39
Talia put the phone down and looked over the draft of her article.
For a long moment, she did not move.
The cursor blinked at the end of the final paragraph, patient and indifferent, as if it had not just watched her drag truth out of herself one sentence at a time.
The cottage was quiet around her. Gordon’s cottage.
His table. His kitchen. His chair pulled slightly away from where he had sat the night before.
The place still carried traces of them.
A folded towel near the sink. Leftovers in the refrigerator. Her empty coffee cup beside the laptop. The note he had written her, still lying near the edge of the counter, creased now from how many times she had picked it up and read it.
Talia turned her attention back to the screen.
She read the title again.
Then the opening.
Then a paragraph from the middle.
Then the ending.
Martin might not publish it.
That thought should have bothered her more than it did.
He might call her soft. He might tell her she had gotten too close to the subject. He might accuse her of wasting time on redemption when scandal would sell more copies, earn more clicks, and place her name higher on the internal list of reporters worth investing in.
She might not get the promotion.
That thought still hurt.
She would be lying if she pretended it did not.
She had wanted that promotion for so long that sometimes the want felt older than the reason behind it.
It represented recognition. Proof. A way to tell herself that all the lonely nights, ugly assignments, skipped holidays, and swallowed disappointments had been moving toward something.
But as she looked at the article now, she could not make herself feel ashamed of it.
She was proud.
Genuinely proud.
Not because it was the story Martin wanted. It was not. Not because it would make Gordon look perfect. It did not. She had not erased his choices, his mistakes, or the complicated road that led him to Stanley Ranch.
But she had written the truth.
A fuller truth.
A better truth.
The kind that did not carve a man into his worst moments and call the pieces journalism.
She hoped Luke and Edye would be happy with it.
No, happy was not the right word.
She hoped they would feel she had been fair.
She hoped they would see that she had not come here to destroy anyone.
More than anything, she hoped Gordon would understand what she had tried to do.
She wanted to print it.
She did not want Luke, Edye, or Gordon crowded around her laptop while reading. She wanted them to hold it. Sit with it. Mark it if they needed to. Walk away if it upset them. Paper felt more respectful somehow.
The only printer she had seen on the ranch was in Luke and Edye’s offices.
Of course it was.
Because nothing about this day could simply allow her to sit quietly and pretend she was not nervous.
Talia gathered her laptop, notebook, phone, charger, and purse. She glanced around the cottage one last time, making sure she had not left anything that would make her return obvious in the wrong way. Then she stopped herself.
Her car had been parked in Gordon’s drive all morning.
Everyone probably already knew.
She sighed, picked up her things, and left Gordon’s place.
The drive to the main house was short, but it gave her too much time to think.
Storm clouds gathered in the distance, a heavy gray mass building beyond the pastures.
The air felt charged, restless. Trucks moved across the ranch with more urgency than usual, and men walked with purpose, hauling equipment or checking trailers.
The cattle drive had been moved up.
Gordon had told her that over the phone. Everyone had to attend dinner that night so Luke could go over the new plans. That meant the article would have to wait until after the meal.
That was fine.
It gave her time to print.
It gave her time to breathe.
Maybe.
When she reached the main house, she parked and sat for a few seconds before getting out. The nerves were ridiculous. She had interviewed grieving parents and crooked officials. She had sat across from people who wanted to intimidate her and people who wanted to charm their way past the truth.
But somehow, walking into Edye Stanley’s kitchen with a completed article in her bag felt more intimidating than all of that.
Talia got out.
The kitchen was busy when she entered, warm with the sound of preparation.
Elise stood at the stove, stirring something in a large pot while keeping one eye on the oven.
Earl sat at the table snapping green beans into a bowl, though from the look on his face, he was also listening to every sound in the room.
Edye stood at the counter arranging rolls on a pan.
They all looked up when Talia came in.
For one brief second, her stomach tightened.
Then Elise smiled.
“There she is,” Elise said. “You eaten today?”
Talia almost laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t yes ma’am me if it ain’t true.”
“It’s true. I had leftovers.”
Elise nodded, satisfied enough to return to the stove. “Good.”
Earl glanced at her bag. “You working again?”
“Yes.” Talia held the strap a little tighter. “Actually, I finished the first draft of the article.”
The kitchen quieted slightly.
Not dramatically.
Enough.
Edye turned fully toward her. “You finished it?”
Talia nodded. “I’d like to print it out, if that’s all right. I thought Luke, Gordon, and you should read it before I submit anything.”
Elise’s face softened with something like approval.
Earl’s hands went still over the beans.
Edye wiped her hands on a towel. “Come with me.”
Talia followed her out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the offices.
They passed framed photographs along the wall, snapshots of ranch life captured in pieces.
Luke and Edye at a Fourth of July event.
Nia and Malik with paint on their hands near some sign Talia had not seen yet.
Cody and Sierra with twins in their arms. Eli and Rose on what looked like a small stage, guitars and microphones in front of them.
Dwight and Mari standing beside a helicopter, both smiling like they knew the same secret.
A family built in photographs.
A history Talia had almost turned into a target.
Edye opened the door to her office and stepped aside. “You can use mine.”
The office suited her. Warm but organized. A desk with files stacked neatly to one side. A comfortable chair. A shelf lined with binders, framed pictures, and a few little objects that were clearly from the children. A printer sat on a low cabinet near the wall.
“The printer has Wi-Fi,” Edye said. “You should be able to connect and print from your laptop. The password is on the router.”
“Thank you.”
Edye nodded, then paused at the doorway.
Talia set her bag on the chair and pulled out her laptop, very aware that Edye had not left.
“Does Gordon know it’s finished?” Edye asked.
Talia looked up.
“No,” she said. “Not yet.”
Edye’s expression did not change. “Why not?”
“I only finished it shortly before he called. He was working, and then he told me about the cattle drive being moved up.” Talia placed the laptop on the desk. “I’m going to tell him at dinner. I thought after we eat, Luke, Gordon, and you could read it.”
Edye held her gaze for a moment.
Talia resisted the urge to explain more.
Finally, Edye nodded. “All right.”
“I want him to read it before Martin does.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
The words were simple.
They still felt earned.
Edye stepped back. “Take whatever time you need.”
Then she left Talia alone.
Talia stood in the quiet office and let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.
She connected to the printer easily enough, though her fingers fumbled once on the settings. She selected three copies, then hesitated with the cursor hovering over the print button.
Three copies.
Luke.
Edye.
Gordon.
Just the people whose lives sat inside the story.
Talia pressed print.
The printer woke with a soft mechanical hum. The first sheet slid out slowly. Then the second. Then the third.
She stood beside it, waiting while the article came into the physical world one page at a time.
It looked different on paper.
More real.
More dangerous.
She gathered the first copy, tapped the pages into order, and set them on the desk. Then the second. Then the third. She checked the page numbers twice, clipped each copy separately, and stared down at them.
Her name sat beneath the title.
By Talia Monroe.
She ran one finger over the words.
Then she reached for her phone.
Martin’s number was easy to find. She stared at it longer than necessary before pressing call.
It rang four times.
Then his voicemail picked up.
Talia closed her eyes briefly, half relieved and half annoyed with herself for being relieved.
At the beep, she straightened.
“Martin, it’s Talia. I finished the article. The first full draft is done. I’m still at Stanley Ranch, but I’ll bring it to you soon. I want to talk through the angle before you make a decision. It’s not the scandal piece you expected, but I believe it’s the stronger story.”
She paused.
Her heart beat hard.
“I’ll call again when I’m on my way back to Houston.”
She ended the call.
For a moment, she stood still, phone in her hand, three printed copies on Edye’s desk, storm clouds building somewhere beyond the office windows.
Then she looked down at the pages again.
The stronger story.
She hoped that was true.
Because tonight, Gordon would read it.
And once he did, there would be no hiding behind interviews, dinners, questions, or kisses.
He would know exactly what she had seen when she looked at him. The hardest part of all would be telling him that she would be saying goodbye to him after he read it. She went back to her room to pack her things.