My jaw locks. I glance past her to the open stalls, the quiet animals, the familiar order of a place that only works if everyone knows their role. If everyone shows up.
"You left," I say, low. Not loud. Not accusing. Just fact. "And I had to figure out how to keep this place standing without you."
Her throat works. "I know."
"No," I say. "You don't."
I step closer before I stop myself. Close enough to crowd her. Close enough that she has to lift her chin to keep eye contact. Close enough to catch her scent—honey and leather and something that's just her.
"I was here when Mae didn't sleep for weeks," I continue. "When boarders started drifting away and nobody wanted to say out loud that we were losing them." I pause, jaw working. "I was here when things got tight and there was no one to call."
Her eyes shine, but she doesn't interrupt.
"I didn't get the luxury of leaving," I finish. "So yeah. I'm careful with where I put my trust now."
Something softens in her expression. Not weakness. Understanding.
"That doesn't mean I'm the enemy," she says quietly.
I swallow.
"No," I admit. "It doesn't."
The space between us stretches again. Thinner now. More dangerous.
She exhales slowly. "Then stop treating me like one."
I look at her for a long moment.
At the dirt on her boots. The steadiness in her stance. The way she's not asking me to forgive her. Not yet. Just asking me to stand beside her again.
That's what guts me.
Because standing beside her has never been the hard part.
But I can't. Not like this. Not when the ground beneath us is still uncertain. Not when every instinct in me warns that she's already halfway gone again, even if she doesn't know it yet.
"How long are you here, Hazel?" I ask quietly. "Because this ranch needs more than a bandage."
The words land exactly where I aim them.
She hesitates.
Just a fraction of a second. Long enough for guilt to flicker across her face before she smooths it away.
Good. She should feel that.
I step closer despite myself, drawn forward by something stronger than reason. The space between us narrows to inches. Close enough to see the pulse jump at her throat. Close enough that the heat between us feels dangerous. Close enough that I could reach for her if I let myself.
She tilts her head up to look at me, and something in her expression shifts. Softens at the edges, even as her breath catches.
"Eli," she says, quieter now. Uncertain. "I don't know what I'm doing. I need you. I need your help. I can't figure out what's next without you."
The words hit me square in the chest.
I need you.
My gaze drops to her mouth before I can stop it. To the curve of her bottom lip. To the way her breath comes shallow and quick.
