Page 17

Jude

T he last light drained from the sky, leaving the ranch bathed in silver shadows. I yawned behind my hand and stretched, feeling the soreness of the day’s work settle deep into my bones.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Cyclone said, tossing his empty water bottle into a nearby trash can.

I smiled tiredly. “I could sleep for a week.”

We wandered back inside, our footsteps echoing on the dusty floors. I paused in the hallway, glancing toward the two small bedrooms. I knew only one of them had a bed in it—and barely at that. The mattress was old, probably lumpy, and I didn’t have extra sheets.

Cyclone noticed her hesitation.

“I can take the couch,” he said easily. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the truth was, I wanted the bed. The ache in my back demanded it.

“You sure?” I asked quietly.

He grinned. “Positive. Besides, it’ll give me time to bond with my new pet spiders.”

I laughed, the tension between them easing. I pulled an old blanket from the hall closet and tossed it to him. “You’re braver than I am.”

We set about making our separate spaces for the night. Cyclone stretched out on the worn leather couch, his long legs hanging slightly off the edge. I disappeared into the bedroom, dragging the mattress closer to the window where at least a breeze could slip through the screen.

Minutes later, the house fell into a thick, heavy silence.

I lay staring at the cracked ceiling, sleep stubbornly refusing to come. My mind kept slipping back to Cyclone—to his easy smile, his quiet patience, the way he hadn’t pushed her when the memories threatened to drown her.

In the darkness, I whispered into the quiet, “Cyclone?”

A beat of silence. Then: “Yeah?”

“You okay out there?”

His chuckle floated through the cracked door. “I’m good, Jude. Go to sleep.”

I smiled to myself, a small, private thing.

“Goodnight,” I murmured.

“Goodnight, sunshine,” he replied, the nickname slipping out so naturally it made her chest ache.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under.

The smell of coffee woke her.

Groggy, Jude stumbled into the kitchen to find Cyclone—shirtless, wearing old jeans, and covered in a fine layer of dust—trying to get the ancient coffee maker to work.

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Mornin', Hope you don’t mind—figured caffeine would soften the blow of today’s to-do list.”

I blinked, momentarily forgetting how to speak.

“You’re a saint,” I managed finally.

We ate a quick egg sandwich. Then we pulled on work gloves and headed outside.

The ranch was in rough shape, which kept us busy fixing things around the place—only the things we would need while we were here, like the well and the water lines, which were cracked. Cyclone showed me how to fix the water line, getting soaked by water spraying him.

I shook my head but couldn’t help the laugh bubbling up inside me. It’s been so long since I have laughed. I used to think I had no right to laugh, because I was alive and they were dead.

Somewhere between the sweat, the swearing, and the quiet teamwork, we stopped being two strangers thrown together by circumstance.

We started becoming something more.

Something we weren’t quite ready to name yet.