I kept my voice low. “Marisol.”
She didn’t look at me.
“They didn’t catch you alone,” I said. “That matters.”
Her laugh was small and broken. “Because you won’t let me be alone.”
Because I couldn’t.
We hit the ranch gate, and the tension eased by a fraction when I saw the trucks staged, men posted, and a dog running the fence line. Brody radioed ahead, and the gate swung open.
Mama Mae was already on the porch by the time we pulled up. She didn’t ask questions. Just took one look at Marisol’s face and walked straight to her, wrapping her in a hug so fierce it looked like a warning.
“Let’s go inside,” Mae said. “Lucas is in the kitchen. He doesn’t know yet.”
Marisol’s breath hitched. “Don’t tell him.”
Mae’s gaze sharpened. “He needs to know enough to listen. He doesn’t need the details.”
Marisol nodded, her lips pressed tight.
Mae turned to me. “The task force called. They picked up the driver ten miles out. Kane stayed on him.”
Relief hit me so hard I had to inhale slowly to keep from showing it. “They got them both?
Mae nodded. “And they’re rolling up the rest. They’ve been waiting for a mistake. Looks like we just forced one.”
My jaw clenched. “Good.”
Marisol stood at the bottom of the steps, her arms hanging loosely at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.
I stepped closer. “Go to Lucas.”
She looked up at me, her eyes raw and red. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” I said. “He needs you steady.”
Her throat worked. She nodded once and walked inside.
I stayed on the porch for a second, breathing in the ranch air, listening to the crackle of radios and the far-off bark of dogs. Men moved around the property, tightening the perimeter like it had never loosened. And all I could think about was her face when she’d been smiling outside the school. The way hope had lit her up for a second. And how fast it had been ripped away.
Later, after Lucas had been fed and distracted and sent to the bunkhouse with Owen to play cards, I found Marisol in the bedroom, sitting on the bed with her hands clenched in her lap.
She looked up when I came in. Her eyes were dry, but the fear was still there.
“I tried,” she said. Her voice was quiet, bruised. “I tried to be normal.”
“You are normal,” I said. “This isn’t your fault.”
She tilted her head back to star at the ceiling. “I thought I could do this alone.”
I stepped closer. “You don’t have to.”
Her chin lifted, stubborn even now. “I don’t want to be someone’s responsibility.”
I stopped in front of her, careful with my tone because I knew how easily she’d interpret it as control. “You’re not,” I said. “You’re my choice.”
Something flickered across her face. Pain. Hope. Anger. Want. All of it tangled together.
