“Because he’s—” She stopped, her jaw working as she searched for words. “He’s one of them. One of Dante’s people. And he’s just so... persistent.”
“He likes you,” I said, stating the obvious.
“I know that,” she said sharply. Then, quieter, “That’s the problem.”
I studied my sister, taking in the tension in her shoulders, the way she wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. This wasn’t just about Angelo being annoying. There was something else going on here.
“Heather,” I said carefully. “Do you like him back?”
“No!” The denial came too fast, too forceful. “Absolutely not. He’s not my type at all. He’s loud and goofy and he tucks his pants into his boots and—” She trailed off, her hands tightening on the reins.
“And?” I prompted.
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “And he makes me laugh,” she admitted finally, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. “When I don’t want to. When I’m trying to stay mad at everything.”
My chest tightened with understanding. Heather had been carrying so much anger since we lost the ranch—anger at our father for the bad decisions, anger at the Valentis for taking advantage, anger at me for going along with it. Maybe Angelo’s persistent cheerfulness was starting to crack through that armor.
“That’s not such a bad thing,” I said gently.
“Isn’t it?” She finally looked at me, and I saw fear in her eyes. “If I let myself care about him, if I let any of this feel normal, then what? Then I’m just accepting what they did to us. To you.”
“Heather—”
“I came here to apologize,” she interrupted, her voice thick. “For what I said at dinner. For outing you and Dante like that. It was cruel and I knew it would hurt you and I did it anyway because I was angry.”
I hadn’t expected that. My sister wasn’t one for apologies. She had never been good at admitting when she was wrong. The fact that she was doing it now meant something.
“I appreciate that,” I said. “But I think we both said things we regret that night.”
“You defended him,” she said. “Over me. Your own sister.”
“I defended what we have,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand it, Nick. How you can just... be okay with all of this. How you can look at him and not see the man who bought you.”
I thought about that for a moment, about how to explain something I was still figuring out myself. “I do see that man sometimes,” I admitted. “But I also see the guy who threw himself in front of a charging heifer to save me. The guy who’s been working his ass off to learn ranching even though it’s nothing like his old life. The guy who...” I trailed off, not sure how much to share.
“The guy who what?” Heather pressed.
“The guy who makes me feel like I matter,” I said quietly. “Not as a business arrangement or a contract obligation. Just as me.”
Heather was quiet, processing that. Her horse shifted beneath her, and she reached down to pat his neck absently.
“I still don’t like him,” she said finally.
“You don’t have to,” I replied. “But maybe you could try not hating him quite so much? For my sake?”
She sighed, long and heavy. “I can try. No promises though.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
She started to turn her horse, then paused. “Nick? Are you... happy? Really?”
I thought about last night—the movie theater, the hotel room, waking up with Dante wrapped around me like he was afraid I’d disappear. I thought about the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching, like I was something precious and rare.
“Yeah,” I said, and realized I meant it. “I think I am.”
Something in her expression softened. “Good. That’s... that’s good.” She cleared her throat. “I should get back. Mom needs help with something.”
