I dragged a hand through my hair, frustration building. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to stop treating people like they're temporary just because you're scared, they might be.”
The words hit hard, but I wasn’t about to admit he was right. I’d spent so long being the Kincaid no one expected to stick around, I'd started assuming everyone else was the same way.
“She's going to leave eventually,” I said, quieter now. “There’s nothing holding her here.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she'd stay if you gave her a reason to.” Dawson's expression softened, and he clapped me on the shoulder. “Think about it. And get your head straight before the next committee meeting. We've got work to do.”
That was just like him to drop a truth bomb then leave me there in the barn, surrounded by the smell of hay and leather and my own tangled thoughts.
I didn't see Morgan for the rest of the day. She didn't call. Didn't text. And I didn't reach out either, telling myself it was better this way. But that night, lying in my own bed in the ranch house, I couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd looked at me in the cabin. The way she'd trusted me completely and given herself over without holding back. The way I'd woken up this morning already planning how to retreat.
Dawson's words echoed in my head. “You're being a coward.”
Hell, maybe I was. But being brave had never gotten me much except bruises and broken bones and people who decided I wasn't worth the effort. It was better to be realistic. Better to protect what I could control. Even if it meant letting go of something that felt, for one perfect night, like it could've been everything.
CHAPTER 10
MORGAN
The approval paperwork sat on my desk in a neat stack, signed and stamped. Official. Final. Everything I'd come to Mustang Mountain to accomplish, reduced to a half inch of documentation that would gather dust in a filing cabinet somewhere. I should've felt proud. Victorious, even. Instead, I felt hollow.
“Ms. Carter?” Mayor Nelson's voice pulled me from my thoughts. He stood in my doorway, hat in hand, that grandfatherly smile firmly in place. “Got a minute?”
I straightened, pushing the hollow feeling down where it belonged. “Of course. Come in.”
He settled into the chair across from my desk with a satisfied sigh. “Just wanted to tell you personally that the council voted unanimously last night. Conditional approval for the rodeo site has been granted.”
I’d done it. I’d secured the win I'd been working toward since day one. “That's wonderful news,” I said, and meant it. Sort of.
“You did good work here, Morgan. Real good work.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The environmental impact assessment was thorough. Your infrastructure recommendations were sound. And the way you handled the community concerns… well, that showed real skill.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now comes the part where we actually build the thing.” His eyes twinkled. “Which means working closely with the Kincaids to finalize site prep, access roads, all that.”
My stomach tightened. “Of course.”
“I was hoping you might drive out to the Iron Spur this afternoon and deliver the news to Slade yourself.” He said it casually, like it was nothing. Like he hadn't asked me to walk straight into the one place I'd been avoiding for two days. “Seems fitting, given how much time you two put into making this happen.”
I kept my expression neutral and professional. “I can do that.”
“Excellent.” He stood, replacing his hat. “The Kincaids have done right by this town, offering that land. They deserve to hear it from the person who made sure we did it correctly.”
After he left, I sat there staring at the paperwork. The smart thing would be to call. Send an email. Handle it remotely and maintain the careful distance I'd constructed since leaving that cabin. But I'd never taken the easy way out before, and I wasn't about to let Slade Kincaid make me start now.
I changed clothes three times before settling on dark jeans and a sweater that felt professional enough without trying too hard. I told myself the extra effort was about respect. I was lying to myself, and I knew it.
The drive out to the Iron Spur felt longer than it should have. I'd made this trip enough times that I knew every curve, and every marker. The mountains rose around me, indifferent and eternal, and I tried to draw strength from their steadiness. It didn't work.
My hands gripped the steering wheel tight. My heart beat faster than it should have for a simple professional courtesy visit. Because nothing about any of my interaction with Slade had been simple, and we both knew it.
Two nights ago, I'd been wrapped around him in a rustic cabin in the middle of nowhere, feeling more present and alive than I had in years. Yesterday, I'd watched him pull away before I'd even had a chance to fully wake up. The shift had been subtle but unmistakable from the careful distance in his voice to the way he wouldn't quite meet my eyes.
I'd known what it meant. I'd seen that particular retreat before, in different forms. The moment when someone decided I wasn’t worth the effort. Useful, maybe, but not permanent. Not worth the risk.
It hurt more than I wanted to admit to myself or anyone else. So I'd given him the space he clearly wanted with a heaping side of professional indifference. I’d chosen distance instead of messy emotions or an uncomfortable conversation. I'd done my job, kept my head down, and told myself it was better this way. I'd been telling myself a lot of lies lately, but it would pay off in the long run.
