“There’s stew on the stove if you’re hungry,” Kaya said, appearing at my elbow. “I also saved you the last of the bread because I’m a good person and you should appreciate me.”
“I appreciate you,” I said.
Kaya studied me for a beat too long, her expression shifting into something careful. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear after she’s been wrestling livestock in a thunderstorm.”
Kaya’s mouth curved, but her eyes stayed serious. “I just mean you look like someone who’s been wrestling with more than horses.”
I didn’t answer. I just looked at her until she dropped it.
“Go eat,” Kaya said finally. “I’ve got the guests handled.”
I nodded and escaped to the kitchen.
The stew was good.Warm and thick and exactly what I needed after two hours of soaked denim and adrenaline, not that I was going to say that out loud.
I ate standing at the counter, watching the group through the pass-through window. Not watching Graham specifically. Just monitoring the room. The way any responsible host would.
He laughed at something Dex said, and the sound carried into the kitchen like it had been aimed at me.
He fit here. That was the annoying thing. He didn’t stick out the way guests usually did, uncomfortable with the quiet or too loud in the space or treating everything like it existed for their entertainment. He just existed. Like he understood the ranch was a living thing and he was a visitor in its world.
It bothered me how much I respected that.
It bothered me more that I kept noticing.
Jamie pulled out her phone at one point, and Graham’s whole body went tense. Not obvious, not to anyone who wasn’t looking. But I was looking, and I watched him lean over and say something low. Jamie’s face flickered with annoyance before she tucked the phone away without argument.
Interesting.
They kept saying Jamie was social media for their “adventure travel company.” But the way Graham watched her phone like it was a loaded weapon didn’t fit. People in adventure travel lived on their phones. They didn’t treat them like a threat.
I filed it away and went back to my stew.
Around eight,the power flickered.
Not a full outage, just a stutter. Lights dimming and brightening like the storm was reminding us it wasn’t done. Enough to make everyone pause mid-conversation.
“Generator’s fine,” I said before anyone could panic. “Storm probably knocked a connection loose.”
When the lights flickered again five minutes later, I grabbed my flashlight from the drawer and headed for the breaker box.
Graham appeared in the hallway before I’d made it three steps.
“Need help?”
“It’s fine,” I said, which wasn’t no but wasn’t an invitation either.
He fell into step beside me anyway. I could feel the warmth coming off him, which was stupid, because we weren’t even close to touching and the hallway was plenty wide enough for two people to walk without their arms nearly brushing.
The breaker box was in the mudroom, behind a door that stuck in humid weather. I yanked it open harder than necessary, annoyed at the door, annoyed at Graham, annoyed at myself forthe whole catalog of annoyances that had nothing to do with doors.
“Hold this.” I handed him the flashlight without looking at him.
