I’m at the bedroom window, curtains billowing and swirling as I look down.
Ash stands below the window. Bare chested. His markings faintly luminous—or maybe just moonlight.
Like a language.
That’s the last thing I remember before my eyes snap open.
It takes a long time to fall asleep again after that, lulled by the house’s soft creaks and groans.
When I rise the next morning, everything is back in place. The way it should be.
Sky unbroken blue, sun shining, mist enveloping the distant mountains as if they might be forgotten. No trace of the cowboy.
A dream.
I perch on the edge of my bed, grabbing my journal and opening it to a fresh page.
That’s where I sketch what I saw.
This isn’t data.
And yet, as my fingers work and the details come back more vividly, I can’t fight the feeling thatthisis somehow part of everything.
Chapter
Five
ASH
The calf I patched last night cries when I enter the barn. I head straight for his stall. The bottle’s warm in my hand as I feed him, keeping his nose low so he swallows instead of inhales.
“Hungry,” I grunt, trying to escape into my chores. Quit thinking about the girl or the hum beneath my skin.
This ranch has more than enough to keep me busy morning and night for eternity. Or however long I get. No excuses for letting my thoughts wander this way.
And yet, they do.
Again and again.
More reason I shouldn’t be watching the neighbor. Guarding the ridge.
She doesn’t believe.
Doesn’t respect.
That’s more dangerous than knowing.
I push the herd out to pasture, Winnie shifting agilely beneath me. The sun puts beads of sweat on my forehead.
I have to work quick this morning. Council meeting this afternoon.
Something hits me that I’m not used to. Not fear. Maybe apprehension.
It’s the first meeting since Josephine showed up here.
None of this should matter. And yet I can’t deny it does.
I breathe slow through my nose, mind centering on a symbol from my flesh. Don’t know what it means. But always calms me, steadies things.
