Page 7 of The Lonely Road

The state says my water right was abandoned.

My brother and I don’t agree on who gets what after Dad dies.

The brand inspector says the bill of sale isn’t right.

The IRS sent me this letter.

My husband died, and I don’t know where to start.

In a small ranch town, being a lawyer didn’t mean specializing. It meant you were the person people came to when something in their life went wrong, and they didn’t know who else to ask.

It is the most satisfying and cleansing work I’ve ever done.

“You’re going to win it,” Aria assures me. “Clara’s going to keep her water.”

“If I can get the hydrology expert qualified in time for the hearing.” I straighten as I think through everything that still needs to be done. “And if opposing counsel doesn’t come in with something I’m not expecting.”

“Would they?” Joy wants to know.

I pick up my beer bottle and turn it slowly in my hands. “They’re well-funded, which means they have options. More experts. More filings. More ways to make this expensive and drag it out until Clara can’t afford to keep fighting.” I glance at her. “I used to be a lawyer representing them. I know exactly how they think.”

“But you’re not them anymore,” Aria reminds me.

I shake my head. “No. But I know where they’ll search for leverage. They’ll try to disqualify my expert. They’ll try to challenge the historic use. They’ll try to bury us in motions, so we’re always responding instead of arguing. And the judge on this case….” I exhale. “He tends to lean toward development. Everyone knows it.”

Aria’s mouth tightens. “So what will we do?”

We?

I meet her eyes. “We don’t give them a single mistake to use against us.”

And right then, it’s there again—the sensation of being seen with intention. It's not the casual drift of a gaze passing over a room, but the deliberate weight of attention.

The man in the corner.

His eyes graze mine.

He doesn’t seem familiar, not even a little—and still, my chest tightens.

The feeling is absurd and precise—that this isn’t the first time our paths have crossed. Just the first time I remember.

Wíitsin used to say some meetings are arranged for you.

I close my eyes.

Stop it, Taya. You’re just horny. The man is hot. That’s all this is.

When I open my eyes, he’s not watching me anymore. But the angle of his head is wrong, just slightly, for someone who’s simply sitting alone at a bar.

There’s something searching about it.

Hot guy on the prowl—maybe he’s just looking to get laid.

I hold the space where his gaze just was and feel the shape of my interest and the warning light of recognition.

I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before today.

And yet….