“The estate’s stable.” He tapped the arm of his chair. “Where does that leave you?”
I looked down at my hands. Calluses from fence repairs and barn work sat on top of older scars from a life that involved sand and a crash ending. They didn’t match this office. They didn’t match my suit.
“Technically? I come back. I’ll slide into the Turner audit. Help you untangle some trust disaster. I’ll pretend I didn’t spend the last seven months calculating risk instead of hedge funds.”
“And non-technically?” Reaper asked. His tone was mild; his eyes were knowing.
Non-technically, I thought of Milly again. The way she’d saidhome. The way her shoulders had stiffened when I told her Iwasn’t staying. The way she’d kissed me that last time like she was memorizing it.
“Non-technically,” I said, “it leaves me somewhere over Wyoming. Unsure.”
Reaper leaned back, chair creaking. “You want the work,” he said. “That hasn’t changed.”
“No,” I agreed. “I like the work. Estate audits, asset recovery, cleaning up old-money chaos. It adds up. Things balance.” I blew out a breath, unsure if I wanted the constant revolving door of clients I never saw again. Unsure if I wanted the day-to-day behind a desk, or rush-hour traffic.
“Montana spoiled you,” Reaper said.
“Yep,” I agreed. “And one very determined rancher.”
Harris studied me for a long moment. He was born into old money, the accounts we usually audited. He’d walked away from law because he didn’t have the stomach to tear lives and families apart. He knew a lot about going against family expectations.
“When you left,” he said slowly, “you told us Everwood was a year-long assignment. Clear endpoint. You were very sure you’d be back. You asked us not to hire a permanent replacement.”
“I know,” I said.
“But are you really back?” he asked.
The question hit hard. Was I really back? I’d only been back a few days and already I missed Milly, the town, and me. I missed who I was when I was there.
Physically, I was sitting in their office, breathing their recycled air, listening to Denver traffic through double-pane glass. But mentally, I was checking the north fence line, wondering if Mason remembered the weak post in the southwest corner, listening for Milly’s laugh from the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” I said, looking at my hands. From the corner of my eye, I saw Reaper and Harris exchange looks.
Reaper blew out a breath. “You are one stubborn man. It took you long enough.”
He and Harris let out a knowing grunt.
“Before Everwood, you would’ve leaned into duty, told us you were fine, and signed up for a triple caseload just to prove it,” he said.
Harris nodded. “Penny’s client has made her decision,” he said. “But will you make yours? Look, from a strictly business standpoint: we don’t need you here physically.”
Reaper cut in. “And from a non-business standpoint, the part where I act like a friend instead of just your CO and boss…” He gave me a look. “I’m not entirely sure R and H has what you’re looking for.”
“Kind of arrogant to assume you know what I’m looking for,” I said.
Reaper chuckled. “The fact that you stopped having the crash dream every night once you got there told me enough.”
My jaw flexed. “You don’t know that.”
“You stopped calling me at three a.m.,” he said quietly. “That’s fact.”
The room fell silent.
“Look, I’m not trying to push you out,” Harris went on. “If you want your old desk, it’s yours. If you want to pick up the Turner account, we’ll slot you in. But I’ve sat across from enough widows, trustees, and scared heirs to know that look. This isn’t your world anymore. Your world is sitting on the porch of some small town in the middle of nowhere, on a ranch, with a redhead.”
He gestured vaguely north. “If I’m not mistaken, you left something more important than two old men and a stapler up there.”
The keys dug into my palm. I’d taken them out without thinking. “She slid her keys in my pocket the day I left,” I muttered when Harris eyed them.
