Page 9 of Branded Mine

He took my bag from my hand before I could protest. “You don’t have to?—”

“I know.”

That seemed to be his answer for everything. He held the front door open, one hand braced against it while the wind tried to rip it from his grasp. The rain hit us sideways the second we stepped onto the porch. He stayed close enough to shield me from the worst of it as we hurried to his truck.

By the time we climbed inside, we were both soaked despite the short distance. The cab smelled like leather, coffee, and cedar.

Neither of us spoke much during the short drive next door.

The Kane Ranch sat on higher ground, and warm light spilled from the windows thanks to his backup generator. For the first time since coming back to Rootstown Creek, another house looked more like home than the one I’d inherited.

5

Iwoke to the smell of coffee and the unfamiliar weight of heavy blankets tucked around me. For several seconds, I didn’t know where I was.

The room was dim, morning light barely pushing through the curtains, and the steady patter of rain tapped against the window. It was softer than it had been the night before, no longer violent enough to shake the walls, but the storm hadn’t moved on completely.

Then, I saw my overnight bag sitting beside the dresser and remembered. The power going out, the tree limb crashing through the window, and Ryder taking me to his place.

Memories from the night before worked their way to the surface. After Ryder had shown me to the guest room, neither of us had gone to bed right away. We sat beneath the covered porch, each sipping a bottle of beer and staying silent as we watched the storm roll across the valley.

Now, daylight had arrived, and with it came the uncomfortable knowledge that I still couldn’t stop thinking about the night before. The way we sat together on the porchfor hours barely speaking, yet the silence between us had felt heavier than any words.

The way his fingers had accidentally brushed mine on the wooden swing. The way he had looked at me when I finally stood up and mumbled something about being tired.

I pushed the blankets aside and sat on the edge of the bed, dragging both hands over my face. Coming back to Rootstown Creek was supposed to be simple. Settle my father’s estate, sell the ranch, and return to the life I had built far away from this place.

Ryder Kane had never been part of that plan.

The floorboards were cool beneath my bare feet as I crossed the room and pulled on the jeans and sweater I’d packed. After quickly brushing my teeth and attempting to tame my hair with my fingers, I opened the bedroom door. The smell of coffee grew stronger in the hallway, and I followed it downstairs.

The Kane house looked different in the pale morning light. The night before, I had only noticed the warmth and shelter it offered compared to the dark, powerless house I’d left behind. Now, I saw the details.

The scarred wooden floors had been swept clean. A faded rug stretched down the hallway, the edges worn from years of boots crossing over it. Framed photographs lined one wall, most of them horses, cattle, and generations of Kanes standing beneath the same wide sky.

A folded quilt rested over the back of a nearby chair, the faded stitching immediately familiar. Ryder's mother had made quilts for nearly everyone in town, and I remembered her wrapping one around my shoulders after I'd shown up on their porch one winter evening wearing nothing but a thin sweater.

One photograph made me stop. I recognized his father immediately. Edward Kane had always been quiet and steady, and the kind of man who spoke only when he had somethingworth saying. I remembered how different he’d been from my own father. Even as a child, I'd noticed the difference.

Ryder looked no older than twenty, standing beside his father near the main barn. He was leaner then, but the hard set of his shoulders was already there. His hat sat low over his eyes, and one hand rested on the neck of a chestnut horse. He wasn’t smiling. But I couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile for a photograph, for that matter.

“You hungry?” Ryder asked.

I startled and looked toward the kitchen. He stood near the stove wearing a faded black T-shirt and jeans. His hair was still damp from a shower, pushed carelessly away from his forehead, and he wasn’t wearing his hat. Something about seeing him without it made him look different. Less guarded. Or perhaps, I had simply never been close enough to notice how dark his hair was or the faint streak of gray beginning at one temple.

His gaze moved over me once before settling on my face.

“You always sneak up on people?” I asked.

“Was standin’ right here.” He turned back toward the stove. “Coffee’s fresh.”

Apparently, we were going to pretend the porch hadn’t happened. That should have made things easier. It didn’t.

I crossed the kitchen and poured myself a cup. I froze when I saw a black dog lying stretched out near the back door, his tail thumping once against the floor when he saw me.

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Kash.”