Chapter 6
Six
Wyatt
As I waited, the sun was already high over the rooftops, and the heat was already rising off the pavement in slow, shimmering waves. August in the city had a way of baking everything early in the day, locking the warmth in until long after sunset.
It wasn’t like the foothills, where mornings stayed cool, and the heat came at noon. Here, warmth came from every direction: concrete radiating up, humidity pressing sideways, millions of bodies moving through the same space.
She approached in slow, deliberate steps, meaning every part of her body hurt.
Up close, I could see everything the sunglasses tried to hide: shadows under her eyes, faint red at the corners, lips pressed too tight, skin pale.
She was holding herself together with sheer willpower, and that willpower was threadbare.
She climbed in without another word.
I shut the door carefully, like the noise might hurt her, then rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel.
“Have you eaten anything?” I asked.
“No.” Her voice was barely audible.
“Drink some water.” I pointed at the bottle, and she looked at me.
She reached for the unopened bottle in the console. When she unscrewed the cap, her fingers trembled, just slightly, but enough that something tight lodged itself in my chest. She took a small sip, swallowing carefully, each movement slow like she had to remind her body how to function.
There was a coffee place on the corner with a drive-through; the drive wouldn’t be so bad if we were both caffeinated. With coffee and bagels in our possession, I eased the truck back into traffic.
She stared straight ahead. Not blinking much. Not really seeing anything, either. Ten full minutes passed before she spoke. “You found him,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” My grip tightened on the wheel.
“What was it like?” Her question was a small reach for something she could hold on to.
“He was in his chair,” I said softly. “It looked like he’d just nodded off. It was peaceful.”
A soft, broken sound escaped her. She pressed a hand over her mouth and nodded, once, hard, like she had to physically keep the reaction from spilling out.
“He didn’t call me,” she whispered.
“He never wanted to bother people.”
She laughed, a hollow sound, sharp and brittle. “He raised me when nobody else wanted me. There was no way he could’ve bothered me once.” Her voice cracked. She stared out the windshield, jaw tight, her breath unsteady.
“I should’ve called more,” she said, voice fraying. “I should’ve checked on him. I should’ve…”
I reached across the centre console and put my hand on hers. “People don’t get to choose the time they go,” I said. “And Ray wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself.”
She flinched at his name. Then she leaned her head back slowly, eyes hidden behind her sunglasses, her breath shaky.
Her phone buzzed, too loud in the quiet cab. She stiffened immediately. I glanced sideways.
“Do you need to answer that?” I asked.
“No.”
“You can turn it off. Nobody needs access to you,” I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly feeling extra protective of this woman, but here we were. She hesitated. Then shut the ringer off. Her hands trembled again.
“You’re safe,” I said quietly, not pushing. “Whoever it is can wait.”
She didn’t look relieved. She looked unsure how to accept a stranger telling her she was safe.
Twenty minutes later, the city was fully behind us. High-rises fell behind us like dominoes, replaced by rows of strip malls, then scattered houses, then open fields. The world spread wide and flat, the sky opening above us in a way the city never allowed.
Tessa stared out the window, eyes hidden behind the glasses, jaw tense, lips parted slightly as if trying to remember how to breathe.
“How long’s it been since you’ve been home?” I asked quietly.
She kept looking out the window. “Too long apparently.” Silence hung in the air between us, but I didn’t push for more.
“Did you call anyone? His friends? Anyone who needed to know?”
“I called the authorities,” I said. “Everything else waits for next of kin.”
She swallowed. “Right. That’s me.” She said it like it was a weight dropping onto her chest. Responsibility settling in.
“But don’t forget River’s Edge is a small town, and news travels fast. So I’m sure most of the town knows by now.” I hated reminding her how nosy the place was, but hoped it would make it a little easier for her.
Her phone buzzed again. She jumped at the sound, actually jumped in her seat.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she lied.
The number flashed again, a number she absolutely recognized. The same damn one from last time it rang. I could tell from her reaction that it was persistent and unwelcome. She slapped her hand over her mouth, and my stomach dropped.
“You want me to answer it?” I asked hastily.
She shook her head, jaw tightening.
“Alright,” I said softly. “Suit yourself.”
She turned the phone face down. But tension stayed carved into her posture.
The prairie unfurled around us in long, sweeping stretches. Wheat fields shimmering pale gold under the rising sun. Cattle scattered across distant pastures like dark brush strokes. A hawk gliding overhead, shadow rippling across the earth.
“There’s something you should know about the ranch.”
Her head snapped toward me. “What is it?” she asked, voice suddenly taut. Scared. She had every right to be scared. I inhaled. I opened my mouth, and then I looked at her.
Her glasses hid her eyes, but everything else was exposed: her stiff posture, white-knuckled grip on her sleeve, the tremor in her breathing.
Her skin pale beneath the flush of earlier crying.
Her shoulders rose too fast with each breath.
She was already drowning under the weight of the news of Ray.
Not today.
“Not now,” I said.
She blinked hard. “Why not?”
“It’s not important until we get there.” Her chin trembled. She didn’t seem to know how to take those words. Gratitude flickered across her face, then confusion, then something else.
The road cut a straight line through the land stretched out endlessly ahead, a dark ribbon in a sea of gold and green.
She tugged at the sleeve of her sweater, voice barely audible. “I’m not ready.”
“You don’t need to be.”
She didn’t reply. But her shoulders eased just slightly, the first sign of release since she walked out of her building.
Fifteen minutes later, her body gave up. Her head tilted, drooped. She jerked awake once, fighting it. Then she slumped softly toward the window, fatigue finally overpowering the adrenaline and grief. Her breathing deepened. She relaxed, losing the tension etched into her bones.
I slowed the truck without thinking, letting the road smooth beneath us. The engine’s hum became steady white noise, something gentle. She murmured something unintelligible, shifting just enough that a strand of hair fell across her cheek. I resisted the impulse to reach out and move it.
Ray talked about her, more than he meant to, I was sure. He worried about her and was angry she left sometimes, but he loved her. And now he’d left her with a mess she didn’t deserve and a ranch too big for one person to carry alone.
And I was the one driving her straight toward it.
The foothills grew clearer on the horizon, soft shapes rising out of the prairie like a promise and a warning. Home for me. Something else entirely for her.
The land waited, and the truth wasn’t urgent. The problems Ray left would be there in an hour or a few days.
I steadied my grip on the wheel and kept driving.
Beside me, Tessa Callahan slept, small, fragile, strong, exhausted, stubborn.
She had no idea what she was returning to. No idea what was coming.
But when she woke, I’d be there. And when I hit her with the truth, I’d be the one holding the ground steady beneath her feet.
Even if she hated me for it.