"You look good," he said. Soft. Almost tender. Like we were picking up right where we left off, and the sixteen years in between were just a pause he'd been generous enough to allow.
Rhett took one step forward.
Just one.
But his hand closed around Wyatt's forearm, grip firm and deliberate
"Step. Back." Rhett's voice was low and a little menacing, leaving absolutely no room for interpretation.
Wyatt's eyes cut to the hand on his arm. Then up to Rhett's face. He measured him—height, weight, the set of his shoulders, the kind of still that came before a storm. Something flickered behind that easy smile. Not fear. Calculation. The quick arithmetic of a man deciding whether this particular fight was worth having in this particular moment.
It wasn't. Not right now, at least.
Wyatt pulled his arm free and took one step back—slow, unhurried, like it was his choice. The smile never wavered.
"Didn't mean anything by it." He said it to Rhett, but his eyes slid back to me. "Just missed her is all."
"Oh, I'm sure you did, boy." Denny laughed and stepped closer, hands on his hips. "Well, I don't know 'bout you boys, but I could use a cold beer. That drive was somethin'."
"Come on in," Mr. Calloway said, casually hangin' back and not pickin' up on a bit of the tension. "Got plenty."
He said it to Denny. He said it to Wyatt. He didn't say it to Rhett, and he didn't say it to me.
Denny grinned and slapped a hand against his thigh. "Now we're talkin'. Calvin, you want?—"
"She's working," Rhett said.
Not rude. Not aggressive. Just a door, closed.
Denny shrugged—easy, unbothered, already moving toward the porch. "Suit yourself, kiddo. We'll be around awhile."
Wyatt followed Denny toward the house but paused at the bottom of the porch steps. He looked back over his shoulder—one last look, slow and deliberate, his eyes dropping from my face to my throat to my chest before climbing back up. Taking his time with it. Making sure I knew he was doing it. Making sure I felt his hands even though he wasn't touching me.
Then he turned and followed Denny inside.
The screen door shut.
The yard went quiet.
Rhett hadn't moved. His phone was still in his hand at his side. He still hadn't ended the call.
I stared at the house. At the closed door. At the porch where Mr. Calloway had stood and shaken my daddy's hand and saidglad you could make it outlike he'd done something neighborly.
"Calvin."
I didn't look at him.
"I'm fine."
He didn't answer that. He knew better.
After a long beat he said, "Barn," and started walking.
I followed.
We worked in silence.
Rhett mucked stalls. I sorted tack. Neither of us spoke. The only sounds were the scrape of the pitchfork, the clink of buckles, the horses shifting in their stalls—soft nickers and the occasional stomp of a hoof against packed earth.
