“Not your story?” I echo, confused. “I just—someone has to tell me something.”
He exhales slowly, resting one hand over mine briefly, almost reassuringly, almost warning. “No one can give you that. Not dad, not Sutton, not me. If you want answers, it comes from Colter. And it comes whenhedecides you’re ready.”
I stare at him, trying to read between the lines, but his expression doesn’t give anything away. Calm, unreadable, solid.
“Ready?” I whisper, almost to myself.
“Ready,” he confirms. “Until then…” He shrugs lightly. “You’ll see, you’ll understand, and in the meantime… you live here. Pay attention. Learn the rhythm of the place. Watch. Listen. Don’t chase the answers—let them come to you.”
I nod, but inside, my curiosity is a wildfire. I want to push, to demand, to tear apart the walls that keep me from knowing. But I don’t. If he won’t give me information, then Colter certainly won’t.
I take a slow sip of my coffee, letting the warmth settle in my chest. My fingers brush against the island’s polished wood, and I let my gaze wander. The sun outside has shifted again, stretching the shadows across the countertops and highlighting the small kitchen garden Sutton keeps by the window. Everyday things. Safe things. But even in this calm, I feel the edges of the storm lurking. Colter. His men. The family. The wordbosslooping endlessly in my mind.
And I can’t help it—I can’t stop piecing it together, imagining what he really is, behind the polished ranch life and the public smiles.
But for now… I wait.
The rest of the afternoon stretches lazily around me, warm sunlight spilling across the rolling pastures and the stables. I wander barefoot across the ranch, the grass brushing my ankles, fingers grazing the tall stalks as if trying to pull the secrets from the land itself. The air smells faintly of hay and leather, crisp and alive, carrying the distant echo of horses’ hooves clattering across paddocks.
I find myself at the stables dressed in a pair of leggings and a light hoodie, the low murmur of the horses a balm against the tension lingering in my chest. Their warm bodies press against my palms, their breath heavy and musky, nostrils flaring as I run my hands along their flanks. I close my eyes, letting the rhythmic swish of tails and occasional snort settle the whirlwind of questions in my head. For a moment, I forget about Colter, the men, the secretive glances, and the world outside this small patch of sun-drenched land.
A chestnut mare nudges me gently, as if reading my thoughts, and I laugh softly, the sound echoing in the barn. My fingers braid through her mane, slow and methodical, tracing the waves of her hair, feeling the strength in her muscles beneath. The calm of the animals—how easy they seem in themselves—makes me ache to be so uncomplicated, so untethered.
I wander between the stalls, brushing and feeding, letting the afternoon pass unhurried. Shadows stretch long across the dirt floor, and the sky begins to soften from bright blue to the faint rose and gold that promises evening. Time feels elastic here, as if the world has slowed, giving me a small pocket of peace before it tightens again.
And yet, even in this calm, my mind drifts back to the conversation I overheard this morning—or what felt like morning but was now well into afternoon.Boss.Law.Protected.The words thrum behind my ribs, an echo that doesn’t fade, and I wonder, not for the first time, what Colter Shaw really is beneath the easy arrogance, the sharp teasing, the heat that makes my chest ache even when he isn’t near.
A distant rumble of tires on gravel pulls me from my thoughts. My stomach tightens, and I glance toward the entrance of the ranch, where the road curves out of sight behind the hills. The familiar growl of an engine—it’s low, deliberate, almost hungry. My pulse picks up without my permission.
Colter.
By the time he pulls up, boots crunching against gravel, the late afternoon sun paints him in gold and shadow, highlighting the broad planes of his face, the dangerous ease in his posture. He doesn’t need to say anything; his presence fills the air like static.
I step back instinctively, brushing my hands on the skirt of my sundress, though I know it’s useless. He’s already seen me. He always sees me.
“Thought I’d find you here,” he calls, voice low, carrying over the quiet of the ranch. There’s no question in his tone, no room for negotiation—only certainty.
“I… I like it here,” I say, trying for casual, for nonchalant, but my fingers curl around the mane of the horse nearest me. “It’s… peaceful.”
He steps closer, boots crunching softly against the dirt, and the air between us coils with the weight of unspoken things. “It suits you,” he murmurs, watching me brush the chestnut mare, his gaze roving over the small smile I can’t quite hide. “Calms you. Good.”
I swallow, feeling warmth crawl up my spine. “I… I like taking care of them. It’s easy. They don’t—” I pause, searching for the words. “They don’t pretend. They don’t hide.”
“No,” he agrees, standing behind me now, so close I can feel the heat rolling off him. “They don’t. Not like the rest of the world.”
I keep brushing the horse, letting the rhythm ground me, letting the creature’s warmth anchor me as Colter lingers behind. The sun dips lower, stretching shadows long across the pasture, and for the first time today, I feel something like balance, even if only for a heartbeat.
“I’ll have Bowen finish up in here. Let’s go,” he says, breaking the quiet with that low, controlled tone. Not a question. A command.
I glance up at him, and even as I obey, my mind is still spinning, threading together fragments of conversation, glances, and warnings. But for now, in the late afternoon light, surrounded by the scent of hay and horses, the world feels a little less sharp. A little more mine.
And when Colter finally steps forward, hand reaching to brush a loose strand of hair from my face, I let him.
I let him in.
32
There’sa crowd at his house when we pull in. Extra trucks and cars litter the driveway, half of them I don’t recognize.
