Chapter 4 #2
His hooves stopped stamping long enough for me to count.
Rose reached for him then, fingertips brushing his neck, her praise soft and constant. “Good boy. That’s it. Good.”
Ricky leaned into her touch like he’d been waiting for it. Like her voice was the only thing that could pull him back.
And Rose, Christ. Rose looked different like this. Not armored. Not sharp. Just a woman with a heart she kept hidden everywhere else, showing it freely to an animal who didn’t care who she was on paper, only who she was right now.
“He’s terrified of storms,” she said quietly, not looking at me. Her hand kept moving on Ricky’s neck in long, steady strokes. “Thunder especially.”
Lightning cracked again, close enough the barn shuddered.
Rose flinched.
Not a lot. A tiny betrayal. Shoulders tightening, breath catching, a reflex too fast to control.
But I saw it.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
Her jaw tightened. “Ricky’s not. Focus.”
“I am.” I kept my voice low so Ricky wouldn’t catch the tension. “But I’m not blind.”
Her armor cracked, just enough to let exhaustion show through. Maybe it was the storm. Maybe it was Ricky. Maybe it was the fact she’d been steady for everyone all day and her body was finally sending the bill. She was quiet for a long moment, her hand still moving on Ricky’s neck.
“People think I can’t handle horses like him,” she said finally, voice low. “They think I should stick to the easy ones.”
I stayed quiet. Sensed she wasn’t done.
“Dr. Collen doesn’t think that,” Rose continued.
“She was the only vet in town before I got my license. She’s the one who asked me to take Ricky.
She knew I wouldn’t give up on him when he was difficult.
” She paused, her throat working. “She’s one of the few people in town who sees me not as the Silicon Valley girl playing rancher. Just... another vet who gives a damn.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. I just listened.
“Ricky’s owner died,” she said. “Stroke. His family didn’t want him. Too damaged and too much trouble. Collen asked if I’d take him because she knew what would happen if I didn’t.” Her hand stilled on Ricky’s neck. “And I understood that. Being unwanted in the community.”
Rose’s shoulders rose and fell. One deep breath, steadying.
“My parents died when I was two,” she said, still not looking at me. “A semi crossed the center line. Drunk driver. Drove straight into our car.”
The words came out flat. Like she’d said them so many times they’d lost their edges. But underneath, I heard the weight.
And I recognized it. Not just sympathy. Recognition. The particular sound of a person who’s made peace with something they’ll never actually be at peace with. I knew that sound because I’d heard it in my own voice for years.
“I survived,” she added, quieter. “As did my brothers. They’re older, so they remember. I don’t.”
Another crack of thunder hit.
Rose flinched again. That same small betrayal of her body.
My hands tightened at my sides.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, and meant it.
Rose’s mouth twisted, like the word sorry was both too small and too much at once. “Yeah.”
Ricky’s breath hitched, then eased again. Rose kept stroking, kept murmuring. And I realized that this was a woman who’d been taught life could shatter without warning, and she still chose to build things anyway. Ranch. Horses. Safety she could touch with her hands.
She wasn’t pretending to have strength for anyone. She was just strong.
And I was standing next to her with a fake name, letting her think I was someone worth trusting.
“My dad died when I was nineteen,” I said. The words came out rougher than I meant.
Rose’s hand stilled on Ricky’s neck. She didn’t look at me, but her attention shifted.
I swallowed. “He had a business. A good one. And then he didn’t.
I don’t know the full story of what went wrong.
He never talked about it, and by the time I was old enough to ask the right questions, he wasn’t the kind of man who could answer them.
” I stared at my hands. “He started drinking after the business went under. Before that, he’d been a good da, a present one.
But losing everything broke something in him, and the bottle was the only thing that made the noise stop. ”
The words tasted like old shame.
“Liver failure,” I said. “Four years from the first drink to the last. That’s how fast it took him.”
Rose finally glanced at me then. Eyes dark, searching.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“Don’t be.” I shook my head. “I learned what it looks like when a man loses everything and can’t find his way back. Taught me what I didn’t want to become.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment. Not uncomfortable. Just honest. The kind of quiet that happens when two people have traded real things and need a second to sit with it.
Rose’s eyes held mine a fraction longer than it should have. Then thunder rolled again and she looked away, and whatever had opened between us closed back up.
Rose stepped back half a pace to give Ricky more room, and her boot slid on the wet straw.
It happened fast.
One misstep. Balance gone.
Instinct took over.
I caught her at the waist and hauled her upright before she could slam into the stall wall.
And for one breath, one stupid, perfect breath, she was pressed against me.
Warm through damp fabric. Hair loose at the edges. The smell of soap and rain and horse. Her body tight with adrenaline, her heartbeat so fast I could feel it against my palms where they gripped her waist.
I could see the dark ring around her iris. Violet, but deeper up close. Her lips parted and I knew exactly what it would feel like to kiss her, knew it the way you know a fall is coming before your feet leave the ground.
I didn’t move. Didn’t tighten my grip. Didn’t take an inch.
I just held her steady.
Her breath caught. Mine did too.
Then she shoved off me.
Not violently. Not panicked. Decisive, like she could rebuild a wall out of sheer willpower.
Her face went blank in a way that should’ve irritated me. Instead it made my throat ache.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“I know.” I let my hands fall like they’d never been on her. “But you don’t have to be made of steel every second of the day.”
That did it.
Anger flashed in her eyes.
“Get out,” she said, voice low and deadly calm. “Go inside.”
“Rose—”
Her head snapped toward me. “Do not.”
There it was. The line. Bright. Fresh. Non-negotiable.
I nodded once. “Aye.”
I stepped out of the stall and shut the door softly behind me. No sulk. Just leaving when she told me to leave, because that was the only way she’d ever feel safe around me.
In the aisle, I paused long enough to hear her voice again. Soft nonsense for Ricky. Steady praise. The sound of her holding the world together one frightened animal at a time.
Then I walked away, jaw tight.
Not because I was angry.
Because I wanted something I didn’t have the right to want.
I made it to my cabin dripping and numb.
The door closed behind me with a solid click, shutting out the rain, the barn, the sound of Rose’s voice saying My parents died when I was two like it was a fact she’d stopped feeling years ago.
I peeled off my soaked shirt and stood in the middle of the room, staring at nothing.
She’d trusted me. Let me see something real. And this entire time, I’ve been lying to her about who I am.
The guilt was immediate and total, the kind that sits in your gut and doesn’t move.
I grabbed dry clothes from my bag. Jeans, a hoodie, warm socks. Changed mechanically. Toweled my hair. Tried not to think about her body against mine when I’d caught her. Her parted lips. The way she’d looked at me before she shut down.
You don’t have to be made of steel every second of the day.
I had actually said those words. How fucking stupid was I?
I pulled on my boots and headed toward the main house. Maybe Dex would have whisky. Maybe sitting by the fire with normal people doing normal things would reset my brain.
The lounge was warm and loud when I walked in.
Dex was in an overstuffed armchair nursing a drink by the fire. Olivia was gathering her things from the couch, tablet tucked under her arm.
“I’m still damp,” she announced to no one in particular. “I’m going to go change for dinner.”
She headed out toward the cabins, leaving the place quieter.
Jamie was on the other couch with Denise, both of them bent over Jamie’s phone, talking in low voices. They looked up when I walked by, and Jamie’s expression went bright and innocent so fast it felt rehearsed.
“Graham! You changed. Feel better?”
“Warmer, anyway.” I grabbed a towel from the stack by the door even though I didn’t need it, just to have something to do with my hands.
“Denise was just telling me about the ranch’s social media,” Jamie said. “She used to do content creation before working for Rose.”
“Lifestyle stuff,” Denise added with a dismissive wave. “I wasn’t any good at it.”
The way she said it made my skin prickle. Modest delivery, but her eyes were sharp. Like she knew exactly how good she’d been and had decided to downplay it.
“What kind of social media?” I asked. “Rose seems pretty private.”
“Mostly videos and pictures of the horses. The mountains.” Denise took a sip of wine. “Nothing too personal. That’s Rose. She keeps everything close to the chest.”
Her tone sat wrong. Not critical, exactly. Not fond either. More like a woman cataloging someone else’s weaknesses and filing them under useful.
Jamie stood up suddenly. “I need to use the bathroom. Be right back.”
She headed down the hall, leaving her phone on the couch cushion beside Denise.
Denise settled back with her wine, watching me.
“Rough day?” she asked. “You look like you’ve been through it.”
“The storm.”
“Mmm.” She took another sip. “Rose can be intense when she’s stressed. Don’t take it personally.”
“She wasn’t intense. She was honest.”
Denise’s eyebrows lifted slightly. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth.
“Well, good,” she said. “I’m glad you two are getting along. She could use more people in her corner.”
It sounded supportive. Caring, even.
So why did my gut say otherwise?
Dex caught my eye from across the room and tilted his head toward the hallway. The universal signal for we need to talk.
“Excuse me,” I said to Denise.
I followed Dex down the hall to the empty library, and he closed the door behind us.
Dex didn’t bother with small talk.
“You’ve to tell Rose.”
I stared at him. “No.”
“It’s not a request.”
“Then it’s a problem,” I said flatly. “Because I’m not doing it.”
Dex stepped closer. “Sponsors want a teaser. We need Rose’s permission to film.”
“No. We’re keeping a low profile.”
“And you think Jamie can do that?” Dex’s voice sharpened. “Jamie is all about engagement. Numbers. Views and clicks. As she should be.”
“Then I’ll shut it down.”
“You can’t shut down fifty million people who think they own a piece of you.” He exhaled hard. “And you can’t shut down what happens when Rose finds out you’ve been lying to her face.”
“I’m not fucking lying. I’m just—”
“Not telling her who you are?” Dex cut in. “That’s lying, mate. Dressed up pretty, but still lying.”
My jaw clenched.
Dex studied me for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
“Something happened in the barn.”
I didn’t answer.
“I can see it on your face,” he said. “You look like someone kicked you in the teeth.”
I thought about Rose, soaked and shivering, telling me about parents she never got to know. About building something from nothing while half the town wrote her off. About earning respect she should’ve had from the start.
“She trusted me,” I said finally. “Told me things she didn’t have to tell me. Real things. And I stood there the whole time with a fake name, letting her think I was just some bloke.”
Dex was quiet for a moment. “That’s why you need to tell her. You like her.”
It wasn’t a question.
“It doesn’t matter if I like her.”
“It matters if you’re going to keep lying to her.” Dex’s voice hardened. “Because right now, every hour you don’t tell her is another hour she’s going to feel stupid when she finds out. And she will find out, Graham. That’s not a maybe. That’s a when.”
I stared at the rain still streaking down the glass.
“She doesn’t want cameras and comments and people picking apart her life,” I said quietly. “She just wants to be left alone.”
“And what do you think happens when she realizes she’s been standing next to Fraser Kincaid all week without knowing?
” Dex stepped into my line of sight, forcing me to look at him.
“She’ll feel exposed. Manipulated. Like you saw something private and didn’t have the decency to tell her who was watching. ”
I didn’t have an answer for that. Because he was right.
“Tell her tonight, or tomorrow,” Dex said. “Before someone else does.”
“And if she throws us off the property?”
“Then at least she’ll be making an informed choice.” His voice softened, just slightly. “Stop deciding what she can handle. She’s not that fragile.”
He was right. That’s exactly what I was doing. Deciding for her. Protecting her from a truth she had every right to know.
Just like everyone else who’d ever underestimated her.
Dex turned toward the door, then paused.
“You said she trusted you. Told you real things.”
I nodded.
“Then you owe her the same.” He held my gaze. “Or whatever you think is building between you is already built on a lie.”
He left.
I stood in the dark library, watching the last of the storm drain from the sky.
Tomorrow. I’d tell her tomorrow. Walk up to her, say the words, and watch whatever she’d started to feel for me die on her face.
I owed her that much.
I owed her more than that, but it was all I had.