SEVEN.
Tobias
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It is my business.
I make my way back to the stables as the last light bleeds out of the sky, the day’s work settling heavy on my shoulders.
When I step inside, June is tied to the post outside her stall, ears flicking at my approach, her dark eyes fixed on me with that familiar mix of suspicion and challenge.
Jesse is in the next stall over, brushing down Maple—the brown-and-white mare who never gives anyone trouble.
I stop at the end of the post and plant my hands on my hips, staring down at June. We’ve never gotten along. If I had my way, I wouldn’t have anything to do with her—not after she planted a solid kick square in my thigh the last time I tried to lead her into her stall.
“Alright, girl,” I say, keeping my voice low as I reach for the reins. “Shall we?”
She turns her head sharply, forcing me to step back with my hands raised. “Whoa, easy.”
We stare each other down for a long moment—her nostrils flaring until she snorts and tosses her head. I tug the reins gently and lead her down the aisle, keeping a safe distance while maintaining enough grip to stop her if she decides to bolt, which she’s done more times than I care to count.
It still amazes me that she listens to Ever. The first time I saw the two of them together, I braced for disaster. Instead June stood calm, ears forward, like she’d finally found someone worth behaving for.
“Here we are.” The moment the gate is open, she heads straight for the feed bin and starts munching. I close the gate and move around to her head, giving her space to settle before I start on the bridle.
“Okay. You ready?” I ask, reaching for the throat latch.
She snorts again, but she doesn’t move away. I unlatch the buckles, slide the crown piece over her ears, and ease the bridle down her face, waiting for her to release the bit. She doesn’t. She chews on it instead, lips working slowly like she’s savoring the metal.
“You keeping that for a snack, or what?” I mutter under my breath.
Her ears twitch, but she doesn’t budge. I sigh, shifting my weight from one boot to the other, trying to summon patience I don’t really have. Goddamn, this horse really is just like her rider—stubborn, opinionated, and determined to make everything take twice as long.
“Come on, Princess,” I say, voice low. “The faster we do this, the faster I get out of your stall.”
She kicks her hind feet and snorts again, louder this time.
I glance down the length of her neck, past her withers, along her back and down her legs—nothing looks off.
No heat, no swelling, no obvious pain. But she’s acting like she’s waiting for something, like she’s holding me hostage until I figure it out.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, June,” I say, more to myself than to her.
“Maybe she wants you to say sorry,” Jesse calls from the entrance. I turn to find him leaning over the stall barrier, arms folded, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry for what?” I ask, tugging gently on the reins again. “I didn’t do anything.” The move backfires—June swings her head at me, and I have to duck.
Jesse laughs outright as I shake my head and groan. “I meant maybe she wants you to say sorry to Ever. I think she likes her better than you already.”
“She obviously only likes Ever.” June’s eyes are locked on me, steady and unblinking, like she’s daring me to say something else she doesn’t like.
“Fine,” I say, exhaling hard. “I’ll go say sorry to her, alright? Would you drop the bit now?”
June opens her mouth almost immediately, then turns straight back to the feed bin and starts eating like nothing happened. I shake my head and walk to the gate. Jesse swings it open for me and closes it again as I pass through.
“If you don’t apologize, I’m gonna tell June to kick you next chance she gets,” he teases. I toss the bridle onto the hook by the tack room. “I’ll know if you didn’t!” he calls after me as I head for the barn doors.
I pause just outside, looking down the hill toward the house.
I was already planning to go talk to her—find out what the banker wanted, see if we’re already in financial trouble after only a few days.
But now there’s an added weight to it. I won’t apologize for everything I’ve said or the way I’ve said it—some of it needed saying—but I can try to make things right where I can.
I head down the hill toward the house. The porch light is already on, spilling a warm yellow glow across the boards, and the faint scent of something cooking—warm, homey, maybe roasted vegetables or a pot of soup—drifts through the storm door.
I pull it wide and knock, crossing my arms over my chest while I wait.
The door swings open and Ever stops short when she sees me, eyes widening for a split second before her expression hardens. “What do you want?”
I grit my teeth and force myself to stay level. “What’d the banker want?”
“It’s none of your business,” she snaps, stepping back as she closes the door, but I stick my boot out to block it before it can latch. She looks down at my foot, then opens the door again just enough to glare at me. “It was nothing. Just go.”
“It is my business,” I say, keeping my tone firm.
“I’ve been running this ranch for the last five years.
I’ve been working here since I was sixteen.
Everything that keeps this place moving is my responsibility.
So yeah, it is my business to know what’s going on financially so I can keep running it efficiently.
Why don’t you tell me what the banker wanted, and then I’ll get out of here. ”
She stares at me for a long moment—not angry, but actually taking in what I’m saying.
Then she lets out a slow, tired sigh. “It was nothing. Mr. Jenkins was supposed to send over some details to get my account set up and he never did. The banker wanted to make sure it was done before the weekend so I could access the rest of the funds. He tried to call, but I didn’t have my phone on me. That’s it.”
“Everything’s fine?”
“Yes,” she says, the word clipped and pinched. She glares at me again. “Now can you move your foot?”
“No.”
“No?” Her eyes narrow hard, sharp and dangerous. Goddamn, she’s feisty.
“I want to reset some of the breakers,” I say. “They’re on the back wall of the sunroom. When a storm rolls through, it can make things act weird. Resetting them ahead of time usually keeps the power from flickering out.”
“Oh.” She hesitates, scanning my face like she’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth. I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. “Can you show me, then? So I can do it myself next time?”
“Sure,” I say, though defeat settles low in my stomach. If I show her how, that means she won’t need me coming back here for it.
She steps aside and holds the door open. The moment I cross the threshold, my heart stutters. I haven’t been inside this house since the day Linda passed—since the ambulance came and took her, and I stayed behind to clean up, organize the chaos, shut off lights, and lock the door.
The quiet hits me first—too quiet, missing the low hum of the radio she always kept tuned to the Christian station, the clink of ice in her tea glass, the smell of something baking. It’s all gone now, replaced by the faint scent of whatever Ever’s cooking and the cool blast of the air conditioning.
“The sunroom, right?” she asks softly, breaking the spell.
“Mhm,” I grunt in acknowledgment. I follow her through the living room without looking around too much, afraid of what I’ll see—or what I won’t.
I flip open the breaker panel on the back wall, point out the labels, explain which ones tend to trip after storms, and then step back so she can try it herself.
She flips them one by one and glances at me each time, silently asking if she’s doing it right.
When she’s finished, I close the panel and step away. She’s too close.
“So, that’s it then?” she asks, and I swear I see a faint flush creeping across her cheeks.
“That’s it,” I manage. She nods slowly but doesn’t move to show me out, so I don’t move either. “Did you purposefully set the temperature in here to feel like you’re in the Arctic?” I challenge.
I expect her to snap back with fire, instead her eyes light up, never leaving mine. “I did, actually. I watched a show on Netflix about penguins and I wanted to try to emulate what it might feel like to be there with them.”
The dry sarcasm lands perfectly. I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from grinning outright. “I’d say you succeeded. There’s nearly ice on the windows.”
She grins—sly, quick, mischievous—then looks away, shaking her head like she can’t believe what we’re saying.
I’ve been resisting it this whole time, but now I let my gaze drop to her mouth—perfect, full, pouty—and my heart thuds hard against my ribs.
I should leave. I know I should. But my feet are plastered to the floor, and the air between us feels charged.
“Is there something else you needed to do before leaving?” she asks smoothly, her eyes sliding back to mine.
I flash my gaze up to meet hers, shake my head once, and clench my hands at my sides to keep them from doing something stupid. She turns away first, heading back toward the front door, and I follow a step behind, letting my eyes drift over the living room as we pass through.
Nothing has changed. The same worn sofa sits against the far wall, the same framed landscapes and family photos hang in their familiar places, the same faded quilt is draped over the armchair.
I expected her to come in like a storm and rip it all out.
Instead she’s left it untouched, like she’s afraid to disturb the memory of it.
Maybe she does have some attachment to this place after all.
Maybe she feels the weight of it the same way I do.
She opens the door and lingers in the threshold as I step out onto the porch and down the steps.
My eyes catch on her truck—parked in the same spot since the day she arrived—and I stop short.
It wasn’t the truck I expected her to pull up in.
I thought maybe a sports car, or a hybrid type to fit the city lifestyle.
But it’s a rusty old truck. Something that actually makes sense on a ranch.
I slide my hands into my pockets and stare at it, remembering how she drove Linda’s old Cadillac through town the day of the funeral, turning heads and stirring up whispers. The truck, though, looks like it’s been sitting longer than it should.
I shift my stance and glance back toward the doorway. Ever is still there, one hand on the frame, watching me with quiet curiosity.
“What’s up with the truck?” I ask.
“It won’t turn over,” she says simply, like she’s been expecting the question.
I step forward, place my hand under the hood, find the latch, and lift it. The prop rod is missing, so I hold the hood up myself and lean in. Nothing obvious—nothing cracked or leaking, no loose wires screaming for attention—it’s the general kind of wear that builds up over the years.
I let the hood drop back into place with a solid thunk, rub the side of my face, and feel her eyes burning into me the whole time.
I wonder what she’s seeing—my arms, my shoulders, the line of my jaw.
I let the moment stretch, giving her time to look.
I like the weight of her gaze more than I should.
“I can have a buddy of mine come check it out if you want,” I tell her, turning to face her fully.
Her expression shifts—surprise first, then hesitation. “Is he going to charge me an arm and a leg just for a tow to a shop?”
I shake my head. “He’ll come here.” Her features soften, very subtly, but I catch every inch of it. “Work for you?”
“I…” She hesitates, mouth hanging open slightly. “I would appreciate that, actually. I went to a few shops in town and they quoted me an absurd amount. I’ve been waiting to figure out what to do. I can pay—”
“I’ll handle it,” I say quickly. “He owes me a favor.”
Her eyes widen further, and for a second she looks like she might actually tear up. “Thank you.”
I bite down on my lip and rub the side of my face again. This is the first time I’ve seen this side of her, and I’m not sure how to process it.
“By the way,” she starts, and I turn to her instantly, eager for whatever comes next. “My Netflix is on autopay. But it doesn’t surprise me you wouldn’t know about something like that.”
“Wow,” I say, but this time I can’t stop the grin from breaking across my face. She really had to bring it back to that, didn’t she? “I didn’t realize you were so hung up on it.”
“I don’t think you realize you’re being nice to me. I’m just trying to get us back on the same page,” she says. I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head gently.
“I’d try not to get used to me being nice,” I tell her, then force myself to step back. If I don’t, I don’t know what I’ll do.
“Just like you’re not going to get used to me being around,” she teases back. This time I turn my shoulders so my back is to her, hiding the smile I can no longer suppress.
“Exactly,” I say over my shoulder. I slide my hands deeper into my pockets and start back up the path toward the barn. Hating the way she’s slowly breaking me down.