Four days of living under Rowan’s protection had transformed the Blackwood ranch into something her grandfather never would have recognized. Security cameras perched on fence posts throughout the property, their red lights blinking steadily in the late-afternoon sun. Motion sensors lined the perimeter, and she’d grown accustomed to the subtle crackle of radio communication from the earpiece Rowan wore constantly. Even now, as he sat on the porch steps watching Huck practice, his posture spoke of a man ready to move at the first sign of trouble.
The changes should have felt oppressive. Instead, Sierra felt safer than she had in months.
Maybe years.
“Thought you might need this,” she said, offering him the steaming mug.
Rowan looked up from where he’d been observing Huck’s practice session, and wrapped his strong hand around the mug. “Thanks. Saxon’s due back from his perimeter check in twenty minutes, but I wanted to watch Huck.”
She smiled at that and followed his gaze to where Huck was practicing in the makeshift arena they’d set up away from the barn ruins. Her son sat astride Jasper, her grandfather’s old quarter horse, working through tie-down roping drills with the focused intensity of someone twice his age. The horse was twenty-three now, steady and patient, the same mount that had carried Huck safely since he was three years old.
“He’s getting good,” Rowan said, genuine admiration in his voice. “Really good.”
“Of course.” Sierra settled beside him on the steps, close enough to catch the familiar scent of his soap mixed with autumn air. “Natural talent.” She smiled up at him.
He smiled back, something warm in his eyes. So, apparently he’d forgiven her.
Now, they still struggled with how to tell Huck.
They watched in silence as Huck guided Jasper into position, rope coiled and ready. The boy’s technique was flawless—quick release, perfect loop, clean dismount to tie the calf. Even the imaginary calf he was practicing on would have been secured in record time.
“That horse moves like molasses,” Rowan said.
“Jasper keeps him safe,” Sierra said. “That’s what matters.”
“Poor kid.”
“He’s ten years old, Rowan.”
“He’s a Wallace.” Rowan’s blue eyes held hers. “Danger’s in his blood.”
The words hung between them, loaded with meaning neither was quite ready to address. Sierra’s chest tightened as she looked from Rowan to Huck, seeing the resemblance that became more obvious every day.
“We need to tell him,” she said quietly.
“I know.” Rowan’s hands tightened around the coffee cup. “I just…”
“What?” Sierra studied his profile, noting the tension in his jaw.
“I don’t want to mess this up. He’s got the rodeo on Saturday, and he’s been working so hard.” Rowan sighed. “What if knowing changes everything for him?”
“What if not knowing is worse?”
Rowan was quiet for a long moment, watching Huck reset for another practice run. “You’re right. But Sierra?” He turned to face her fully. “He’s built up his dead father in his head to a sort of superhero status.” He swallowed. “What if I’m not what he wants?”
The rawness in his tone wrecked her. “Seriously.”
“I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Oh, Rowan. She put her hand on his. “He will probably be shocked, no doubt. But…he’s also going to be over the moon. He thinks you’re Superman.”
Rowan didn’t seem convinced. “He’ll know I lied to him. To you both.”
She nodded.
He turned away then and swallowed.
“That’s not all, is it?”
