Reached for his beer.
“You’re relaxing,” he said, low enough the others wouldn’t hear.
Izzy lifted her glass, steadying her pulse.
“Is that a crime, Scott?”
“No,” he said.
He looked back out over the ridge.
“No,” he repeated. “It’s just… dangerous.”
Behind them, Burke leaned in again, murmuring something in Caitlin’s ear that made her laugh softly, her hand coming up to rest against him.
Izzy watched it for a beat.
Then looked back at Grant.
At the man who sat beside her—close, but not touching now.
And for the first time, she understood exactly what he was afraid of.
* * *
The conversation drifted easily for a while after dinner.
Stories. Small-town gossip. Burke and Caitlin bickering over something meaningless while Grant cleaned plates beside the grill with the same quiet competence he brought to everything.
The mountains had gone dark around them now, layered shadows folding into the valley beyond the pasture fences.
Izzy leaned back in her chair, glass dangling loosely from her fingers as her gaze drifted toward the ridgeline.
“You know what bothers me?” she said quietly.
Nobody answered right away.
“The Clara Vale thing.”
The laughter at the table faded.
Grant’s eyes lifted briefly.
Caitlin set her fork down slowly. “Me too.”
Izzy shook her head, still staring toward the mountains.
“It’s just…” She frowned. “Women don’t disappear like that.”
Burke leaned back in his chair. “People disappear all the time.”
“Not like that,” Izzy said immediately.
Something in her tone made Grant look at her again.
“She left everything,” Izzy said. “Her paintings. Sketchbooks. Clothes. Personal letters.” Her brows pulled together. “Who leaves all that behind?”
Nobody answered.
