips out of the room, leaving me alone. I lean back in the chair, taking a deep breath. The calm, protective energy he brought lingers, contrasting sharply with Colter’s stormy intensity earlier.
And I realize something: I’m grateful for both. I need them both in different ways. But for now, Lee’s quiet, brotherly reassurance is exactly what I need to settle my frayed nerves.
It doesn’t take long for the word to spread about the rattlesnake incident.
By the time I make it down for dinner, the sun has slipped low behind the hills, casting long shadows across the dining room. The smell of roast and fresh bread fills the air, but I barely notice. My muscles still ache from the ride, and every step feels heavier than it should.
Sutton is the first to notice me. Her brows knit together the moment I step into the room. “Peyton, you shouldn’t be up.” Sutton bustles over with a hand hovering over my arm as if she’s about to physically make me take a seat. “Shiloh would have brought your dinner up to the room for you.”
I hold up a hand to stop her, forcing a small, tight smile. “I’m fine, Sutton. Really.”
She doesn’t buy it. She fusses anyway, rearranging my napkin, patting the back of my chair. “Lee and Jackson shouldn’t have left you on the trail alone.
Lee bites his lip shamefully, sliding into his seat beside me. “I apologized, and Colter laid into us already. We made a mistake.”
Sutton glares at him. “You’re lucky Colter decided to follow you up the trail to keep an eye on you. If he hadn’t been there…” She stops abruptly when John enters, his presence filling the room before he even speaks.
He’s carrying a plate, gruff as always, but the tension in his shoulders and the sharpness of his gaze betray the worry he’s tried so hard to bury. “You okay?” His voice is low, rough around the edges, but it’s a question, not a statement.
