The memory bloomed in her mind, sharp and sweet. “They were so tiny. All curled up together in that back corner.” She pointed to the shadowy recess where the cave curved deepest into the rock. “Their eyes weren’t even open yet.”
“And you insisted we had to feed them.” James’s smile warmed his voice. “You were so worried about them.”
“Because their mother never came back.” The old grief touched her chest—that childhood heartbreak over creatures too small and helpless to survive alone. “We waited for hours.”
“Three days.” One corner of his mouth tipped. “You made me bring milk and scraps every day for three days before they disappeared.”
Rose frowned, studying his face. That wasn’t right. Something in his version of the memory felt off, like a melody played in the wrong key. She tilted her head, working to resettle the details in her mind. “No. It was only one day we brought them milk. The second day we found them gone, but we also found the tracks—remember? The mother had come back after all, probably moved them to a safer den.”
James paused with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth, his brows drawing together. “I’m sure it was three days. And you were so determined to save them you convinced Mrs. Wang to let us take some of the kitchen scraps.”
“James.” She turned to face him fully, that old spark of indignation flaring in her chest—the same feeling she used to get when Will would insist he’d caught a bigger fish or climbed a higher tree. “We found them in the morning, right after breakfast. You dared me to explore the very back of the cave, remember? I was scared it might go deeper than we thought, but you said you’d already checked.”
“I remember the dare.” His green eyes held that stubborn glint. “But we definitely came back multiple times to check on them.”
“Once.” She held up a single finger, warming to the argument despite herself. “We came back once to give them milk. Then the next day, they were gone. You said their mother probably moved them to a safer den, and I cried because I was worried we’d scared her away.”
“Rose, I think I’d remember?—”
“You told me a story about a brave mother coyote who carried her babies to a magical valley where they’d never be hungry or cold.” She watched his face as the memory settled between them. She could see that nine-year-old boy so clearly, the one who’d tried so hard to comfort her.
James’s expression shifted, the stubborn set of his jaw softening into something that looked almost sheepish. “You’re right.” He set down his bread, running a hand through his hair. “I’d forgotten about the story. You always remembered details better than I did.”
The admission spread warmth through her chest—not just because she’d been right, but because of the way he said it. Without defensiveness, without the wounded pride she’d learned to expect from men when their version of events was questioned.
Vincent had never admitted to being wrong. About anything. No matter how small.
“I loved that story,” she said quietly. “About the magical valley. I used to imagine finding it myself.”
“Maybe we did find it.” James’s voice carried a gentleness that made her pulse quicken. “This place always felt magical to me.”
Something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of that old intensity that made her pulse quicken. The cave felt even smaller now, the air between them charged with memories and something else she didn’t dare name.
She reached for a piece of bread, needing something to do with her hands.
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened?” James’s voice was quiet, almost lost in the cave’s hush. “If things had been different. If your mother hadn’t remarried. If you hadn’t had to leave.”
The question splashed through her like a stone thrown into still water, sending ripples of longing and regret through her chest. She’d wondered that exact thing countless times during the dark years with Vincent—lying awake in her narrow room above Murphy’s saloon, staring at water stains on the ceiling and imagining—praying desperately for—a different life.
A life where she’d grown up here on the ranch, where James’s friendship had deepened into something more, where she’d never learned to stiffen at a man’s touch or calculate the safest response to every question.
The piece of bread turned to sawdust in her mouth. She forced herself to swallow, to meet his eyes despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs. “I try not to think about it.”
James leaned forward, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, smell the winter air that still clung to his shirt. “Rose?—”
“We should eat.” She reached for the cheese with shaking fingers, desperate to break the spell of intimacy that threatened to crack open the careful walls around her heart. “Mrs. Wang will worry if we’re gone too long.”
But James didn’t take the hint. Instead, he shifted closer on the stone seat, and warmth radiated from his body like heat from a banked fire.
“Rose.” Her name on his lips carried a weight that made her pulse stutter. “I need you to know—when you left, when your mother took you away—it nearly destroyed me.”
She couldn’t breathe. She’d imagined he might have been sad, might have missed their friendship. But the raw pain in his voice spoke of something deeper, something that matched the hollow ache that had lived in her chest for eleven years.
“James, don’t.” She squeezed the food in her hands, trying to steady herself. “We were children. We?—”
“You were everything to me, and not a day’s gone by since then that I haven’t missed you. Haven’t wondered if I should search for you. Or whether you wanted to be left alone.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I wish I’d gone after you. I wish I’d seen what kind of life you were forced to live and brought you home.”
Tears blurred her vision, burning her eyes and fighting to break free from her defenses. How many times had she yearned for someone to come and rescue her from her life with Vincent.
