Page 16 of Broken Cedar

I realize why it’s taken her eight years to sort through all this stuff. She didn’t want to do it alone, and she couldn’t ask Colt to sort through his own father’s things. So she waited. She waited for me. There’s a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach when this realization hits.

Colt pushes back from the table first. He stacks his plate on top of Mom’s without being asked, and carries them to the sink. “Bridle’s not going to finish itself,” he says to no one in particular. The screen door whines shut behind him.

Mom hands me a dish towel, and I help her with the dishes. When the last one is put away, she unties her apron and hangs it on the hook by the back door, the same hook it’s hung on for as long as I can remember. “I think the day’s caught up with me,” she says, and kisses me once on the cheek before heading upstairs.

I stand there, not sure what to do. Through the kitchen window, the barn light is on. I dry my hands on the dish towel and set it on the counter. I pick up my phone and see that there are a dozen new emails from work, most of them from my assistant. I quickly scan through them, replying to the urgent ones. Then I set my phone down on the counter. Through the window, a thin bar of light glows under the barn door. I make a split-second decision, and head outside.

I find Colt bent over a bridle, his fingers working the leather with the same careful attention he gives everything. He looks up when he hears me.

I lean against the doorframe, suddenly aware of my own breathing, the way it catches when he stands and sets the bridle aside. His shirt is untucked, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. We both stare at one another, unsure of what happens next.

“So…what’s city life like?” Colt eventually asks when the silence has stretched for too long.

I shrug. “It’s…fine. Loud. Fast. People everywhere, all the time, and none of them know your name unless you tell them twice.”

He runs his fingers gently over the bridle, considering my words. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is. It’s also…I don’t know. Exciting, sometimes. There’s always something happening. A new restaurant. A gallery opening. People doing interesting things with their lives.”

He nods and picks up a rag, wiping his hands. “Can’t imagine it.”

His words are simple. That almost makes them worse. Because there’s no accusation in them. No reminder of the years I missed. No bitterness. Just Colt, standing there, making room for me like he always has.

“I miss the quiet,” I say. “This kind of quiet, I mean. The way the ranch just…breathes. In the city, everything’s artificial. Even the quiet has an engine.”

“You used to hate the quiet. Said it made you itchy.” He leans against the workbench, watching me.

“I was seventeen. I thought being bored was a character flaw.” I say with a shrug.

The corner of his mouth lifts. It’s barely a smile, but I know it. I’ve spent years missing it without realizing I was missing anything at all.

“About last night,” I say, and the words immediately change the air between us. I’ve put off this conversation all day, but it needs to be said.

Colt’s expression doesn’t move, but I see the tension settle into his shoulders. “What about it?”

I take a breath. “I’m staying.”

He nods and his eyes flick up to mine.

“Until next Sunday.” I say, watching the words register.

The silence stretches. Then he looks away. “Hallie.” I know that tone. The one that means he’s already trying to tell me something I don’t want to hear. “We said it was one time,” he says.

“I know.” I say softly.

“We said we were going to leave it alone.”

“I know.”

His jaw tightens. “Then why are we having this conversation?”

Because last night didn’t make the feelings disappear. It made pretending impossible.

Instead, I say the simplest version. “Because I don’t want it to be just once.”

His eyes close briefly. A tiny movement. Almost nothing. But I see it. “Hallie.”

“What if it’s just for the week?” The words are out before I can soften them.