“Perhaps the horse isn’t the only one afraid of what happens when he gets close to you.”

Crane turned sharply.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I’ve been breaking horses since I was sixteen.”

“And yet you’re standing behind a fence, pretending you don’t care whether that one ever comes near you again.”

Crane’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“You’ve been here less than a day, Miss Old. I’d be careful about ᴀssuming you know anything about me.”

Thomasine nodded calmly.

“You’re right. I don’t know you.”

She turned toward the house.

“But I know what fear looks like when someone dresses it up as pride.”

Crane watched her walk away, furious that her words had landed so close to the truth.

He had hired her to cook meals, clean rooms, and keep the household running.

He had not hired her to look straight through him.

For the next three days, Thomasine did her work without asking permission to exist.

She rose before sunrise, prepared breakfast, packed lunches for the ranch hands, and somehow transformed the neglected kitchen into a place that smelled of fresh bread, cinnamon, and coffee.

She mended torn shirts,