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It was ridiculous how much information there was in that.

He knew I had work. He knew I was late by every schedule I had established since arriving. He had watched me turn twenty spare minutes into three calls and an updated diagram.

And he was making toast.

Not calling through the door. Not teasing me about sleeping in. Not turning the fact that he had carried me to bed into something I would have to laugh about before I could have coffee.

My shoulders lowered.

Only a little. Enough that I noticed how high they had been.

I drank the water. It had gone room temperature overnight, and I finished it anyway.

Then I stayed sitting for another minute.

Nothing fell down.

The creek ran faintly beyond the window. A horse called from the direction of the barn, and somewhere farther off, metal struck metal twice.

The ranch had continued without my supervision.

That felt personally insulting.

It also smelled like butter.

I got up, straightened my shirt, and pushed my hair behind my ear. In the little mirror, my face looked unfamiliar without the usual tightness around my mouth. There were still shadows under my eyes. Eleven hours hadn’t made me a different woman.

But my hands were steady.

I opened the door.

***

“Morning,” Cash said. “Coffee’s fresh.”

He stood at the stove in a clean shirt, holding a spatula. His hair was damp at the temples. Two plates waited on the counter.

My phone sat beside my place at the table, connected to its charger.

Not hidden. Not held hostage.

I picked it up.

Cash turned an egg.

There were messages. None began with an emergency. One contained the same question I had answered yesterday, which was irritating but not fatal.

I set the phone down.

“Eight fifty-two,” I said.

“Clock keeping good time, then.”

“I don’t sleep until eight fifty-two.”

“Strong evidence to the contrary.”

I pulled out my chair.