Don’t call me when it goes wrong.
The words echoed in my head.
Fine. I wouldn’t.
I pressed the gas pedal and watched the ranch disappear in my rearview mirror.
Watched everything I’d started to hope for fade into the distance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dalton
The door slammed behind Amber, and I stood there staring at it like an idiot.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I turned to find Cade glaring at me. Actually glaring. My easygoing brother who never got mad at anyone looked like he wanted to punch me.
“Stay out of it,” I muttered, turning away.
“No. I don’t think I will.” He moved to block my path. “You just told that woman not to call you when she needs help. What the fuck, Dalton?”
“She’s driving into a storm—”
“No, she’s not. She’s driving to see her sick mother on a clear Saturday morning. The storm doesn’t hit until tomorrow night. She’ll be back before then.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And you don’t get to control her life because you’re scared!” Cade’s voice rose. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re terrified she’s going to leave and not come back, so you tried to stop her. And when that didn’t work, you said something cruel to push her away first.”
I turned and walked toward the coffee pot, needing something to do with my hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.” Cade followed me. “I’ve watched you do this for five years. Anytime someone gets close, you push them away before they can hurt you. But this time it’s different.”
“How is it different?”
“Because you actually care about her.” He paused. “Don’t you?”
I grabbed my mug and poured more coffee that I didn’t want, not answering my brother’s question.
Because the answer was yes. God help me, yes.
I cared about Amber Maxwell in a way I hadn’t cared about anyone in five years. Maybe longer. Maybe ever, if I was being honest with myself. I hadn’t really cared about Sarah. She’d been a warm body in my bed that I could tolerate most days.
Her leaving hadn’t turned me against love.
It was that I hadn’t found it with her.
Sarah had wanted the fantasy—the handsome cowboy, the romantic idea of ranch life, the Instagram-perfect version of something that was never real. She’d loved the idea of me, not the actual man. Not the one who came in covered in mud and manure. Not the one who worked sixteen-hour days and fell into bed too exhausted to talk. Not the one who chose the ranch over everything else because that was what you did.
Amber was different.
Amber saw the reality and didn’t flinch. She’d never complained once. About the early mornings or the isolation or the fact that the nearest shopping was an hour away. She’d made dinner without being asked. She’d learned the rhythms of the ranch without needing to be told. She fit here in a way Sarah never had.
And more than that—she saw me. Really saw me. Past the walls and the coldness and the reputation I’d built. She stood up to me. Challenged me. Refused to be intimidated.
She made me feel alive again.
