“Locked up.”His jaw set.“Handled the way it should’ve been years ago.Quietly.With the right eyes on it before it becomes a weapon.”
I studied him for a moment, taking in the steadiness of his voice.This wasn’t the man I’d met a few weeks ago who kept everything at arm’s length.This was someone who’d decided to stand in the mess instead of stepping around it.
“You didn’t have to take that on,” I said.
“I know.”He met my gaze.“But I wanted you coming back to something solid.Not a ticking clock.”
Something in my chest shifted at that.
We stood there for a while longer, the barn quiet around us.Rio blew softly behind me, Calla shifting in her stall like she knew exactly how close I was to happy.Outside, the late light stretched long across the pasture, the world slowing into evening.
“There’s one more thing.”Dawson laced his fingers with mine and squeezed.“I talked to the rodeo committee while you were gone.There’s a place for you here for the season if you want it.And if you don’t, I’ll fly out as often as I can to see you wherever you end up.”
I blinked.“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”He paused, nudging my chin up so I’d meet his gaze.“But I wanted to I want you here, Trouble.If that’s where you want to be, I want you with me.”
That did it.
I let go of his hand and buried myself in his arms.“I love you.”
The words didn’t feel heavy or awkward.They felt inevitable.
His grip tightened, just a little.“I love you too.”
The ranch breathed around us, familiar and steady.The rodeo still loomed.The future still held questions.But Dawson was here.I was here.Two people who’d stopped bracing for goodbye and started walking forward instead.And for now, that was everything.
TORIN
I was ten minutes away from the end of a quiet shift when dispatch came over the radio.
“Unit two, we’ve got a possible break-in at the old Hollister place.”
That got my attention.
I reached for the receiver.“Thompson, here.What’s going on?”
“Mrs.Winters drove by about five minutes ago,” dispatch said.“She saw a car in the driveway and lights flickering inside.Thinks someone might be trying to break in.”
I straightened in the driver’s seat, my gaze shifting toward the stretch of road that led out of town.
The Hollister house had been empty since Lois passed about six months ago.And nobody went near it without someone noticing.
“Copy,” I said.“I’m en route.”
The drive took eight minutes.I killed the headlights before I turned onto the long drive, letting the truck coast to a stop near the side of the house where the lilac bushes grew thick and wild.The front porch light was off, but there was movement.I could make out a shadow against the window frame, low and struggling.
I stepped out of my vehicle, my hand resting on my belt out of habit, and circled toward the noise.
That's when I saw her.
A woman, half in and half out of the narrow side window, had one leg braced against the exterior wall and the other presumably somewhere inside.She wore jeans that curved over her hips and a dark sweater that had ridden up enough to show a strip of pale skin above her waistband.Her hair fell forward, blocking her face, and she was muttering a steady stream of four-letter words that would've made most ranch hands proud.
"Ma'am."
She froze.Then twisted just enough to look back over her shoulder.The ground shifted under my feet.
Claire Hollister.
