Izzy slowed the car even more, her gaze lingering.
Please let that be where I’m staying.
Because she could already tell—she didn’t want to walk into that house.
And she definitely didn’t want to be anywhere she wasn’t wanted.
She eased the convertible to a stop beside Burke Scott’s truck, cutting the engine.
She sat there, taking it in.
This wasn’t some tucked-away mountain farm.
And somehow, that only made her more aware of exactly how out of place she was.
The car door opened with a soft click.
Her heel hit gravel—and immediately sank enough to annoy her.
“Fantastic,” she muttered.
The air was different here. Softer than Denver. Warmer. Alive with damp earth, hay, leather, and the fresh green scent of early mountain spring.
A barn door slid open somewhere behind her.
“Iz.”
She turned.
Burke Scott stepped out of the shadow of the main barn, hat low, sleeves rolled, the afternoon light catching the edge of his jaw. And then he smiled—really smiled—and the entire controlled, steady sheriff façade broke enough to let something real through.
Relief.
“Well, there you are,” Izzy said, her mouth curving despite everything.
He crossed the gravel in a few long strides and pulled her into a hug that was solid and grounding and entirely without pretense.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly.
She hugged him back just as tightly. “You say that like you don’t hear Caitlin and me on the phone every day.”
He laughed against her hair.
She leaned back, studying him. “You look good.”
“So do you,” he said, giving her a quick once-over. “Even if your choice of vehicle is questionable.”
She glanced back at the convertible. “We’re not discussing it.”
“Fair enough.”
There was an ease between them that hadn’t faded with time or distance. It settled into place like it had been waiting.
“How’s Caitlin?” she asked.
His expression shifted—softened in a way that caught her off guard every time. “Good,” he said. “Better than she was. She’s going to lose her mind when she sees you.”
Izzy smiled, “That’s the plan.”
