26
Talia sat on the side of her bunk, tying her shoes with fingers that did not seem fully interested in cooperating.
She had washed her face, brushed her teeth, dragged a comb through her curls, and changed into clean clothes. She looked less like a woman who had slept in her car by a pond and more like a woman who had made a questionable decision, survived it, and was now preparing to walk into the consequences.
A slight improvement.
Not a victory.
She pulled the knot tight on her second shoe and exhaled.
She needed to apologize.
To Edye. To Elise. To Luke, though that one might require body armor. To Lisa, Cassi, and Ruby for making them worry. Maybe to Earl for making him check cameras. Maybe to the entire ranch, since apparently this place operated like one large, nosy organism with breakfast privileges.
A knock sounded at the bunkhouse door.
Talia went still.
The knock was heavy.
Definitely not Lisa or Ruby. Not Cassi either. Not Edye’s light, polite tap.
A man.
Her stomach dropped.
For one miserable second, she imagined Luke Stanley standing on the other side of that door, face stern, voice even, telling her that she had caused enough trouble and needed to leave.
She swallowed.
Maybe she deserved that.
“Come in,” she called, trying to keep her voice steady.
The door opened.
Talia’s chest loosened.
It was not Luke.
It was Gordon.
He stood in the doorway with Malik beside him, and Malik had Gordon’s cowboy hat in both hands, waving it around like a flag he had conquered in battle.
“Good morning, Miss Talia!” Malik said brightly.
Talia smiled before she could stop herself. “Good morning, Malik.”
“I got Gordon’s hat.”
“I see that.”
“He said I could wear it, but then he took it back, but then I took it again.”
Gordon looked down at him. “That is not exactly how that happened.”
Malik nodded with great confidence. “It mostly is.”
Talia’s smile widened.
Then she looked at Gordon.
He was watching her with that quiet focus that made every defense in her want to straighten up and behave. He looked calm enough, but there was still something in his eyes from earlier. Worry maybe. Relief too. And guilt.
The combination tugged at her in places she was trying to ignore.
“Can we come in?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes.”
Gordon stepped inside, and Malik came with him, immediately putting the hat on his own head. It slid low over his forehead, covering one eye. He pushed it back with both hands and grinned.
“I’m a cowboy.”
“You are,” Talia said.
Gordon closed the door behind them but stayed near it. “Edye said you can move into one of the guest suites if you want.”
Talia blinked.
“What?”
“The lavender suite,” Gordon said. “For privacy. So you have somewhere quiet to work.”
Her first instinct was suspicion.
It came so fast she almost hated herself for it.
A suite. By the main house. Close to Luke and Edye. Close to everyone. A nicer place, yes, but also one where every movement might be noticed. Every light left on. Every hour she worked. Every meal she skipped.
Then she looked at Gordon and saw no angle there.
Just concern.
And maybe understanding.
She nodded slowly. “That’s kind of them.”
Gordon studied her. “You don’t have to take it.”
“I know.”
“But you can.”
“I know that too.”
He glanced at the bunk beside her. “Can I sit?”
She nodded again.
Gordon crossed the room and sat on the edge of the opposite bunk, leaving space between them. Malik did not sit. Malik had discovered that the narrow walkway between the bunks made an excellent rodeo arena.
He held Gordon’s hat on his head with one hand and swung the other in the air.
“Yah!” Malik shouted, trotting in a small circle. “Go, horsey!”
Talia laughed softly.
Gordon looked at the boy with such easy affection that something inside her shifted.
It hit her all at once how natural he looked with Malik.
Not awkward. Not performative. Not like a man trying to impress someone by being good with a child. Gordon watched him with patience, amusement, and a softness he did not always let the adults see.
Malik stumbled slightly when the hat slid over both eyes.
Gordon leaned forward. “Careful.”
“I can see,” Malik insisted.
“No, you can’t.”
“I can see the floor.”
“That is not enough.”
Malik pushed the brim up and resumed his cowboy performance at a slower, more careful pace.
Talia kept her eyes on him.
Malik was safe.
Watching Malik was safer than looking at Gordon.
Because Gordon was not safe.
Not for her peace. Not for her career. Not for the neat little lines she had tried to draw between subject and reporter, wanting and wisdom, loneliness and love.
She was attracted to him. There was no point in pretending otherwise now. She liked what she knew of him too, which was worse. Attraction could be dismissed as chemistry. Liking had roots. Liking asked questions. Liking wanted room.
But she did not want to lead him on.
She did not want to give him false hope that they were headed toward forever.
She had a life in Houston. A job to fight for.
A story to finish. A future she had spent years clawing toward, even when she no longer knew if she wanted it for herself or for the approval of people who were no longer alive.
Gordon was twenty-two.
He had just found his place.
She could not become another uncertainty in his life.
She could not.
Gordon looked at her.
Talia felt it before she turned.
When she finally did, his gaze was already on her face. Not her body. Not her mouth, though she remembered too clearly how he had kissed her. He was taking in her eyes, the soft curves of her face, the places where exhaustion and fear had left their fingerprints.
“The first time I saw you,” he said quietly, “you were sitting in your car.”
Her breath caught. “After my interview.”
He nodded. “Before I knew who you were. Before Luke found out about the reporter thing. You were sitting there, and you looked like something hurt.”
Talia swallowed.
She remembered that day.
She had sat in her car outside the ranch after the interview, shaken by how much she had underestimated the place, by how kind Eli had been, by how far she had already stepped into a lie that felt worse the longer it lived.
“I couldn’t forget your face,” Gordon said. “But it wasn’t just that.”
She looked down at her hands.
“What was it?”
“Your eyes.”
The words were soft.
Too soft.
She looked back at him.
Gordon leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I couldn’t forget what I saw in them.”
Talia tried to make herself smile. “And what did you see?”
“Me.”
That stopped her.
He reached across the space between them and took her hands.
She should have pulled back.
She did not.
His hands were warm and rough, his thumbs resting gently against her skin.
“Not the physical me,” he said. “Not like we had the same life. But I saw something I knew. You wanted to belong somewhere, but you didn’t know where. You felt adrift.”
Talia’s throat tightened.
“I know that feeling,” Gordon said. “I know what it is to stand outside rooms and wonder if you’re supposed to go in. I know what it is to want people to want you and still expect them not to.”
She tried to look away.
His fingers tightened slightly, not trapping her, just asking her to stay.
“I wanted to be your anchor,” he said.
The words broke through something.
Talia stared at him.
No one had ever said anything like that to her.
No one had ever looked at her and seen so much without her handing them the map first.
Gordon continued, voice low and steady. “After Luke found out you were a reporter, I should’ve cared about that first. I should’ve cared that you lied. That you came here for a story. That everybody had reason not to trust you.”
“You should have,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Gordon.”
“But what I cared about most was seeing you again.”
Her lips parted.
“I kept thinking, if I did the interview, if I set the terms, if I kept control of my own story, then maybe I’d have a reason to be near you. Maybe I could find a way to be part of your life, even if it was only for a little while.”
Talia bit her lip.
Hard.
She did not want to show him what she was feeling. She did not want him to see how close those words came to places in her she had spent years boarding up.
She had never felt wanted.
Not like this.
Not even by her family.
Her parents had loved causes, dangers, headlines, and faraway places. Her grandmother had kept her safe but never made her feel chosen. Serena drifted in and out like affection was a postcard sent from another country.
They had not seen her.
Not really.
But Gordon had.
This young man, with his old pain and careful hands and quiet heart, had seen her sitting in a car and recognized the loneliness she thought she had hidden well enough to survive.
Now he was making sure she knew it.
Talia lifted one hand from his and touched his face.
His jaw was warm beneath her palm. He went still, watching her like even breathing too hard might scare the moment away.
“I do like you,” she said softly. “But…”
“But nothing.”
She blinked.
Gordon covered her hand with his. “You like me, and I like you. That’s enough for now.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“No. But it doesn’t have to be solved today.”
She took a deep breath. Her chest felt too tight. Her thoughts were too loud. Malik was still moving around the room in Gordon’s hat, but the edges of the world had narrowed until all she could see was Gordon’s face and the steady patience in his eyes.
“Whatever happens between us,” she said, forcing the words out, “when my article is finished, I’m going home to Houston.”
Gordon absorbed that.
She watched it happen.
The truth entered his eyes first, then settled into his body. His hand did not leave hers. His expression did not fall apart. He did not argue. He did not tell her she would change her mind or accuse her of running or try to turn her warning into a promise she had not made.
He nodded.
“All right.”
The answer almost hurt more than if he had fought.
“Talia,” he said, “how long will it take you to pack your things?”
She stared at him for a second, still caught in the moment, then realized he meant moving to the suite.
“Not long,” she said. “I don’t have much.”
A giggle broke the air.
Both of them turned.
Malik had pulled the hat low again and was walking with exaggerated cowboy swagger, bumping lightly into the end of one bunk before spinning around and declaring, “Whoa, horse!”
The spell loosened.
Gordon stood and crossed the room.
Malik squealed as Gordon caught him around the middle and tickled him.
“You’re running into furniture, cowboy.”
“I’m not running. I’m riding!”
“You’re causing trouble.”
“No trouble!”
Gordon laughed and lifted him easily into his arms. Malik kept the hat clutched to his head, giggling as Gordon settled him on one hip.
“Let me take little man back to his momma,” Gordon said, looking at Talia. “Then I’ll help you move your things.”
Talia stood slowly.
Her legs felt unsteady, and it had nothing to do with sleeping in a car.
“Okay.”
Gordon carried Malik toward the door.
Malik waved one hand at her. “Bye, Miss Talia. I’m still a cowboy.”
“The best cowboy,” she said.
Gordon paused in the doorway, his eyes meeting hers one more time.
There was warmth there.
Hope too.
But he did not push.
Then he left.
The door closed behind him, and the bunkhouse went quiet.
Talia stood beside her bed and took a deep, shaky breath.
She was not sure admitting her attraction to Gordon was wise.
No, that was too mild.
She was almost certain it was unwise.
But it was too late now.
He knew it.
She knew it.
And she had no idea what was going to happen going forward.