He drew in a slow breath and let it out.His hand moved once more along her back, slower now, a final pass that settled into stillness when he reached her shoulder.
He did not speak right away.When he did, his voice came low, rough from sleep and everything that followed.
“Stay.”
The word carried no force.
Only the truth of what he wanted.
Her fingers tightened once beneath his hand.She did not lift her head.She did not pull away.
“I am,” she said.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting that settle where it needed to.When he opened them again, nothing had shifted.
She was still there.So, he stayed still with her, letting the morning move forward around them while they held their place inside it.
Chapter 11
Two Days Later
Kyla swung the truckdoor shut, gravel rough beneath her heels, sun pressing down from an empty Montana sky.The sidewalk turned into a public stage.People near the feed store window or crossing in front of the post office kept their attention elsewhere, but their awareness lingered all the same.
She kept the navy portfolio pinned against her side and lifted her chin a fraction higher.Her blouse, starch-stiff and cut clean, clung across her back with the first trace of sweat.Montana summers never gave anyone time to settle before the heat set in.
Titus walked beside her, close enough that the tension in his stride registered without a glance.Pearl-snap shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, veins lifted along his forearms.He didn’t touch her where anyone could mark it, but his gaze tracked her profile once and stayed there until her shoulders dropped into alignment.
The corner of his mouth twitched.They hadn’t spoken since turning off Highway 191.The drive into town had stretched tight, each mile feeding the same low tension neither of them broke.
At nine in the morning, Main Street baked under dry heat rising off chipped stone.A truck idled at the intersection.Cinnamon drifted faint from Hattie’s across the block.
Kyla’s hair, twisted tight at her crown, threatened to loosen at the edges.She kept her left wrist angled so the inked knife stayed hidden.Not here, not unless the conversation turned sharp enough to need it.Her pulse kicked harder than she liked.She refused to let it show.
The bank’s glass door flashed her reflection back at her.White blouse, dark jeans, earrings barely visible beneath her hair.The sign readFirst Valley, though no one called it that.McAllister’s, always.Generations of livestock deals and mortgages had passed through this doorway.The place carried history in its bones.
A cluster of ranchers lingered near the steps, coffee cups in hand.One older man nodded at Titus, let his gaze pass over Kyla, then looked away with effort that read louder than curiosity.Her fingers dug into the edge of the portfolio.She wanted a chef’s jacket, something that fit like armor.Instead, she stood here in clean lines and expectation.
