"How long you been riding?" His voice is quieter now, softened around the edges, like he genuinely cares about the answer.

I hesitate for a moment, letting the memory form before the words slip out. "Daddy put me on my first pony when I was three." The words come out softer than I expected, tugging a bittersweet smile from me. My gaze drifts to the faded daisies Laney and I had painted on the wall all those years ago. Colt's expression shifts, his smile softening, more genuine now, with just a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "No kidding," he says, his voice low and easy. "I grew up around horses too. Sometimes I get along with them better than people."

A small laugh escapes me, light but distant, as I keep brushing Honey. "I don't know. I think I'm more of a people person. Horses are a bonus."

The words leave my mouth, but even as I say them, a quiet, unspoken doubt lingers at the edges of my mind. Was that ever really true? Maybe once, back when the world felt simpler—when life wasn't wrapped up in a tangle of grief, expectations, and the never-ending pressure to live up to a legacy that wasn't even mine. People had seemed easier then. But now? Now, the quiet of the stables, the scent of hay and leather, the way Honey leans into my touch—it feels safer. More certain.

Colt doesn't respond immediately, just bends down with a practiced ease, running his hand down Honey's leg as though the horse belonged to him. His touch is confident, assured—too assured for my liking. His bottom lip juts out slightly in concentration, and that effortless command of his, that calm way he moves, stirs something sharp inside me. Does he really think I don't know how to care for my own horses?

Honey, patient as ever, gives me a knowing look. If she could speak, I swear she'd be saying, Are you sure about this guy?

I inhale, steadying myself, trying to keep my voice even. "I beg your pardon, but I assure you that's not necessary," I say, the irritation lacing through despite my best efforts.

Colt doesn't even glance up, not bothered in the slightest. "Just checkin' on her," he says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. He scratches Honey gently behind the ears, like he knows exactly where it'll calm her, before moving to the other hoof. His actions are so deliberate, so unaffected by my annoyance, that it only fans the slow burn of frustration in my chest.

It's like my reaction doesn't even register to him, like he's so sure of himself that he doesn't see any need to ask if it's okay. But isn't that the way it's always been with Colt? Steady. Unfazed. As though nothing I say could ever knock him off balance. And maybe that's what frustrates me the most—that he's always so damn composed, while I feel like I'm barely holding it together.

And the worst part? I can't decide if I hate it or admire it.

I clenched my teeth, feeling the irritation flare up beneath my skin, raw and uninvited. "She's in peak condition, Colt," I said, my voice sharper than I intended, despite the fact that I am trying to rein in the rising frustration.

Colt didn't flinch. He only gave a nod, calm and unaffected, releasing Honey's hoof with that same ease, as if my words hadn't even touched her. "She's lookin' good," he murmured, the faintest hint of amusement glimmering in his cobalt eyes."But I like to check. You'd be surprised at what a horse can hide, even when everything seems fine on the outside."

It wasn't just about Honey, and we both knew it. His words lingered in the space between us, unsettling something deep in my chest.

"What are you doing here, Colt?" The words slipped out sharper than I intended, but I didn't bother to pull them back. Something about him stirred up a tension in me, like his presence carried an expectation—an unspoken judgment. It was as if he'd already decided what I needed, like he could step into my world, uninvited, and fix the pieces I hadn't even asked him to touch.

He straightened up, his gaze meeting mine over Honey's back, those cobalt eyes of his holding nothing but calm, unaffected by my sharpness. "Well, you see, I've been working on one ranch or another since I was knee-high," he said, his tone easy, casual. It was like this conversation meant little to him—just another exchange. As though he hadn't just walked into my life and started unraveling things I wasn't ready to face.

"And?" My eyes narrowed slightly, arms crossing over my chest, more of a shield than anything else. I knew exactly where this was headed. Being Tex Lamar Odell's daughter came with expectations—assumptions about who I was, what I should be, and what I needed. Everyone had an opinion. They always did. But none of them, not a single one, understood what it was like to live under that name, to carry its weight like an inherited burden I never asked for.

The ranch—this land—had always been tied up in those expectations too. When Mama married Tex, her quiet life became something everyone thought they had a claim on, their opinions woven into every decision we made. And now, with Tex and Mama gone, it felt like the land itself was grieving. No matter how hard I worked, how much I gave, it slipped further through my fingers. The winters had taken their toll. The barn was worn down, the house in disrepair, even the fields seemed weary, like they had given everything they had and were waiting for something to break.

"I need good work for the limited time I'm here, and you need good help," he said finally, his voice cutting through the heavy silence between us. There was a quiet truth in his words, something neither of us was willing to speak out loud.

I sighed, the weight of it all pressing harder against my chest. He wasn't wrong, and that only made it worse. The ranch hadn't been the same since the cattle deals with the rodeo federation started drying up. Those deals had been our lifeline, the thing that kept this place breathing. Now? Now, we had too much stock, not enough buyers, and the profits that had once kept the land alive were just a distant memory. I knew the numbers by heart—every dollar, every failed shipment, every deal that had fallen through. They ran through my mind at night like a slow bleed, one I didn't know how to stop.

I let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, yeah? Excuse my manners—am I supposed to believe you've got nothing better to do than fix up my ranch?"

Colt's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, the kind that barely reached his eyes but carried that quiet, steady amusement he always seemed to have. "Something like that," he said, his voice calm, easy, like he knew exactly what was running through my mind.

Despite the frustration simmering in my chest, I step closer, offering my hand under Honey's head. The moment Colt's fingers brush mine, it feels like the air between us shifts, crackling with something I can't quite name. His touch is warm, his skin rough and calloused—every inch of him marked by the work he's done, the life he's lived. It shouldn't affect me like this, not after everything, not when I've worked so hard to keep people at a distance. But there it is. A spark. Immediate. Unavoidable.

I draw in a slow breath, willing my heartbeat to steady, but it betrays me, hammering in my chest like I'm standing on the edge of something. Christ, when was the last time anyone made me feel like this? Not even Rem, with all the years of history between us, had ever drawn this out of me so quickly. That had been gradual, a slow burn built over friendship and time. But this? This was different. This felt like a live wire, buzzing under my skin, impossible to ignore.

One touch, and my mind is already racing ahead—already wondering what his hands would feel like against my skin, strong and sure, rough in a way that both unsettles me and pulls me in. It's a dangerous feeling, this pull. I can almost feel the way his arms would circle around me, steady, his lips brushing against mine with that quiet intensity that simmers beneath his calm exterior.

I clear my throat, desperate to push away the images flooding my mind. The tension between us making it harder to think clearly. "Look," I begin, my voice softer now, the edge of frustration dulled by the weight of the moment, "I can't pay you much right now, to be honest. Maybe..." I hesitate, running through the numbers in my head, already knowing how laughable the offer sounds. "Maybe a few hundred a week at most, once I settle some things."

I glance up, meeting his gaze again, feeling the absurdity of the situation settle in. Colt tilts his head slightly, those piercing blue eyes of his locked on me, and the weight of his silence presses in. He doesn't speak, doesn't need to. He's waiting. Watching. Letting me fumble through the offer because he knows exactly how this will end.

"But we've got a loft above the barn," I add quickly, my words rushing out to fill the quiet between us. "If you need a place to stay, you're welcome to it. We've had hands stay there before. And if you got a horse you can take one of the stalls. It's not much, but it's... something."

Colt's lips curve into that slow, familiar smirk—the kind that always feels like he's already one step ahead, like he's already decided long before I finished speaking. "You really think I came here lookin' to make a fortune?" His fingers linger on Honey's mane for a moment longer before dropping to his side, the easy confidence never leaving his expression. "But alright," he continues, voice steady, "I'll take you up on that offer. Could use a roof over my head and a place to keep my horse."

Relief washes over me, but it's tangled with something else. Something deeper that makes my pulse quicken, my thoughts scatter. I wasn't expecting this—wasn't expecting him to get under my skin so quickly. "Okay then," I manage, trying to sound firm, even though my thoughts are racing far faster than they should be. The heat rises in my neck, creeping up to my cheeks, and I'm suddenly grateful for the fading light of the barn, hoping it hides the flush blooming across my skin. "But no funny business."

Colt's smirk deepened, one eyebrow quirking in response, and I could see the flicker of amusement dancing in his cobalt eyes. "Funny business? Darlin', I think you've got me all wrong." He stepped closer, closing the space between us with an ease that made my breath catch, but his tone was light, teasing, designed to pull me in even though I was determined to keep my distance. "I'm here for hard work, remember?"

The way he said hard sent a shiver down my spine, his words laced with just enough humor to make me bristle—and yet, I couldn't quite bring myself to look away.

I snorted softly, fighting to keep the smirk off my own face. "Right. You're just a humble ranch hand now, huh?" I crossed my arms over my chest, lifting my chin slightly, refusing to let him see how easily he got under my skin. "I'd believe that more if you weren't so cocky."

Colt shrugged, nonchalant, but I didn't miss the flash of something deeper in his eyes. "Confidence ain't cocky, Lemon. Besides..." He leaned in just enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence, his voice dropping lower. "You don't seem like the type to be scared off by a little confidence."

He wasn't wrong. And that was the problem.

My heart skipped a beat, and I cursed myself for letting him affect me so easily. "Scared off? No," I said, meeting his gaze head-on. "Annoyed? Definitely." My tone was steady, but inside, the tension was building again, a tight coil I couldn't seem to unravel.

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, and it set something alight in the space between us. "Well then, I'll try to be less annoying," he murmured, his eyes locked on mine. His lips twitched, as if he were holding back a grin, but the amusement in his gaze was unmistakable.

I felt my own smile tug at the corner of my mouth before I could stop it. He was too good at this—too good at pulling me in, even when I knew better. "I'll believe it when I see it," I replied, though the bite was gone from my words, replaced with something lighter that I wasn't sure I wanted to explore.

Colt's grin widened, the teasing glint in his eyes softening just a little as he stepped back, giving me some space—but not too much. "Guess that means you'll be keeping a close eye on me then, huh?"

I rolled my eyes, though the smile I'd been fighting finally slipped through. "Don't flatter yourself." Crossing my arms again, I nodded toward the barn doors. "You've got work early in the morning. The loft's yours but don't get too comfortable. I expect you up before dawn."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled, the humor never leaving his tone. "Wouldn't want to disappoint."

As he turned to leave, I watched him go, the easy way he carried himself, like he belonged here. It was unsettling how natural it felt to have him around. The tension that had threaded between us all evening still lingered in the air, like a quiet hum that refused to settle.

Nothing feels calm anymore.