Chapter 32 Marshall
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Marshall
Saturday
I don’t like the atmosphere at the ranch. That’s the simplest way to say it, even if it doesn’t cover the whole truth.
The ranch has always had an atmosphere. It’s always had a heartbeat.
Horses shifting in their stalls, the creak of old boards, Wyatt’s kettle whistling too early, Jesse’s voice carrying across the yard because the man doesn’t understand indoor volume even when he’s outside.
Which is why I’m at the market. Why I’m at Abilene’s stall.
“Marshall,” she says after blinking a few times. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
She glances down the aisle, checking for backup, wondering if Jesse is around, or Wyatt, or both.
They’re not.
It’s just me.
That seems to make her nerves spike.
I can see it in the way her fingers tighten around her phone, in the way she shifts her weight, bracing for impact.
I keep my hands visible. I keep my posture calm. I don’t loom. I don’t crowd.
But I also don’t waste time.
“Can we talk?”
Her brows lift slightly. “Now?”
“Yes.”
She hesitates, eyes flicking to the jars, the candles, the customers drifting past.
Then she nods once. “Okay. Yeah.”
I step closer, resting my hands lightly on the edge of her table, careful not to jostle anything. The wood is warm from the sun.
Abilene’s gaze stays on my hands. Then she looks at my face again.
“What’s wrong?” she asks quietly.
Straight to it. No small talk.
Good.
“I don’t like the atmosphere at the ranch,” I tell her, saying exactly what I mean, just what I’ve been thinking.
Her expression shifts. Confusion first, then cautious. “The atmosphere?”
“Yes.”
She swallows. “Did something happen?”
I hold her gaze.
“Not like that,” I say. “Nothing’s on fire. Animals are fine. Fences are still standing.”
She exhales, relief flickering across her face. Then it’s immediately replaced by tension again, because she knows that means it’s more.
It’s harder.
“What then?” she asks.
I take a breath. This is the part where most people soften it.
I don’t.
“I’m going to be blunt,” I say.
Her mouth curves faintly. “I figured.”
“Jesse likes you,” I tell her.
Her breath catches.
“Wyatt likes you.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“And I like you, too.”
Silence.
Abilene goes very still. Like she’s trying not to move in case this is a trap.
Her cheeks flush. Her throat works as she swallows. Her fingers loosen on the phone, then tighten again.
She doesn’t speak, so I keep going.
“We need to talk to you,” I say. “Because this isn’t going away on its own. And it’s starting to affect everything.”
Her brows knit. “I… I didn’t mean for—”
“I know,” I cut in, because it’s true. “I’m not blaming you.”
She looks down at her table, at her honey jars lined up perfectly. She wants to hide behind them.
Then she looks back at me. “What do you want me to say?”
I don’t answer right away. Because the truth is, I don’t know. Not fully.
I know what Wyatt wants. He wants permission. He wants a yes he can earn.
I know what Jesse wants. He wants her. He wants her close. He wants her part of his life so badly he can barely hold it in.
And me?
I want… clarity.
I want the truth spoken out loud so it stops poisoning the spaces between us.
I want Wyatt to stop hurting quietly. I want Jesse to stop acting scared.
And I want to stop feeling like I’m standing on the edge of everything I can’t control.
So I tell her the part I’ve been holding back.
“I think you’re going to choose Jesse,” I say.
Her eyes widen, but I continue before she can interrupt.
“Because there’s already something there. You’re drawn to him. He’s drawn to you. Everyone can see it. Including you.”
Her cheeks burn redder.
“And that’s fine,” I add, because it has to be said. “But Wyatt needs to hear it. Out loud. So he can let it go. So he can move on without wondering if he missed his chance because of a lie we all told ourselves.”
Abilene’s mouth opens. “I’ve…” She shakes her head, small and overwhelmed. “Marshall…”
“And I need to hear it too,” I admit, because honesty goes both ways. “Because I’m not interested in chasing you. I’m not built for that. But I also won’t pretend I don’t feel what I feel.”
Abilene stares at me in shock because I’ve just stepped out of my usual role, the stoic rancher, the protector, the man who doesn’t say much, and I’ve become something else.
Human.
Her voice is soft when she finally speaks. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she adds.
“I know that too.”
She closes her eyes briefly, trying to calm herself.
Then she opens them and looks at me again. “So what… what do you want from me?”
I lean in slightly.
“Dinner,” I say.
She blinks. “Dinner?”
“Yes,” I repeat. “All of us. We talk. We figure out what you want like adults instead of… whatever the hell we’re doing now.”
Her cheeks flare. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can—”
“You can,” I say, firm but not unkind. “Not because I’m ordering you. Because you’re stronger than you think you are. And because hiding won’t make this simpler.”
Abilene’s gaze flicks around the market again, suddenly aware of how public this is, even though no one is listening.
People drift past with canvas bags and coffee cups, laughter rising and falling in the warm air. Her stall is bright and inviting and safe.
This conversation is not.
She swallows.
“Dinner,” I repeat. “At the ranch.”
Her shoulders tense. I don’t miss it.
The ranch is my territory. Jesse’s. Wyatt’s. It’s a place full of history and routines and expectations she’s never been invited into in that way.
I can see the calculation happening behind her eyes, the weighing of risk, the instinct to retreat.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says slowly.
I nod once. I expected that.
“It’s not a comfortable idea,” I agree. “But it’s a fair one.”
She presses her lips together. “Marshall…”
I wait.
She exhales. “I only said no to Wyatt because I didn’t want to make things messier. And now you’re asking me to walk straight into the mess.”
“Yes,” I say simply.
Her eyes lift, a little sharp now. “You’re not exactly selling this.”
“I’m not trying to sell it,” I reply. “I’m trying to be honest.”
That stops her.
Honesty matters to her. I’ve learned that about Abilene.
She doesn’t always know what she wants, but she knows when someone’s lying to her or themselves.
She folds her arms loosely across her middle, hugging herself without realizing it. The breeze lifts a strand of her hair free from her braid, and she tucks it back with shaking fingers.
“What if I don’t have answers?”
I don’t soften my voice, but I lower it. “Then you say that.”
Her throat bobs. “And if I do?”
“Then you say that too.”
She looks at me, searching for the angle, the catch, the part where I push.
There isn’t one.
“This isn’t about pressure,” I say. “It’s about clarity. For all of us.”
“And you really think I’ll choose Jesse,” she says, quieter now.
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
A shadow flickers across her face. Guilt, maybe. Or fear. Or the simple truth of being seen.
“I care about him,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“And I care about Wyatt, too.”
“I know that as well.”
Her eyes shine. “And you.”
I inhale slowly through my nose. Let it out just as slow.
“I didn’t say this would be easy,” I say. “Just necessary.”
She looks down at her hands. At the faint smear of honey on her thumb. She rubs it away on her apron, a small, nervous motion that tells me everything I need to know about how overwhelmed she is.
She’s going to say no.
She’ll retreat. She’ll choose the safety of silence and avoidance, and I’ll have to accept it.
Then she lifts her head. “When?”
“Tonight,” I say. “If you can.”
Her eyes widen again. “Tonight?”
She glances at her stall, mentally tallying inventory, responsibilities, excuses. I can almost hear the list forming.
Finally, she nods.
“Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll come.”
I didn’t realize how tight my chest was until it loosens.
“Okay,” I echo.
I nod once and walk away, letting the market noise swallow me again.
As I move through the crowd, past stalls and music and laughter, the tension doesn’t ease. If anything, it coils tighter.
Tonight isn’t going to fix everything.
But it might finally bring the truth into the open.
And sometimes, that’s the only way forward.