"I told you. I'm Paige." She leans into my arm. Settles her weight against me. "And I'm his. So whatever you've got to say about his mama and his brother and his money, you can say it in front of me."
Delaney's eyes go from Paige's hat down to her boots and back. Her mouth thins.
"You're joking."
"About what part?"
"He doesn't do this." The laugh that comes out of Delaney is genuine, which makes it worse. "Honey, I hate to be the one, but Aiden doesn't keep people. Twelve years and he hasn't picked up a phone once."
"Twelve years he's never been asked a question worth answering." Paige doesn't miss a beat. "That's a different thing."
I turn my head.
She's not looking at me. She's looking straight at Delaney, chin level, braid over her shoulder, bandage still on that forearm, holding the entire line by herself while I stand here mute as a stump.
Something in my chest breaks loose from wherever I nailed it down and starts moving.
"Aiden." Delaney's voice gets an edge. "Are you going to stand there and let her speak for you?"
"He's not letting me do anything," Paige says. "I'm doing it."
"This is family business."
"Then he'll handle it as family. In his time. On his land. When he's had a night to sit with it." Paige's grip tightens on my hand. "Not in a gravel lot at seven thirty in the morning because you drove out here on somebody else's schedule."
Color comes up Delaney's throat.
"Four months, they said. In March."
"I heard you the first time," Paige says. "So did he. He heard every word. Including the ones about the bills."
The color deepens.
And then my voice comes back. Low. Steady. Nothing like what's happening inside.
"Go back to town," I tell Delaney. "Get a room. I'll call when I've got something to say."
"Aiden."
"That's what you're getting."
She looks at me. Looks at Paige. Something recalculates behind her eyes, and she gives a smile that's all teeth.
"Sure," she says. "You call me."
The rental turns too fast and throws gravel on the way out.
We stand there.
Dust settles. Behind the barn, a horse blows its nose. Kidd's truck door slams down by the bunkhouse. The ranch keeps being a ranch.
Paige doesn't let go of my hand.
"Breathe," she says.
"Paige."
"Later." Her hands tighten on my arm. "You've got a trailer to drop and I've got a ticket to write. Then you go up the mountain. And I'll be there around six with something hot, and you can throw me out then if you want."
