“No.”
The answer came faster this time. Clear. Certain.
“Then what are you saying?” Branson pressed.
Brew exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting again toward the house.
“I think I’m falling in love with her,” he said.
The words settled into the space between them.
Real.
Unavoidable.
“And I don’t know if she’ll stay long enough to believe in it.”
Brett let out a quiet breath, the edge of humor gone now.
“That’s not something you get to control,” Branson replied.
“I know.”
“Then why are you trying to solve it like it is?” Brett asked.
Brew didn’t answer right away.
Because that was exactly what he had been doing.
His father stepped forward slightly, his voice calm, grounded, grasping the back of his neck with a firm tenderness.
“You cannot ask someone to walk without fear,” he said. “You can only walk beside them until they see the path is safe.”
Brew met his gaze.
“And if she doesn’t?”
His father’s expression didn’t change.
“Then you will know you walked true.”
The words settled deeper than anything else that had been said.
Branson pushed off the fence, dusting his hands lightly and putting back on his Stetson.
“You don’t rush a horse that’s been spooked,” he said. “You give it time. Let it come to you.”
Brett smirked faintly.
“Never thought I’d see the day you compared a woman to a mustang.”
“Same principle,” Branson replied easily.
A quiet laugh moved between them, easing the weight just enough.
Brew shook his head slightly, but something in him had shifted. Not resolved. But steadier.
“Then don’t overthink it,” Brett added. “You already know what you want.”
