“We get her down slow,” Cal said.
Dylan shifted behind me. “I’ve got her.”
“I know you do,” Cal said.
The way he said it made Dylan go still.
Not a threat.
An observation.
Maybe that was worse.
Regan reached up for me. Dylan moved carefully, easing one leg over, taking most of my weight as Cal steadied the horse. Pain tore through my ribs when they lifted me down, and I made a sound I wished nobody heard.
Everyone heard.
Skye was there instantly, tucking the blanket around me. “I know. I know, honey. Almost there.”
“I messed up your hike,” I whispered.
Her eyes softened. “Terrible trail conditions anyway.”
That did it.
One stupid tear slipped down my face.
Not because of Cal’s disappointment.
Not because of pain.
Because she had made room for me without asking if I deserved it.
Dylan carried me the last stretch.
Nobody argued this time.
Maybe because I was shaking too hard to stand.
Maybe because he already had me before anyone could make a plan.
Maybe because the sun was rising and every second made us easier to find.
I tucked my face against his shirt and let myself be carried.
Just for a little while.
The ranch house smelled like coffee, cedar, horses, and biscuits somebody had made before dawn because Northports apparently processed disaster through carbs. Skye led usthrough a side entrance, down a short hall, and into a quiet back room with heavy curtains, a made bed, clean towels, and a pitcher of water on the nightstand.
Dylan laid me down carefully.
Too carefully.
Like I mattered.
Like I had not set the desert on fire.
His hands slid away, and I hated the emptiness they left.
