SEVENTEEN.
Tobias
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I’m a jerk.
I walk into the barn and stop short just inside the doorway.
A girl I’ve never seen before is leaning casually against the hutch, scrolling on her phone with complete indifference to everything around her.
She’s shorter than Ever, pale skin, dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, wearing slim denim jeans and a cropped top that’s clearly not meant for barn work or riding.
She lets out a sudden laugh at whatever’s on her screen, the sound bright and unbothered, and there’s no one else in sight.
“Excuse me,” I say, keeping my voice even.
She spins around fast, nearly dropping her phone. Her mouth falls open when her eyes land on me. Here we go.
“Oh. My God,” she breathes, staring like she’s just seen a celebrity. “You have to be Tobias.”
“Who are you?” I ask, already feeling tension coil in my shoulders.
“Marissa,” she says simply, as though the single name should explain everything. “I’m Ever’s friend. I’m staying here for the week.”
“For the week?” The words come out sharp. I clench my hands at my sides, fighting the groan that wants to escape, and brush past her without another word. I head straight through the barn and out the far door.
Outside, I scan every direction, searching for the woman who seems determined to drive me out of my mind.
I spot her near the fence line, pacing back and forth with her phone pressed to her ear.
She looks tense, focused, and when her eyes flick toward me for half a second, she turns her shoulder so her back is to me.
Something’s wrong. Whatever the call is about, it’s serious.
I turn back toward the barn. Marissa is still there tapping away on her phone again. I cross my arms and stop a few feet away, letting my boots scuff the concrete loud enough that she should notice. She does. She turns, locks her screen, and slides the phone into her back pocket.
“Has she been on the phone a while?” I ask.
“A few minutes,” she confirms, then looks me over slowly, head to toe, with zero shame. She’s bold—I’ll give her that. “I take it you are, in fact, Tobias.”
“I am,” I say flatly.
She nods, like she’s just approved of something. “And I take it you’re Ever’s friend from Chicago.”
“We’re more like family at this point,” she corrects, and the word lands heavier than I expect. Family. Ever doesn’t have much blood family left. It makes sense she would’ve built her own in the city. And yet she still chose to come here, to drop everything and step into this quiet, isolated life.
“Does she talk to you about this place?” I ask.
“All the time,” Marissa says, and my interest sharpens. I wonder how much she’s willing to reveal. “She definitely talks about you a lot.”
“Is that right?” I keep my tone smooth, casual.
She nods, but there’s a glint in her eyes that tells me I’m not going to like what comes next. “She calls you Mr. Grump. Or Mr. Macho Man.”
I cross my arms tighter across my chest, mostly out of reflex. Her gaze drops immediately to the movement, lingering on my forearms.
“She also says this is your signature stance,” she adds, humor dancing in her voice.
“Everyone crosses their arms,” I mutter.
“Apparently not as much as you,” she counters. “But I can see why she doesn’t mind.”
Her eyes trail down again. I shake my head, trying to keep the irritation from showing. How long is this damn phone call going to take?
“She seems to like it here,” Marissa continues, her tone softening now. She looks past me toward the far end of the barn. “But she’s got a lot on her plate. All of this came out of nowhere—she dropped everything so fast to come here. I honestly didn’t think she’d stay as long as she has.”
“It’s not for everyone,” I tell her, but hearing this from her friend hits like a punch to the gut.
Ever didn’t just leave a job or an apartment.
She left an entire life—friends, routines, people who call her family.
And now she’s here, alone in a big empty house on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, carrying the weight of grief and responsibility she never asked for.
I can’t imagine what that kind of isolation feels like, even if she’s starting to look at this place like it might be hers.
A soft voice rings out behind me, “Hey.” I glance over my shoulder to find Ever walking up.
“Everything good?” I ask. She nods, but the motion feels automatic, like she’s saying what she thinks I want to hear rather than what’s true. I’m not convinced.
I pivot fully to face her, squaring my shoulders with hers so my body blocks Marissa from her line of sight. Right now, all she has to look at is me. And up close, the defeat written across her face is impossible to miss.
“What happened?” The question slips out gently, but her shoulders sag anyway, as if the words themselves are too heavy to carry.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, deflecting with that familiar wall she throws up when she doesn’t want to let anyone in.
Part of me wants to push, to peel back whatever’s bothering her until she lets it out, but the guarded set of her jaw tells me she’s not ready.
Pushing now would only make her retreat further.
I step aside so she can see Marissa again, giving her space, but my mind is already turning. If she won’t talk about what’s wrong, the least I can do is pull her out of this funk long enough to enjoy the day with her friend. And I know exactly how to shift her focus.
“Marissa says you talk about me a lot,” I say, letting my voice drop into something smooth and teasing.
Her eyes snap wide, shock flashing across her face. Her mouth parts in disbelief as she whips her head toward her friend.
“Marissa,” she says, low and stern.
“What? You do!” Marissa shoots back.
Ever turns that same incredulous look on me. I just shrug and step back, satisfied I’ve already pulled her attention away from whatever was darkening her mood.
“She also said you call me Mr. Macho Man,” I add, letting a quiet chuckle slip out.
Now both women are staring at me like they’re debating whether to slap me or just walk away. “What else did you tell him?” Ever demands, her voice rising as she rounds on her friend.
Marissa looks momentarily panicked. “I didn’t say anything!”
Ever groans, shooting me a glare that could cut glass. I cross my arms and lean casually against the nearest post, perfectly content to watch the chaos I’ve stirred up.
“Ugh, don’t tell me,” Ever mutters, rolling her eyes as she gives Marissa a pointed side-eye. “You told him about the arms-crossed thing?”
“She did,” I confirm, and I can’t hold back the laugh this time as Ever buries her face in her hands. A flush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks pink. It’s unfairly cute.
“I didn’t think he was that big of a jerk and would tell you all this!” Marissa exclaims, throwing her hands up. She turns to me, eyes narrowed. “I swear, if you weren’t so handsome, I’d slap you right now.”
I tilt my head, grin widening. “Is that what Ever says about me too?”
“Ugh!” Ever lets out an exasperated sound and walks away, hands flung up in surrender.
Marissa’s mouth drops, eyes huge with disbelief. “You,” she starts, jabbing a finger toward me.
I squeeze my arms tighter across my chest, letting my biceps flex just enough to draw her gaze downward. She notices immediately—her eyes flick over my frame before she catches herself.
“You are trouble,” she says, half-laughing, half-accusing.
“But handsome,” I correct, licking my lips as I glance past her.
Ever is already focused on saddling June, pointedly ignoring us both now. Her movements are brisk, practiced, but I can still see the lingering tension in the set of her shoulders.
“I get it, Ever,” Marissa says, softer this time, almost to herself. “I really get it now.”
“This is going to be a fun week,” I say lightly. Ever shakes her head without looking up, but there’s the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth—like she’s fighting a smile despite herself.
“Can I help get Tiago ready?” I ask, already moving toward the saddle hanging on the wall.
“Yes, you absolutely can,” Marissa says brightly as I haul the saddle down from the wall.
Marissa’s eyes are on me the entire time as I carry it over to Tiago.
It’s unnerving in a way I’m not used to, being studied so openly, but I don’t call her out on it.
Marissa doesn’t seem to have much of a filter, and that makes her the easier one to talk to right now.
Ever’s focused on buckling June’s saddle, refusing to meet my gaze even when I glance her way.
If I want to keep the mood light, Marissa’s my best bet.
“You’re from Chicago?” I ask, swinging the saddle onto Tiago’s back. I reach under his belly to pull it snug, then adjust the flaps on either side, smoothing them down.
“Born and raised,” she answers. “You ever been?”
“No,” I admit, slipping the bridle over Tiago’s head, guiding the bit gently between his teeth before buckling the straps. “I’ve only been out of Tennessee a handful of times. Never really had a reason to leave except for deliveries.”
“Deliveries?”
“We sell cattle, horses, wool—whatever we’ve got that someone’s willing to buy. Buyers sometimes come from Kentucky or Arkansas, places like that,” I explain, running my hand down Tiago’s neck to settle him. “Close enough to drive.”
“You’ve never been on an airplane?” There’s genuine curiosity in her voice, no judgment.
“Nope.” I give a small shrug. “I prefer horses.”
“They kinda intimidate me.” I glance over at her then, really looking. She’s standing a little farther back than necessary, arms crossed tight like she’s bracing herself.
“You’ve never been on one?” She shakes her head.
I wave her over, keeping a steady hand on Tiago’s nose so he stays calm. She hesitates, feet rooted, eyes flicking between me and the horse like she’s calculating the odds of being trampled. I unclip a lead rope from the post, snap it onto the ring under his throat latch, and hold it out to her.
“This is Tiago. Hold this for me real quick.”