FIVE.
Tobias
——————————
I hate it.
I hate how she watches us work.
She sits there on June with her hands resting gently on the knob of the saddle, eyes tracking every move we make like she’s actually trying to learn the rhythm of our day.
She asks questions, quiet and precise, wanting to understand what we’re doing and why, as if she’s trying to know us, not just the ranch.
It unsettles me more than I want to admit.
I hate that she told me to meet her at the barn at seven this morning and I actually showed up.
I stood on my own porch for a solid twenty minutes, boots rooted to the wood, debating whether she meant it or if it was just another city-girl bluff.
In the end I came. And she was already there with June saddled and ready—like she’d leave without me if I was even a minute late.
That kind of follow-through makes her honorable.
Reliable. The kind of person who keeps her word even when it’s inconvenient. It only makes everything worse.
I hate that she braided her hair again today, because I know how it looks when she lets it loose—wild, untamed waves catching the wind like she belongs out here more than she’ll ever admit.
I hate the bandana she’s started carrying, the way she pulls it out to wipe sweat from her neck and forehead instead of letting it drip down her skin. It shouldn’t matter, but it does.
I hate the high-waisted jeans she keeps wearing on these rides.
They hug her in ways that outline every curve she carries with a confidence she probably doesn’t even realize she has.
Every time she swings into the saddle or dismounts, my eyes betray me, and I have to look away before she catches me staring.
But what I hate most—what I truly, bone-deep hate—is her eyes.
The way she looks at me is a war all on its own: wanting and loathing tangled together so tightly I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
The blue that rims the warm brown around her pupils pulls at something buried so far down I thought I’d forgotten it.
She looks at me with those eyes and has no idea who I am.
No idea what she’s doing to me every time she meets my stare.
I hate it.
I hate all of it.
When we rode out this morning she kept up with me the whole way to the east pasture, matching my pace without hesitation.
Her eyes lit up with this wild, reckless energy, and I can’t lie: seeing her like that did something to me.
Something raw and unwelcome that I’m trying hard to shove back down where it belongs.
Along the fence line she went quiet, watching me inventory the leaning posts and sagging wire with the kind of focused attention most people reserve for things they actually care about. She’s not a talker. She’s a watch-and-learn type, and that I can respect, even if I don’t want to.
I called Jesse on the walkie and told him to bring posts and wire.
When he rolled up we got to work replacing the worst of the weathered sections.
I braced myself for her to hop off June and try to jump in—offer to hold a post or hand me staples.
I was ready to snap at her and send her riding off so we could finish in peace.
But she didn’t. She stayed mounted, sitting steady in the saddle, observing like we were a movie she was studying for detail.
“Enjoying the show?” Jesse asks, hands on his hips, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve before waggling his brows at her.
“Oh yeah. Incredibly fascinating,” she replies, dry wit sharp enough to cut.
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. I don’t want her to know she’s funny. I don’t want her to know she’s anything.
“Well then, I hate to break it to ya, but we’re almost done,” Jesse says, glancing down the line at the stretch we’ve already repaired.
He’s a hard worker, always has been, but with Ever watching he’s putting on extra flair—flexing every time he drives a post, throwing her winks when he thinks he’s done something impressive. It’s irritating as hell.
“What a shame,” she deadpans.
I lift the last log into place and hammer it secure, feeling her eyes on me the whole time.
Steady. Burning. I know she’s attracted to me—I’ve caught the way her gaze drags over my arms, lingers on my shoulders, flicks to my mouth for half a second before she forces it away.
She’s trying not to look, and I’m trying not to react.
I keep my face blank, my movements deliberate, letting her think I don’t notice so she’ll keep stealing those glances.
But damn, it’s hard not to stare back. Hard not to let her see exactly what she’s doing to me.
I watch June carry her down the slope until the tall grass and the curve of the land swallow them both. Only then do I let my eyes linger, tracking the spot where she disappeared like I might catch one last glimpse of her. I hate how much space she takes up in my head even when she’s not in sight.
“What’s your deal with her?” Jesse asks between hammer strikes, the nail sinking clean into the new post with a sharp metallic ring.
I lean into the post we’re pulling, arms crossed, trying to look like the question doesn’t bother me.
“She doesn’t belong here.”
He pauses mid-swing, his brows climbing high under the brim of his hat. “What do you mean, ‘she doesn’t belong here’? Mr. and Mrs. Barker were her family. They left her this ranch. If anyone belongs here, it’s her—more than any of us.”
He drives the last nail home, steps back, and wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist. “And it seems like she’s staying, so you better get used to her.”
“Yeah,” I say low, “we’ll see.”
I don’t think she’ll last a month. I can see the fire in her eyes when she talks about keeping the place—the stubborn determination that makes her sit straight in the saddle.
But I’ve known this ranch since I was a kid.
I know every dip in the pastures, every weak fence line, every lean year when feed costs outran calf prices.
The numbers never quite balance. She has no idea what she’s walking into, and I’m not sure I want to be the one to watch her figure it out the hard way.
“Well, I like her,” Jesse says with a simple shrug. I give him a flat look. Of course he likes her. Any man with working eyes and half a functioning brain would be lying if he said she wasn’t beautiful.
“You don’t have a chance with a girl like her,” I tell him.
He scoffs under his breath. “And you do?”
The smirk that tugs at his mouth says he’s already seen more than I want him to. I jerk my chin toward the pile of old posts we’ve pulled. “Load up the extras, will ya?”
“Yessir,” he drawls, then slings a couple of weathered posts over his shoulders before heading for the truck parked farther back.
The radio on my belt crackles to life. I unclip it and hold it up, waiting through Caden’s usual fumbling like the kid can’t remember which button does what.
He’s been here two years, learning the ropes so he can move on to some bigger place that pays better, but he still handles the radio like it’s his first day.
“Caden to Tobias,” he finally manages.
I press the button. “Yeah?”
A long pause. I close my eyes and shake my head, already bracing for whatever mess is coming.
“There’s, uh… a banker here lookin’ for Everette. I’m assuming that’s Ever. I told him she was out, but he said he really needs to speak with her.”
My brows knit together. A banker. On her fourth day. This can’t be good. “What’s he want?”
“I don’t know. Talk about finances, I guess.”
“You didn’t ask him?”
“He wouldn’t tell me,” Caden says, sounding sheepish. “Is she with you? She wasn’t at the house when he went looking there.”
“Yeah, she’s out here.” I glance over my shoulder toward the slope she rode down, but the pasture is quiet except for the low rush of the stream. “I’ll send her back when I see her.”
“Alright. Sounds good. I’ll let him know.”
“Thanks, Kay.” I clip the walkie back to my belt and exhale hard through my nose.
Jesse’s truck rumbles slowly along the fence line, stopping every few posts to toss another length of rotted wood into the bed. I stand there, hands on my hips, staring at the empty trail she left, and a bad feeling settles low in my gut.
A banker showing up unannounced this soon usually means overdue notices, missed payments, or worse. Either she’s already behind on something critical, or someone’s circling the ranch before she’s even had a chance to unpack.
I turn my shoulder and walk to the ledge where she disappeared and peer down at the creek below. June is grazing contentedly on the tall grass along the bank, untied and apparently unbothered, which surprises me—she’s usually skittish enough that leaving her loose would be asking for trouble.
Ever is crouched on her haunches right at the water’s edge, skimming her hand across the surface, letting the current rush over her fingers.
The rain last night has the stream running fast and high, churning white around the rocks, and yet she looks completely at home there—boots planted in the mud, braid swinging forward, like the water and the wild are more familiar to her than any city street.
I let out a sharp whistle. Her head snaps up immediately, eyes finding me in an instant. I hold the look for a long moment, knowing the distance is too great for her to read anything in my face.
From up here she’s just a figure against the green and brown of the pasture, but I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t the most beautiful woman Strawberry Plains has ever seen.
I grew up here, went to school with every girl in my grade, the ones above and below.
I know them all by name, by laugh, by the way they used to look at me when we were kids.
None of them ever held my attention the way she does.
I lift my hand and wave her up. She straightens right away, grabs June’s reins, steps into the stirrup, and swings her leg over the saddle effortlessly.
I could watch her mount and dismount a horse all day—the fluid shift of her weight, the way her body settles into the saddle like it was made for her.
She’d probably slap me upside the head if she knew I was thinking it, and I wouldn’t blame her.
I step back to where we were working, cross my arms over my chest, and drop my gaze to the dirt while I wait.
Her voice drifts up ahead of her—soft, encouraging, telling June “good job” and “you’ve got this” like the mare needs the pep talk.
It almost softens something in me, hearing how much she cares about the horse’s confidence. Almost.
When June stops beside me, I glance up. Ever’s expression is serious, eyes steady on mine.
“Are we headed back?” she asks, her gaze flicking briefly toward Jesse’s truck in the distance.
“Yeah, in a minute.” I shift my weight, hesitating. “We just got a call from Caden. There’s a banker at the house looking for you.”
“A banker?” Her voice jumps, sharp with sudden worry. Her eyes dart toward the direction of the main house. “Why?”
I shrug. “He didn’t say. Just that he needed to talk to you.”
“Shit,” she whispers.
My gaze follows the word down the line of her nose to the curve of her lips, then lower, to the sheen of sweat already glistening along her neck and collarbone. She looks rattled—eyes wide, thoughts visibly spinning—and for once the quick snap of her tongue is gone.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You should probably head back.”
She doesn’t move right away, frozen by whatever storm is kicking up inside her. Anxiety, fear, stress—it’s all there, plain on her face, and I hate how it dulls the fire I’ve gotten used to seeing in her. I much prefer the sharp edge of her wit to this silence. So I nudge it.
“Next time try to remember to pay your Netflix bill,” I say, keeping my tone dry, “or whatever it is your generation watches these days.”
Her eyes snap to mine faster than I can blink. “Excuse me?”
There she is. I press my lips together to keep the grin from breaking across my face.
“My generation?” she fires back. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure we’re the same generation. It’s not my fault if you’re still living in the Stone Age.”
I scoff, the sound low and rough, but the spark is back in her eyes—bright, defiant—and that’s enough. Mission accomplished.
“You best get going then,” I tell her.
“Whatever,” she mutters. She clicks her tongue softly, gives the reins a light snap, and June leaps into motion.
I watch her go, eyes locked on the way her body moves with the mare’s stride—hips rolling easy, back straight, braid swinging back and forth. It might be worth losing a few races just to keep getting this view of her riding away.
“Why you gotta piss her off all the time?” Jesse asks as he pulls the truck up beside me, engine rumbling.
I round the hood, yank open the passenger door, and slide in without answering. “Let’s go get Tacoma.”
He sighs, hits the gas, and we roll forward down the line of the new fence. I watch Ever’s form shrink and disappear over the next ridge, jaw clenched tight.
I can’t pretend I want her gone. She’s actually trying—watching, learning, caring about the place.
And I know her family line. I know this ranch is the last real tether she has to anyone that used to matter.
So when something threatens to drag her under, making her angry is the quickest way to pull her back up.
I’d rather see her burn with irritation than drown in anxiety.
Besides, I think she likes it. The push and pull. The way she snaps back every time I prod her. I can’t say I hate it, either.