Roscoe climbed the step beside her and settled against her hip.She let him stay.Her fingers slipped into his fur, tracing the texture as his breathing worked its way into her own, drawing it into a controlled rhythm.
She kept her gaze forward.The barn stood still.Nothing moved in the doorway.The fields stretched beyond it, wide and ordinary.
The realization settled in without warning.It had nothing to do with him alone.It was not the fact of him or the way her body responded.It was how quickly everything she relied on gave way.
Years spent shaping herself into something strong enough to dominate every room had broken apart in seconds.This left her exposed in a way she did not recognize.
She pressed her tongue against her teeth, testing that awareness.It did not bruise under the pressure.Roscoe’s breathing deepened, and one of his paws twitched against her boot.She dragged her thumb along the faded burn scar inside her forearm, grounding herself in something she understood.
Whatever had shifted inside her had not broken clean.It left space behind, though she did not know for what.Roscoe let out a soft huff and pressed closer.The barn remained empty.She pushed to her feet.
Inside, the kitchen waited in silence.The chill from the night still lingered in the tile.Kyla shut the door with force and moved straight into her routine.Her hands took over where her thoughts stalled.
She crossed the worn linoleum, her bare arms tightening against the cooler air.The old stove stood in the corner, offering no comfort but demanding none.
She opened cabinets in quick succession.Mugs knocked against one another, and tins shifted with a dull clatter as she searched.Coffee was the only thing that mattered.She set beans into the grinder, filled the kettle, and placed it on the burner.Each movement came out sharper than intended.
Her gaze moved across the space.The knife block leaned against the backsplash, and recipe cards curled at the edges.Her hands did not stop, yet the image returned.She saw water moving along his hip and light across his shoulder.Her breath pushed out through her teeth.
“No,” she said under her breath.
She scooped grounds into the carafe, each motion steady despite the distraction.
“I’m not doing this.”
Her voice carried further this time.She kept moving.Routine had always been enough.She could build a day out of tasks and stack responsibility until there was no space left.Still, the image stayed.The kettle began to rattle as heat built beneath it.Her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, and the same metallic trace lingered there.
She braced both hands against the butcher block, fingers spread against the surface as she forced her breathing to stay even.Air in.Air out.Slow and controlled.Her gaze stayed fixed on the counter.
Whatever this place demanded from her, she would not let it come down to that.She would not let it be about him or a moment she could not control.
She could deny it.She could work past it until it no longer had a place in her thoughts.If she had to, she would tell herself a different story until it became her truth.The taste in her mouth did not fade.It stayed, refusing to let her forget.
Chapter 2
Titus cut through cloverand cheatgrass, his boots darkening where sweat had already soaked through his socks.Roscoe moved ahead of him at an easy lope, gray-flecked fur bright under the high summer sun.
