“Power isn’t back yet,” he reports, his breath puffing in the cooling air. “But I got the wood chopped and stacked on the porch. Should be enough for a few days.”
“Good,” Boone says, slamming the tailgate shut. “Because looking at that sky, I’d say we aren’t going anywhere for a while.”
He turns to me. I’m standing near the porch steps, clutching my coat tight around myself. My hand throbs—a dull, persistent ache that seems to echo the headache settling behind my eyes.
“Weather doesn’t look like it’s improving,” Boone says, gesturing toward the horizon where the clouds are rolling in like dark mountains. “We need to stock the pantry. Make sure we have enough non-perishables to last a week. And feed for the animals. I saw the barn supply is running low.”
“I can help,” I say immediately. I hate standing here while they work. I hate being the passive observer in my own life. “I can organize the pantry. I can make a list.”
Boone frowns, his eyes dropping to my hand. The splinter wound is healing, but the bruise from the fall is still a vivid yellow and green across my wrist.
“With your hand?” he asks, skepticism heavy in his tone. “You’re better off not. You’ll just aggravate it.”
“I can type with one hand,” I argue, stepping forward. “I can carry boxes. I’m not an invalid, Boone.”
“You’re injured,” he counters, his voice leaving no room for argument. “We don’t need you making it worse. We can handle it.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. It’s not just his words; it’s the way he says them. Like I’m a child. Like I’m a delicate piece of china that might shatter if I lift a can of beans.
“I’m fine,” I snap.
“Saramaria—”
“Forget it,” I cut him off. I turn on my heel and stomp up the porch steps. “Do whatever you want.”
I push through the front door, letting it slam shut behind me. The house is dim, the gray light filtering through the windows doing little to chase away the gloom. It smells stale. It smells like them.
I hear the door open behind me. Heavy footsteps on the floorboards.
I don’t turn around. I walk to the fireplace and stare at the cold ashes, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Saramaria.”
It’s Rhett. His tone is careful, soft. It makes me want to scream.
“I’m fine, Rhett,” I say, keeping my back to him. “Just leave me alone.”
“You’re not fine,” he says. He comes closer, but he stops a few feet away, giving me space. “Something’s off with you. Your scent... it’s changed. I can almost taste the anger coming off you.”
I spin around to face him. “My scent?”
“Yeah,” he says, looking confused. “It’s distracting.”
“Distracting?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry if my emotional state is inconveniencing you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, holding up his hands. “I’m just worried. You’ve been through a lot. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“Stop being nice to me,” I say, the words exploding out of me. “Just stop. It won’t change anything.”
Rhett freezes. His brows draw together. “Change what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” I say, my voice shaking. “I know what you’re doing. The coffee. The shower. The generators. The rescue mission for the dog. You think if you’re nice enough, if you’re helpful enough, I’ll forget what my grandfather did. I’ll forget that you’re squatting on my land. I’ll just let you stay.”
“What?”
I take a step toward him, my hands clenched into fists. “Well, it won’t work. I’m not leaving you the ranch, Rhett. I don’t care how many times you boil water for me or how many puppies you save. It’s mine. And I want you out.”
The words hang in the air.
