Page 13

DYLAN

The storm rolls in just after midnight.

It isn’t loud at first, barely a rumble, distant and slow, like something hulking dragging its weight across the sky. I feel it before I hear it. In my chest, like the thud of an extra beat, in the ache behind my eyes, and the dampness creeping through the window in my room.

I’m already dressed when the first crack of thunder shakes the house.

Boots on.

Jacket slung over one shoulder.

The barn camera blinked out ten minutes ago, caused by a power surge or the wind. Now, I have to check.

I head downstairs, careful on the old steps, but when I reach the kitchen, I discover I’m not the only one who’s been disturbed by the weather.

Grace is standing in front of the dark window with a glass in one hand and a fixed expression like she’s keeping watch on the world while it sleeps.

Her hair is mussed from her pillow, her pajamas too silky and lacy for this rustic ranch house filled with weathered, overworked cowboys.

She turns when I enter, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her without her signature scarlet lipstick.

She looks younger and sweeter like this.

Less ready to cut a man down with a few clever words.

Maybe I’ve gotten her all wrong. The others seem to like her, including my kids, but I’ve been wary of women since Nora left me high and dry, and now all I see in their faces is the mask that conceals their untrustworthiness.

“You’re going out?” Her voice is husky, and she takes another sip of water.

I wait, keeping my gaze away from her breasts, which I’m certain will be barely concealed by the thin baby-blue fabric. “Need to check the barn. Cameras down. One of the foals has been off lately.” I take a step closer to the door. “Don’t like the idea of her alone in all this.”

She hesitates. Then says, “Can I come?”

I pause, surprised she’d offer.

“It’s pouring.”

“I’m not made of sugar.”

I almost smile. Almost.

“You’re not dressed for the outdoors.”

She strides to the mudroom and pulls on Cody’s long winter jacket and a pair of boots that are huge enough to make her look like a clown.

The sleeves hang so low that they conceal her hands, and when she tries to walk in the boots, it’s comedic.

My lips twitch, which is a surprise. It’s been a while.

Grace follows me before I can stop her and takes the torch I hand her.

The rain is steady but not punishing, the kind that soaks you through if you stay still too long. Thunder grumbles again, low and rough across the open sky. I hold the door for her, and she gives me a tight nod, like we’re stepping into battle together.

Her bare legs catch the lightning flash as we cross the yard, and something about the sight of her, loose and alive in this storm, makes my chest feel a little too full.

In the barn, the air is warmer. Grace runs her fingers through her soaked hair, which curls around her wind-pink cheeks.

The horses whinny as we enter, unsettled but thankfully not panicked. I check the stalls out of habit because routine keeps my hands busy when my thoughts want to drift to places I don’t let them.

Grace doesn’t talk at first, which I appreciate. She moves beside me, her flashlight bouncing across the floor, scanning the shadows like a detective in an HBO crime show.

“You really didn’t need to come,” I say eventually, adjusting the latch on the foal’s stall.

“I was awake,” she replies, voice quiet but clear. “And… I’m not a fan of storms.”

“Who is?” I ask.

“My mama,” she says. “She loves the electrical ones that tear across the sky like children’s scribbles.”

“Nice description,” I say, thinking about Eli and how much she liked to draw before her momma left, and how painfully stilted her efforts are now.

“Anyway, you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

That catches me off guard.

I glance over. Grace is standing close to the foal now, palm flat against its damp, twitching flank. She’s calm. Present. There’s a storm raging outside, and she’s channeled the quiet inside.

“You good with animals?” I ask.

“I grew up in a house with more foster kids than bedrooms. Learning how to keep creatures calm kind of came with the territory.”

I nod. That makes sense. She has that grounded way about her and a voice that cuts through noise with tone rather than volume.

The foal calms beneath her touch, and she smiles, soft and open, different from the professional smile or the half-smirk she uses to keep people at arm’s length. This one is different.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she says, glancing at me sideways.

I shake my head. “Not unless I have something worth saying.”

“And yet... you came out into a thunderstorm for this one.”

I shrug, but she isn’t wrong. The animals are safe and predictable. People are harder.

Grace doesn’t press but keeps rubbing slow circles on the foal’s neck that I can imagine on my own. I look away, feeling stupid.

“You like it here?” I ask after a beat. “The ranch.”

She considers it for longer than I expected. “I do. More than I thought I would.”

“Why?”

“Because nobody here is trying to be cooler or smarter or louder than the next guy. You all just… are.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, but it sits with me and settles under my ribs. It’s good to confirm that she recognizes our strength as a unit and how well we work as a team. If she can bring that into the article, it will help the outside world focus on the good at Cooper Hill Ranch.

Lightning flashes again, this time close enough to light up Grace’s face fully.

Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her hair curling even more at the edges from the damp.

She looks tired, but not in the way most people do when they’re overworked.

There’s a fragility that she keeps hidden during the day that seems obvious now.

She meets my eyes and holds them. “Junie’s yours?”

“And Eli.”

She smiles. “They’re sweet as honey… and they’ve both got your serious side.”

What she means is we’re all carrying the aftereffects of the same sadness and betrayal.

“You lost someone like Corbin?” Grace asks gently.

My shoulders bunch before I can school myself to remain unaffected. I don’t want to answer these questions, but I understand she’s doing her job. This is why she crossed the yard in the rain, to unwrap all my burdens.

“Not like Corbin. Nora walked out… she’s an alcoholic.”

“I’m sorry.” The pity in her expression raises my hackles.

“It wasn’t you,” I reply with a shrug that’s fooling nobody. “Nothing for you to be sorry for.”

She nods back, like she understands the shape of loss, even if the details are different.

The rain pounds harder, drumming on the roof like furious fingers on a table.

We stand in that quiet, in the soft scent of hay and warm animals, with an unspoken crackle between us. It’s too early for it to be tension, but it could turn into it more if I was someone different, and she wasn’t a reporter here to expose the weird shit we’re planning.

“I need to check the cameras, and then we should get back.”

“Sure.”

“You okay here for a minute?”

She smirks. “I have all the company I need.”

I work to get the camera working, and when I’ve fixed the loose cable, I return to Grace, finding her nose to nose with the foal like a fairy weaving mischief and magic.

“Ready?”

She strokes Chestnut and follows me back out into the night.

We run across the yard as the water pelts us, trickling down the back of my neck and drenching my jeans to the knees.

Grace manages to keep up despite the ridiculous footwear, and I make a mental note to get her something better to wear when I’m next in town, then think better of it.

She won’t be around for long, and I have no business getting fanciful ideas about taking care of her in even the most basic of ways.

On the porch, I shuck off my coat and give it a shake, looking down at the rivulets of dark-stained fabric across my chest. Grace is drenched.

Her legs are slippery with rainwater and splattered with dirt, and her hair is wet through, but she laughs brightly when she catches my mortified expression.

“I haven’t run through the rain like that in years,” she says, grinning, wiping her face with her sleeve. “That was awesome.”

“Lucky you.” I grab one of the towels from the crate by the door, stored there for muddy boots and wet dogs, mostly, and toss it over her shoulders.

She catches it with a soft “Thanks” but remains still, soaked and smiling, like the storm rinsed something heavy off her shoulders, too.

I step closer, acting on instinct and the unfamiliar pull she seems to have on me. The desire to take care of her rises in me, flexing an unused muscle.

“Hold still,” I say, and I start blotting the towel over her hair.

She tilts her head, encouraging me. Her breath catches when my hand brushes her temple. I notice how fine the hair at her nape is, curling against her skin. How warm her shoulders feel, even through the wet cotton. How close we are.

Too close.

But she doesn’t step back.

Neither do I.

I move the towel down, gently dabbing at her jaw and the side of her neck. She’s watching me, unmoving, barely breathing. The tension that wasn’t there in the barn is here now, hanging in the space between us, pulsing quiet and steady like a third heartbeat.

“I should probably…” she says, voice catching.

“Yeah,” I murmur, still holding onto the towel. “Me, too.”

Her hand finds my chest and rests there. Is she feeling something? Maybe sensing if I’m feeling it, too .

And I am, even though I wish I weren’t.

We stand like that, suspended in something I don’t name, and won’t act on. The storm rages on, but the quiet between us is louder. She shifts like she’s about to step back, but before she can, the kitchen door creaks open behind us.

Levi’s voice drifts across the space, lazy and amused. “Should I come back later, or is this the part where y’all start writing poetry?”

Grace jolts, and the spell is broken. She presses her lips together, like she’s sealing a thought behind them, and steps back. I let the towel drop from my hand.

“Thanks. For letting me come,” she says, quieter now.

I nod. “Thanks for coming.”

She walks through the house, barefoot and dripping, her eyes resting on Levi for a second before she passes.

Her steps are soft on the hardwood in an unfamiliar way, quieter than the men in this house, and more solid than the children. Levi turns to watch her go, his silhouette large, arms crossed like he’s settling in to be annoying. He’s only two years younger than me, but sometimes it seems a lot more.

“You were out for a while,” he says after a beat. His tone’s casual, but he’s fishing.

“Storm knocked the camera feed,” I say, wiping my palms down my jeans. “Had to check it. She tagged along.”

Levi nods slowly, like he’s deciding how much to say or how much to let me think. “She seems to have a talent for showing up where she’s most needed.”

I shoot him a look. “You saying something?”

He shrugs. “Nah. Just making an observation.”

I step past him, keeping my focus on the doorway. “Thought you hated observations.”

He smirks, and I can feel it behind me. “Only when they’re pointed at me.”

I pause and glance back. “Did you...” I trail off, jaw working.

Levi raises his eyebrows, all innocence and a shit-eating grin. “Did I, what?”

I shake my head, jaw tight. “Never mind.”

“Sure,” he says, running his hands through his messy hair. “Sleep tight, Dylan.”

I head for the stairs without answering, and the thick silence closes around me. I shouldn’t care. I don’t even know what I’m feeling. Grace isn’t mine, and this isn’t that kind of story.

But telling myself that doesn’t stop the churn in my gut or the way Levi’s grin sticks in my ribs like a splinter.

I should know better. We all should.