He drifts closer, toe nudging a coil of rope. “You know, Boone asked me this morning if you were planning on consuming anything besides caffeine.”
“I ate,” I lie.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Nash snorts. “That tracks.”
I grab a pair of gloves off the hook and tug them on a little harder than necessary. “What do you want, Nash?”
He considers that for a beat, his expression going uncharacteristically neutral. “Honestly? To make sure you’re not about to do something real dumb.”
That gets my attention. I finally glance at him. “Like what?”
“Like pretending everything’s normal when it very clearly is not.” He shrugs. “You’re not great at that, by the way. You get quieter. Start picking fights with inanimate objects. Classic tell.”
I shake my head and head for the tack room, hoping movement will shut him up. It doesn’t.
“Look,” he says, following, “I’m not trying to be Boone here. I know he already did the heartfelt brother talk thing. I’m just saying, whatever’s got you wound this tight? It’s leaking.”
“I’ve got it handled.”
“Dallas.” He stops walking. I don’t, but his tone shifts just enough that I feel it anyway. “You don’t.”
I pause with my hand on the doorframe, breath fogging the air.
“I’m fine,” I say again, because stubborn is easier than honest.
Nash exhales slowly. “Okay. Then answer me this. Are you mad, or are you scared?”
I turn back to him, jaw tight. “You always this annoying?”
“Only when I care,” he says lightly, then adds, quieter, “And when it involves kids.”
That does it.
My shoulders tense. “This isn’t about Lila.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Didn’t say it was.”
I stare at him for a long second, then look away. Snow blows in through the open barn door, cold and sharp. My chest feels too full.
Nash doesn’t push. He never does when it actually matters. Instead, he shifts his weight and changes tactics.
“You don’t owe me details,” he says. “Or explanations. Hell, you don’t owe anybody anything. But if you need cover today, space to think, I can run point on the afternoon stuff.”
I scoff quietly. “I don’t need space.”
“Everyone needs space sometimes,” he replies. “Doesn’t mean you’re weak. Just means you’re human. Shocking, I know.”
I drag a hand over my face. “I’m fine.”
Nash nods once, accepting the lie for what it is. “Alright. Offer stands. But… that’s the exact tone people use when something is not fine.”
I shove past him with a bundle of tools. “Go be useful.”
“I’m always useful.”
