My hands went still at my sides.
Something long practiced clicked into place—a series of locks sliding home, one after the next, shutting down systems I'd spent months learning to leave open. The softness Brody had coaxed out of me, the laughter, the warmth I'd let myself feel at Colleen's table, all of it sealed behind a door so heavy I could feel the weight of it settle into my bones.
I couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Just stood there at the edge of the paddock, thirty yards away, and watched my past walk toward my present.
The screen door of the main house opened.
Mr. Calloway stepped onto the porch. I'd only seen the man a handful of times in the months I'd been on this ranch. He stayed inside, mostly, coming out only to bark orders or make everyone within earshot miserable. He was tall, broader than Rhett but softer in the middle, with the look of a man who'd once been impressive and hadn't made peace with the erosion.
He came down the steps and shook my daddy's hand.
"Denny. Nice to meet ya." His voice carried across the yard, clear as a bell. "Glad you could make it out."
"Appreciate the call," Daddy said, pumping his hand. "Been a long time comin'. Didn't know my girl had gone and ended up here of all places."
Appreciate the call.
Mr. Calloway had called him. Mr. Calloway—who I'd never spoken to, never crossed, never given a single reason to think twice about me—had picked up a phone, tracked down my daddy, and handed him my location like I was a stray cow that had wandered onto someone else's property.
Why?
I stood perfectly still. The sun was hot on the back of my neck. A horsefly droned past my ear. In the paddock behind me, one of the horses snorted and shifted its weight. Normal sounds. Normal day. The world carrying on like it didn't know what was happening to my insides.
They were curdling, for the record.
My daddy hadn't seen me yet. He was still talking to Mr. Calloway, hat in hand now, gesturing toward the truck where Wyatt leaned against the hood with his arms crossed, scanning the property with the casual inventory of a man casing a place.
Then Wyatt's eyes found me.
His smile didn't change. That was the thing about Wyatt Cole—his smile never changed. It looked the same when he was charming a crowd as it did when he was cornering a fifteen-year-old girl in a trailer. A smile designed to make you doubt your own instincts.
He didn't wave. Didn't call out. Just held my gaze across the distance with that steady, patient look that saidI see you. I found you.
My stomach turned to ice.
The barn door opened behind me. Rhett walked out coiling a lead rope. He stopped when he clocked the scene—the unfamiliar truck, his father on the porch steps, two strangers in the yard.
His eyes tracked left. Found me.
I wasn't looking at him, but I felt it.
"Calvin." Low. Even. Not a question.
I shook my head.
He was quiet for a beat. Then he moved—not in front of me, beside me. Close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed mine.
How he justknew, I hadn't the faintest.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him slip his phone from his back pocket. His thumb moved across the screen a few times. He held it at his side, screen down.
Brody's name was there.
My daddy turned our way.
