Chapter 3
The sound of hammering pulled me from sleep just after seven the next morning.
I stared at the cracked ceiling, disoriented for a moment until the smell of old wood and stale smoke reminded me where I was. Rootstown Creek. The ranch that had never truly felt like home.
The hammer struck again. Three hard, steady blows followed by the scrape of lumber being dragged across the porch.
I threw back the thin blanket and reached for the jeans I’d left folded over the desk chair. I’d slept in nothing but an old T-shirt because unpacking more than the bare minimum would have made this stay feel permanent.
And I wasn’t staying. No matter what Ryder Kane seemed to think.
I twisted my hair into a knot as I crossed the hall.
Sunlight poured through the windows I’d left open overnight, already warming the house.
On the way downstairs, I caught myself wondering about the coffee cup I’d found on the dining room table yesterday.
I should have thrown it away. Instead, I’d rinsed it out, shoved it in the back of the cupboard, and tossed the scrap of paper away like it was some kind of reluctant secret.
I didn’t want to examine what that said about me.
Another strike rattled the front wall, and I yanked the door open.
Ryder stood at the far end of the porch, his back to me, replacing a rotted support beneath the railing.
Faded jeans hugged his powerful legs. A gray shirt clung to his back, already darkened with sweat between his shoulder blades.
His black cowboy hat rested on a post beside him, his dark hair damp at the ends.
A leather tool belt hung low on his hips, and because he looked like he belonged there, that unsettled me more than it should have.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Ryder glanced over one broad shoulder, and immediately, his gaze moved over me, his eyes on my bare feet, up my jeans, along my thin shirt, and finally stopping at my face.
“Fixin’ your porch,” he said, his voice so low and rough that it rippled across my bare skin, causing me to shiver.
“I can see that.” I crossed my arms, trying to hide my hardening nipples.
“Then why’d you ask?”
I stepped outside, the screen swinging shut behind me, only to hit me in the ass because I hadn’t stepped out far enough. I slid on the rough wood and yelped when a splinter caught the bottom of my heel.
Ryder dropped the hammer and crossed the distance in three quiet strides, moving with the calm certainty of a man who had spent his life handling spooked horses and broken things.
“Hold still,” he said.
“It’s just a splinter.”
“I know what it is.”
He crouched in front of me and wrapped one big hand around my ankle.
The contact was unexpectedly warm. I pressed my palm behind me against the house to balance myself while Ryder turned my foot into the light.
His scarred fingers were firm but careful as he pulled a pocketknife from the back of his jeans.
My body tensed, and Ryder looked up. “You think I’m gonna cut you?”
“No.”
“You went stiff.”
“You pulled a knife while holding my foot.”
He held my gaze for a long second. “I ain’t ever hurt you, Lila.”
The words landed heavier than they should have, and I was the one to look away first.
Ryder used the tip of the blade to lift the splinter free. He was careful, quite gentle, for hands that looked capable of breaking bone.
“There,” he said.
He released my ankle and stood, and for a moment, he towered over me, close enough that I caught the scent of leather, sweat, and sun-warmed skin.
“You need boots,” he said.
“I own shoes.”
“Then wear ’em.”
“You’re awfully bossy for someone trespassing on my property.”
He picked up the hammer. “Ain’t trespassing.”
“You don’t live here.”
“Close enough.”
“That isn’t how property law works.”
“Never cared much for laws.”
I snorted because, yeah, that was Ryder alright.
He returned to the railing while I tried not to watch the flex of his forearm with every swing of the hammer. Fourteen years had turned the boy I remembered into someone harder and quieter. It made me uneasy how fluidly he moved around my land like he had every right to be here.
“What else have you decided needs fixing?” I asked.
“Roof over the tack room. East pasture fence. Water pump’s leaking.”
“You inspected all that without asking me?”
“Didn’t need to. Place is falling apart. Not like you planned on fixin’ the shit, right?”
My irritation sharpened. “Maybe, maybe not. But I know what it looks like.”
“Do you?”
I stared at him, instantly annoyed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ryder drove another nail before answering. “Means you been gone fourteen years. And your dad was worthless and couldn’t keep up with anything.”
“I didn’t forget how a ranch works. I grew up here.” I stepped closer. “My great-grandparents built this place—”
“And your daddy nearly ran it into the ground.”
The mention of my father hit like a slap, and Ryder saw it. His shoulders tightened when he saw my expression.
“You don’t get to talk about him,” I said. “No one does because the asshole is dead and where he belongs.”
His expression went flat. “I know more about Dwayne Shaw than most.”
“So does half this town. He made sure everyone knew exactly what kind of man he was.”
The edge in his voice raised the hairs on my arms. I studied him for a second before he turned back to his work.
My irritation was high, and my emotions were causing me to be on the verge of crying.
It wasn’t Ryder’s fault. My father was a worthless piece of shit.
I was glad he was gone, the abusive fucker.
So why was I nearly breaking down talking about this?
I turned toward the house. “You need to leave.”
“No.”
I stopped and spun around. “Excuse me?”
“Got work to do.”
“I didn’t hire you.”
“So.”
“I don’t want your help.” My voice was rising, as was my anger.
“That a lie?”
I felt my face getting red. “You don’t know anything about what I want.”
Ryder set the hammer down with deliberate care, stood, and walked toward me. He didn’t hurry. Every slow step made the porch feel smaller until I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“I know you came here planning to sell before you even looked at the land,” he said quietly. “Bedroom window doesn’t latch right. I know you checked the front door three times before you went upstairs.”
My pulse hammered. “You were watching me?” I asked incredulously.
“I watch the property.”
“Sounds like you’re paying a little too much attention.”
Ryder didn’t answer, and the silence unsettled me more than a denial would have.
“You need to stop.”
“Stop what?” he asked.
“Showing up whenever you feel like it. Coming onto my land. Leaving things inside my house.”
“It’s just coffee, Lila.”
His gaze looked on mine. When I stayed silent, the corner of his mouth shifted, but it wasn’t quite a smile.
Before I could say anything else, the sound of tires crunching over gravel cut through the morning. A white SUV rolled up the drive, a cloud of dust trailing behind it.
Ryder glanced toward it. “Expecting somebody?” he asked.
“The realtor.”
He didn’t say anything, only wiped his hands on a rag tucked into the back pocket of his jeans before stepping down off the porch.
Kacey Marker climbed out, all pressed khakis, polished boots, and a smile that looked practiced. “Lila Shaw?”
“That’s me.”
He introduced himself, shook my hand, and glanced toward Ryder. “And you are…?”
“Neighbor,” Ryder answered.
Kacey nodded politely before turning back to me. “If you’ve got a few minutes, I’d love to take a look inside then walk the property, if that’s alright?”
“Of course.”
We started toward the porch, and Ryder stayed behind.
I assumed he’d gone back to replacing the railing until the screen door creaked open behind us a minute later. He stepped inside carrying his toolbox.
“You don’t have to keep working,” I said.
“Already started.”
Kacey laughed awkwardly. “Guess he’s hard to stop.”
Ryder didn’t even look at him, but I didn’t miss the way his brow furrowed.
While Kacey talked about comparable sales and acreage values, I led him through the downstairs. He scribbled notes about the original hardwood floors and the stone fireplace, occasionally asking questions I couldn’t answer.
“The plumbing?” he asked.
“Works.”
“The electrical?”
I hesitated.
“It’s been updated,” Ryder said from the kitchen doorway.
Kacey looked over. “You’ve done work here?”
“A little.”
I shot Ryder a look. “A little?” I asked.
He shrugged one shoulder. “The back door, a couple of windows, and a leaky pipe under the kitchen sink. Odds and ends.”
I narrowed my eyes and huffed out a breath in annoyance. Who in their right mind fixed things in someone else’s house? Not only that but he was using his own money and doing it without permission. It made no damn sense.
The tour continued outside, but I caught Ryder answering more questions than I did.
The roof.
The well.
The fencing.
He knew every detail without having to think about it.
When Kacey finally thanked me and headed back toward his SUV with promises to send paperwork in a few days, I waited until his vehicle disappeared down the drive before turning toward Ryder.
“You could’ve let me answer.”
“You didn’t know what he was askin’.”
“I would’ve figured it out.”
He slid a wrench back into the toolbox. “Maybe.”
Something about the calm certainty in his voice irritated me. “You don’t have to keep fixing everything.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why are you?”
His gaze drifted around the kitchen before settling on the cracked window over the sink. “Somebody ought to.”
The answer caught me off guard. “This isn’t your responsibility.”
“No.”
“But you keep acting like it is.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “When something’s been neglected long enough,” he said, “you stop noticing what’s broken.”
I frowned. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”
“Didn’t say you had to.”
He picked up the toolbox and started toward the back door.
“Ryder.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Thank you.”
The words came out quieter than I’d intended.
He stood there for a second before giving a single nod. Then, he walked outside without another word.
I watched him cross the yard, his broad shoulders growing smaller with every step until he disappeared around the side of the barn.
The ranch fell quiet again, and it should’ve felt like a relief.
Instead, I found myself listening for the sound of his boots, almost expecting him to come back.
He didn’t.
And somehow, being alone didn’t feel nearly as safe as I’d always believed it would.