Grant nodded once, like he expected her answer, and went back to his plate.
But his attention wasn’t on the food anymore.
The night settled in around them.
And between candlelight and mountain dark, the space across the table felt suddenly charged.
8
Bridlepath Farm — The Next Morning
The kitchen was already warm with morning light. Coffee brewed. The back door stood cracked open, letting in cool air and the quiet sounds of the farm waking up.
Izzy stood at the counter, pouring a second cup, bare feet on the cool floor. She was still in the soft sleep shorts and camisole she would’ve worn in her own condo—all cotton and lean lines. Her hair was a messy dark cloud around her shoulders, like she’d just climbed out of a warm bed.
She was mid-pour when the front door opened.
Boots crossed the floorboards with easy, familiar weight. She turned just as Burke stepped into the kitchen like he owned the place.
He stopped dead.
His gaze did a slow, intentional circuit—from Izzy’s bare legs up to her sleep-muddled face, then over to Grant. Grant was leaning against the counter with his own mug, barefoot and in a worn T-shirt, looking entirely too settled for a man who should have been in a saddle an hour ago.
Burke’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. He let out a dry, pointed cough, his all-knowing brotherly glance landing hard on Grant.
“Well,” Burke said, his voice dripping with mock surprise. “I figured you’d be three miles out in the north pasture by now, Grant. You getting soft in your old age? Or just getting lazy?”
Grant didn’t move, but his eyes went flat and dangerous, locking onto Burke’s. As Izzy turned back to the counter to hide the sudden flush on her cheeks, Grant slowly, deliberately lifted his hand and gave his brother the middle finger.
Burke didn’t flinch; he just let out a quiet huff of a laugh.
Message received.
“Anyway,” Burke said, leaning against the opposite counter and reaching for a mug. “So, Iz. You ready to plan a surprise party, or are you just here to watch my brother slack off?”
Izzy cleared her throat, rebuilding her dignity despite the sleep shorts. “I’m ready. And I’m pretty sure I’m the one who did the work this morning. The coffee is actually drinkable.”
Burke grinned. “I bet it is.”
“So,” Burke said, topping off his mug, “I guess the cottage didn’t work out.”
Izzy let out a small sound that might’ve been a laugh.
Grant answered flat. “Uh… no.”
Burke looked between them. “No?”
“Bats.”
Burke blinked. “Bats?”
“Bats.”
A beat. Then Burke let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, man. I bet that went over well.”
Grant glared at them. “I told you both the place wasn’t ready for guests.”
Burke didn’t argue. Just took a sip of his coffee.
