I slowed the truck without thinking, letting the road smooth beneath us. The engine’s hum became steady white noise, something gentle. She murmured something unintelligible, shifting just enough that a strand of hair fell across her cheek. I resisted the impulse to reach out and move it.
Ray talked about her, more than he meant to, I was sure. He worried about her and was angry she left sometimes, but he loved her. And now he’d left her with a mess she didn’t deserve and a ranch too big for one person to carry alone.
And I was the one driving her straight toward it.
The foothills grew clearer on the horizon, soft shapes rising out of the prairie like a promise and a warning. Home for me. Something else entirely for her.
The land waited, and the truth wasn’t urgent. The problems Ray left would be there in an hour or a few days.
I steadied my grip on the wheel and kept driving.
Beside me, Tessa Callahan slept, small, fragile, strong, exhausted, stubborn.
She had no idea what she was returning to. No idea what was coming.
But when she woke, I’d be there. And when I hit her with the truth, I’d be the one holding the ground steady beneath her feet.
Even if she hated me for it.
Seven
Tessa
Ijerked upright, heart pounding, the seatbelt cut into my shoulder, glancing around at the unfamiliar surroundings.
“You’re alright,” Wyatt said, calm as ever. His voice grounded me faster than the scenery did.
I blinked against the light and pushed my sunglasses back up my nose.
“I fell asleep,” I said, brilliant as ever.
“You needed it,” he said.
I rubbed the side of my face where it had been pressed to the seat. “Did I snore?”
“Little bit.”
“Oh God,” I groaned.
His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “I’ve heard worse.”
I stared out the window instead of at his profile. The sky felt too big. The colours were too clear. The air through the cracked window smelled like dust and sun-warmed grass, a scent I’d spent years trying to forget and now wanted to bottle and keep in my hands.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
“About an hour.”
“Seriously?” I swallowed hard as we turned off the highway onto a narrower road I recognized, and my stomach dipped. The truck rattled over a rough patch. Cattle grazed along a far fence line, dark shapes against the pale grass. A hawk rode the air in slow, lazy circles above a stand of poplars. The windmills on the horizon turned lazy arcs.
I hated this drive when I was a teenager. It felt like the road to nowhere. Like, once you came out here, the rest of the world shrank. “We’re almost there,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he replied quietly.
I clenched my hands together in my lap. My fingers were cold even though the cab was warm.
“Can we, uh, not just drive straight up?” The words came out before I could swallow them. “I need a second.”
“We can pull off by the river,” he said without hesitating. He turned onto the gravel road that led deeper into the valley. Dust rose in the truck’s wake. On either side of us, pasture opened like pages. There were differences if you knew where to look. New fencing on one property. A metal equipment shed where I remembered an old slanting barn. But the bones were the same.
