Page 45 of Wild Sanctuary

Because it can’t bother me.

She has an ex who sounds like a whole lot more. She has a life in Denver. She’s here to write an article and then she’ll be gone. Not to mention the promise.

But she’s been trying to make me smile all week. Poking at me, teasing me, watching my face like she’s waiting for something to crack. And the hell of it is, it’s been working. Not on the outside—I’ve kept my expression locked down tight—but underneath, the wall has thinned.

Hope.

Stupid, reckless hope. That damn useless emotion somehow wormed its way into my chest, despite my best efforts.

Then yesterday happened. That motherfucking phone call. His voice carried across the lobby, talking about some red dress he wanted her to wear when she got home.

Red. Dress.

Like those two words don’t have teeth. Like they didn’t rearrange my entire goddamn life six years ago when she walked into the main house and I forgot to breathe. He tossed it out like nothing. And I stood there like I’d been gut-punched, because to him, it’s a dress. To me, it’s the night everything went sideways.

And hearing him claim it—claim her—the hope didn’t just die. It curdled into jealousy. Hot and ugly and completely unjustified.

She’s not mine. But hearing him talk to her like that, confirming my suspicions about the goddamn friend thing, I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t keep my mouth shut the way I’ve trained myself to do. So when she asked me what was wrong, I threw his words in her face like it was her fault I’d let myself feel something I had no right to feel.

Real mature, Hartley.

I move to the next stall. Boone nickers at me, shoving his nose against my shoulder like he knows something’s wrong. Horses always know.

“Mind your business,” I mutter, but I scratch behind his ears anyway.

In three hours, I have to sit across from her and act like yesterday didn’t happen. Like I didn’t show my hand to the one person I’ve spent six years hiding it from.

By the time the sky starts to lighten, I’ve cleaned every stall, reorganized the feed room, and checked tack that doesn’t need checking. Rhett finds me oiling a bridle that’s already supple as butter.

“You’re up early.” He leans against the stall door, coffee in hand.

“Long night.”

He doesn’t push, just nods before taking a sip of his coffee and heading off to start his own morning rounds.

The ranch comes to life around me. West appears in the training paddock with one of the younger horses. Colt’s truck rumbles past toward the south pasture. Normal morning. Normal day.

I just have to get through the morning, answer her questions, and keep my distance.

Been doing it for six years. One more day shouldn’t be too hard.

* * *

By eight-thirty, I’ve showered, changed, and barricaded myself in my office with paperwork I have no intention of actually reading. The coffee June brought me thirty minutes ago has gone cold. I’m staring at a supply invoice without seeing a single line.

On the shelf above the desk, there’s a picture of Mom and Dad on the porch. Dad’s got his arm around her, kissing her cheek, and she’s laughing at something behind the camera. The last photo anyone took of her, near as we know.

Most days I don’t notice it. Some days it’s the only thing in the room I can see.

The knock comes at 8:57.

Early. Of course she’s early.

I take a breath. “Come in.”

The door swings open, and there she is.

Jeans, a light pink sweater, her hair pulled back in that ponytail. Notebook tucked under one arm, two cups of coffee balanced in her hands.