Honey first. Always, honey first.
I straighten a row of jars that doesn’t actually need straightening and glance up just as someone steps into the edge of my vision.
“Abilene.”
My name lands softly but firmly.
I look up.
And find myself face-to-face with Marshall.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Marshall
Saturday
I don’t like the atmosphere at the ranch. That’s the simplest way to say it, even if it doesn’t cover the whole truth.
The ranch has always had an atmosphere. It’s always had a heartbeat.
Horses shifting in their stalls, the creak of old boards, Wyatt’s kettle whistling too early, Jesse’s voice carrying across the yard because the man doesn’t understand indoor volume even when he’s outside.
Which is why I’m at the market. Why I’m at Abilene’s stall.
“Marshall,” she says after blinking a few times. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
She glances down the aisle, checking for backup, wondering if Jesse is around, or Wyatt, or both.
They’re not.
It’s just me.
That seems to make her nerves spike.
I can see it in the way her fingers tighten around her phone, in the way she shifts her weight, bracing for impact.
I keep my hands visible. I keep my posture calm. I don’t loom. I don’t crowd.
But I also don’t waste time.
“Can we talk?”
Her brows lift slightly. “Now?”
“Yes.”
She hesitates, eyes flicking to the jars, the candles, the customers drifting past.
Then she nods once. “Okay. Yeah.”
I step closer, resting my hands lightly on the edge of her table, careful not to jostle anything. The wood is warm from the sun.
Abilene’s gaze stays on my hands. Then she looks at my face again.
“What’s wrong?” she asks quietly.
