THREE. #2
“We’re glad you made it down here to see the ranch,” he says, voice quiet and kind. He releases my hand fast and steps back before Tobias can intervene.
“They have jobs to do,” Tobias cuts in, already turning away. “We’re behind on rounds. I’ll show you around.”
He fixes Jesse and Caden with a hard stare that has them backing off slowly, though Jesse’s eyes linger on me a second longer than necessary.
“I’ll show you the stables later,” Jesse calls over his shoulder as he heads for his horse.
I crack a small grin. “Sure. Sounds good.”
He raises his brows at Tobias in a quick, playful challenge before pushing a hand through his hair and settling his hat back on his head. Cowboy hats really are unfairly attractive.
“You don’t have to show me around,” I say, when the two of them mount up and head off toward the cow pastures. “I grew up on this farm. I know my way around.”
“When was the last time you were here?” My jaw tightens. I hate how easily he finds the exact thing to needle me with. “Because I’ve been here for fourteen years, and I’ve never seen you around.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. He’s right. I have his file in my hands, I know exactly how long he’s been working here. The words feel pointless before they even leave my throat.
“I just… would like some time to look around on my own.”
“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “If you say so.”
As he turns toward the barn, I groan under my breath and shake my head, trying to shake off the urge to snap at him again.
He pauses at the wide barn doors and leans a shoulder against the frame. Then crosses his arms over his chest in that same infuriating stance. “Does the Princess require a horse?”
“Stop calling me Princess,” I seethe through clenched teeth, the word feeling like a slap every time he says it.
“Then why don’t you tell me your name?”
My eyes widen. I never actually told him my name. I assumed he already knew like everyone else I’ve met, but maybe he doesn’t… Or maybe he’s just testing me.
“I find it hard to believe no one has ever mentioned my name here,” I say, crossing my arms because the idea feels absurd. Everyone at the funeral seemed to know exactly who I was—offering quiet condolences, recognizing Aunt Linda’s niece in an instant.
Tobias doesn’t flinch. “Your aunt only ever called you ‘my lovely niece’ or ‘my favorite niece ever.’”
“That is my name. Ever. Short for Everette.”
“That’s not a name.”
I roll my eyes and step forward—not toward him, but past him, aiming for the horses tied just behind where he’s leaning.
“It is, and it’s my name. So get used to it.”
I nudge his arm as I pass, expecting him to shift, but he’s rooted like an oak. He doesn’t budge an inch.
“I’m not calling you that,” he says flatly.
I spin on my heel to face him. “What’s your deal?”
“My deal is that you’re a city girl who’s shown up to take over a ranch she knows nothing about.
” His voice stays low, steady, but there’s an edge to it that slices right through me.
“You probably lived in some high-rise—fifty floors up—with a view of water. A river, a lake, whatever the hell they have out there.”
Thirty-seven floors, actually. And it was a river. But I don’t correct him. I just stare, the fire between us crackling hotter.
Without another word, I turn and keep walking. I set the binder down on the weathered wooden tacking table just inside the barn entrance.
The barn is exactly the way I remember. Twelve stalls line the center aisle, six on each side, with the big tack room and storage at the far end. Nothing has changed.
I walk slowly down the middle, letting my eyes drift over the horses until I stop at the first one that catches my eye: a gray mare dappled with dark spots, young and bright-eyed. Not Willow, obviously—she’s far too youthful—but the resemblance is there.
“Hello, beautiful,” I murmur, holding my hand up flat. She studies me for a long moment, then presses her soft muzzle into my palm. I slide my fingers up the velvet of her nose, over the broad plane of her forehead, and gently brush the forelock that’s fallen across her eyes.
“What’s her name?” I ask, knowing he’s still there. I can feel his presence behind me like heat from a fire.
“Juniper,” he says, and I hear his boots scuff closer, though I refuse to look back. “We call her June.”
“Was she born here?”
“Seven years ago,” he confirms.
I grin despite myself and step around to her side, running my hands down the smooth slope of her neck, over her withers, along the dappled pattern that spills across her hindquarters. “Who was her mother?”
“Willow,” he says, and June lifts her head sharply, as if the name still means something to her.
“I’m going to ride her,” I say, decisive. Tobias moves to the other side of June so we’re facing each other across her back, arms still folded tight.
“I’ll get her saddled up,” he mutters, voice gruff again, like I’m interrupting something more important.
“I can do it.” I keep my eyes on the mare’s spots, tracing them with my fingertips. “You go do whatever it is you need to do. I’ll be fine.”
I feel his stare burning into me. The same intensity as before, but different now, sharper, assessing.
I glance up from under my lashes and meet it head-on, daring him to say what he’s thinking: that I’m a city girl playing pretend, that I’ll fumble or spook the horse or prove exactly how out of place I am.
But if there’s one thing from my childhood here that never faded, it’s the memory of Uncle Ray standing beside me in this very barn, showing me how to brush a coat until it shone, how to tighten a cinch just right, how it felt to swing into the saddle and let the wind tear through my hair as we galloped across the open fields.
That feeling—pure, weightless freedom—has stayed with me all these years, tucked away like a secret I could pull out whenever the city felt too loud or small.
“Try not to break anything,” he says at last. Then he turns, shoulders rolling loose, hands dropping to his sides, and walks the length of the barn without looking back.
I let out a slow breath and smile, running my hand up June’s neck again, fingers threading through her coarse mane.
“You look just like Willow,” I whisper. I rest my forehead against her neck and close my eyes, letting the barn settle around us.