CHAPTER SEVEN.
Cole didn’t seek her out.
That, more than anything, told her the conversation was coming.
She found him at the edge of the property as the light began to fade, standing near the fence line with a tablet in one hand, eyes moving slowly across the land as if he were counting things only he could see.
She stopped a few paces away. “You wanted to talk.”
He glanced at her, then nodded once. “Yes.”
No preamble. No softening.
He gestured for her to walk with him, and she did, matching his pace as they followed the fence. The ground dipped slightly here, the grass thicker, the view stretching out towards the hills.
“You’re settling in,” he said.
“I’m trying not to be in the way.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She waited.
“You’ve been helping,” he continued. “You follow instructions. You don’t push.”
“And?”
“And you make people adjust.”
There it was.
She stopped walking. “That sounds like a problem.”
Cole stopped too, turning to face her fully. Up close, his presence was more pronounced — not physical intimidation, but certainty. He didn’t fill space aggressively. He simply occupied it.
“It’s a variable,” he said. “I don’t like variables I don’t understand.” She crossed her arms. “Then ask.”
“I am.”
She considered him for a moment, then nodded. “All right.” “Why here?” he asked. “Not generally. Specifically.”
“Because you didn’t advertise,” she replied. “You don’t take people in. And you didn’t tell me to leave.”
Cole studied her carefully. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
“I know,” she said. “It was a risk assessment.”
Something shifted in his expression — interest sharpened, edged with caution.
“You knew we might turn you away,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And you came anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked past him, out across the land. “Because I needed a place where staying would be a choice. Not an expectation.”
Cole was quiet for a long moment.
“When people stay here,” he said finally, “they do so because they follow our structure. We don’t bend it for individuals.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Good,” he replied. “Because I won’t.”
She met his gaze steadily. “Then we don’t have a problem.” A corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile.
“Adrian trusts you,” he said. “Tanner likes you.”
“And you?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“I don’t trust easily,” he said at last. “But I trust patterns. And so far, yours are consistent.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me,” she replied dryly. He exhaled, something like amusement flickering briefly. “Don’t get used to it.”
They resumed walking.
At the fence’s end, Cole stopped and leaned his forearms against the rail, gaze distant. “If something changes,” he said, “you tell me first.” “Why you?”
“Because if there’s a decision to be made,” he said evenly, “I make it.” She nodded slowly. “And if I disagree?”
“Then we talk,” he replied. “But we don’t pretend it isn’t happening.” She accepted that. More than that — she respected it.
As they turned back towards the house, she realised something with a quiet certainty.
Cole wasn’t controlling the situation to keep her in line.
He was controlling it to make sure, if things went wrong, he would be the one standing in front.
And that knowledge settled differently than she’d expected. Not like a warning.
Like a boundary she could lean against without being pushed over.
**