She gave Izzy a small, steady look. “Rain check?”
Izzy nodded once. “Yeah.”
Then she turned back to Cal. “I’d love to.”
Her voice carried, just enough to cross the yard. “Lunch sounds like exactly what I need.”
Cal offered his arm, his grin widening. “Your carriage awaits.”
Izzy took it. He was easy in his skin in a way Grant never let himself be.
As they walked toward the Escalade, she could feel Grant’s gaze on her—burning into her back. She didn’t turn. Didn’t give him that.
She climbed in. The door shut with a thud. And just like that—the lines were drawn.
As the Escalade disappeared down the drive, the silence that settled over the Main Barn was heavy enough to choke.
Grant didn’t move. He kept his head down, his hand still resting on the yearling’s hoof, his heart hammering a rhythm of territorial rage he had no right to feel.
He’d asked for distance.
He just hadn’t expected her to bridge it with a Hollis. He let go of the horse's lead, his fist slamming into the fence rail hard enough to rattle the wood as he stared down the empty driveway, a sudden, suffocating truth hitting him right in the chest.
God, I’m a fool.
* * *
Across town, Deputy Luke Hale was staring at a piece of yellowed paper in the back of the ’99 file. It was a witness statement from a retired gate guard at the Hollis estate—one that had been signed, dated, and curiously never followed up on.
“Burke,” Luke said, leaning back in his chair as his partner walked in. “You remember that clearing the girls found in the sketch?”
Burke nodded.
Luke slid the old survey across the desk. “It wasn’t marked publicly,” he said. “But it’s here.”
Burke looked down at the faded outline. A narrow strip cut through the timber.
“Private landing strip,” Luke said quietly. “Registered to Wade Hollis’s father back in the nineties.”
23
Talley Feed & Tack — 9:00 AM
Luke eased the cruiser off SR 1756 and into the gravel lot.
Talley Feed & Tack stretched long and low across the property, black siding sun-faded in places, the wide drive running straight through the middle of the building. A stock trailer idled halfway through, a couple of men loading fifty-pound bags while another truck waited behind it.
He slowed, looking for a place to park—and spotted Naomi.
She sat in a big dually with BRIDLEPATH FARM lettered across the doors, lined up behind a flatbed getting loaded. The window was down. A border collie sat upright in the passenger seat like he owned the place.
Steve.
The dog spotted Luke first.
Ears up.
Tail starting.
