He shrugs. “You don’t seem like a milk-and-sugar person.”
I wrap my hands around the mug, letting its warmth seep in. “What kind of person do I seem like?”
He pauses to think. “The kind who wants things real, even when the truth is bitter.”
I’m not sure how to respond, so I simply take a sip of my coffee.
The stew simmers on the stove, the fire crackles, and the quiet envelops me gently, no longer suffocating.
It should feel awkward. This is a stranger’s cabin, belonging to someone who bought me at an auction. Yet it feels steady. For the first time in my life, I’m not bracing for someone to tell me to calm down. Maybe that’s why I chose him. Not consciously, but because something in me recognized something in him.
A steadiness that doesn’t ask you to be less.
Chapter 4
Jane
A knock sounds at the front door.
Tex’s head lifts, and the shift of his body is subtle yet unmistakable. His shoulders square, and he moves to the balls of his feet. I’ve seen my brothers do that when they hear a noise outside at night or when someone drives up the ranch road unannounced. It’s the shift from man to protector.
“Expecting company?” I ask.
“Not really,” he replies, already moving.
He opens the door, and cold air rushes in. A woman stands on the porch, bundled in a red parka, her blonde hair stuffed into a knit beanie, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. She holds a covered dish in both hands like an offering.
“Well,” she says brightly, “I heard we had company up at the cabin.”
Tex steps aside. “Kitty.”
Her eyes flick past him and land on me, sparkling with curiosity. “You must be Jane.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Depends who’s asking.”
Kitty laughs as if I’m funny rather than a problem. “Kitty Sutton. Tom’s wife. And yes, before you ask, this is me being nosy.”
I relax a fraction without meaning to. “Jane Cutter.”
“I know,” Kitty says, stepping inside as if she belongs here. “This ranch runs on three things: cattle, goats, and gossip.”
Tex grunts something that might be agreement.
Kitty hands me the dish. “Huckleberry pie. Shay bakes like it’s a competitive sport, and I benefit.”
The dish is warm in my hands. I lift the corner of the towel covering it and—oh—golden crust. Butter and lemon waft up, and my mouth waters.
Behind me, Tex leans in, and I swear I see him trying to sneak a piece of crust off the edge.
“Did you just?—”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
Kitty grins. “I see you’ve figured out his weakness.”
I return her smile. “Shay is...?”
