Hank looked miserable. "Rose, I'm sorry. I swear your door must've?—"
"My door was locked," I said, sharp, because that was the thing my brain couldn't let go of. "I watched it lock."
Hank's brows pulled together. "You sure?"
I glared at him. "Yes, I'm sure."
Hank lifted both hands again, backing off. "Okay. Okay."
Graham swallowed. "I didn't force the door," he said quietly. "I turned the handle and it opened. I thought it was guest quarters. I truly did."
The rational part of me knew he was probably telling the truth.
The part of me built out of control and habit didn't care.
“I’m really sorry?—”
"Stop apologizing to me," I said, because the sincerity in his face made my chest feel weird, and I didn't like weird.
His brows lifted slightly.
"You heard me," I snapped. "Go wait at the main house."
He hesitated, then nodded again. "Yes."
He stepped off the porch and walked away across the yard with a careful, restrained stride, like he was trying not to look back. Like he knew looking back might make it worse.
He turned left toward the equipment barn.
"Other direction," I called out.
Graham stopped. Turned. His face flushed slightly as he pivoted and headed the correct way without a word.
Hank watched him go, then looked at me.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
No. But I was standing upright, fully clothed, and not screaming anymore, so that counted as okay in my world.
"I'm fine," I said. "I'll handle it."
Hank nodded slowly. "All right. The rest of the group will arrive at three as planned, but he got in early."
"I don't care."
My voice was sharp enough that Hank didn't push. He just nodded and walked away.
I stood on my porch in the cold sunshine, watching the mountains and the green pastures and the horses grazing like nothing had happened.
My skin still felt wrong. My chest still felt tight.
And the lock on my door had apparently failed on the one day it mattered most.
CHAPTER TWO
GRAHAM
I watchedher through the window, half-hidden behind the curtain like a total creeper.
