In the kitchen, Jane stands at the stove in one of my flannels, sleeves shoved up her forearms, dark curls loose and wild around her face. She’s barefoot, humming off-key as she stirs something that smells like coffee and intent, looking entirely too comfortable in my space—like she’s been quietly domesticating my life one small habit at a time.
I’m at the counter, skimming the day’s list more out of routine than need, when her humming falters and drops away.
The spoon stills in her hand.
Her shoulders draw tight, subtle but unmistakable, the same reflex I saw in the bathroom—the way she braces withoutmoving, like she’s learned that stillness can sometimes soften a blow.
“What’s that?” she asks, her voice light, almost careless.
I move toward the window.
Two trucks approach the drive, tires crunching over packed snow. They don’t slow down like visitors; they arrive with the determination of men who have made up their minds.
A door slams.
Then another.
Three figures step out.
Jane moves, joining me at the window. Her breath catches when she sees them, and the color drains from her face as if someone pulled a plug.
“No,” she whispers.
I turn toward her. “Jane?—”
“How did they—They weren’t supposed to know about—” Her voice breaks.
She’s not speaking to me. She’s addressing the part of her that thought she could take a sideways step without the world catching up.
I glance back out the window.
“Caleb,” Jane murmurs, looking at the tall and broad-shouldered man, his jaw set hard, giving off oldest brother energy.
The next man is leaner and quicker, his head swiveling as if he’s already scanning for threats.
“Weston,” Jane says almost absently. Her gaze flickers to the third man. “And Boone.”
He has a tight, spring-loaded posture, as if too much emotion is coiled within him. He looks like a man who would throw a punch before asking questions.
Caleb. Weston. Boone. Jane’s brothers.
Caleb’s eyes are locked on my cabin as if it’s an enemy stronghold.
Weston says something to Boone, likely a warning.
Boone pulls his hat down harder, as if it will contain his temper.
I don’t like any of it.
Jane’s hands curl into fists at her sides.
“I didn’t tell them I was here,” she says quickly, already defending herself. “I swear, Tex. I just said I needed space.”
“I know,” I reply, my voice low. “They found out another way.”
The auction.
Clover Canyon gossip spreads faster than fire.
