Morning comes with sore muscles and a list of chores I can barely read. Weston's handwriting looks like a doctor's prescription after an earthquake.
"General store's on Main Street," he says, pressing cash into my hand. "Get everything on that list. Should take you about twenty minutes to walk there."
I welcome the excuse to escape. The ranch is beautiful, but it's also small, and Weston's presence fills every corner of it. I need space to breathe without feeling his storm-blue eyes tracking my movements.
The walk into Stone Creek winds past wildflower fields and weathered barns. My borrowed boots kick up dust with every step, and I catch myself smiling for no reason at all.
The town itself is small and sleepy. A single main street lined with shops that look like they haven't changed since the fifties. A diner with a hand-painted sign. A hardware store with rocking chairs out front.
The kind of place where everyone probably knows everyone's business.
The general store smells like grain and old wood. Shelves packed floor to ceiling with everything from canned goods to horse tack. I find most of Weston's list easily enough, but the work gloves stop me cold.
Fifteen different types. Who knew gloves were this complicated?
I'm studying the rack, trying to figure out my size, when a voice comes from behind me. "Those'll be too big for you. Try the ones on the bottom shelf."
I turn, and my breath stutters.
The man standing there is gorgeous in a completely different way than Weston.
Younger, golden, with sun-bleached brown hair and warm honey eyes that crinkle when he smiles. His grin is easy and infectious, dimples flashing as he reaches past me to grab a smaller pair.
"These ones," he says, pressing them into my hands. "Trust me."
When our fingers brush, unwanted heat shoots up my arm.
"Thanks." I manage to sound almost normal. "I'm new to the whole ranch supply shopping thing."
"Yeah, I noticed." His eyes sweep over me, not predatory, just... observant. "City girl finding herself in the country. Let me guess—running from something or running toward something?"
The question catches me off guard. Too perceptive. Too close to the truth.
"Maybe both," I admit before I can stop myself.
He nods slowly, like that answer means something to him. "Best kind of running. At least you're honest about it."
We fall into conversation as I finish shopping. He's charming and quick-witted, teasing me about my accent and the way I hold the feed bag like it might bite.
"It's not going to attack you," he laughs, adjusting my grip. "It's just oats."
"I've seen horror movies that start this way. Innocent farm supplies, then boom—demonic possession."
His laugh is warm and real, and I find myself smiling wider than I have in months. There's something about him that makes my chest feel less tight. Not uncomplicated exactly, but... freeing. Like I don't have to perform.
"I'm Theron, by the way," he says as we walk toward the register.
"Raven."
His smile widens. "Pretty name for a pretty girl. You new around here, or just passing through?"
I give him the short version. Friend of someone local. Staying for a while to figure things out. Deliberately vague.
But instead of pushing for details, he just nods. "Figuring things out is underrated. Most people skip straight to pretending they have answers."
"And you don't pretend?"
"Never." His honey eyes hold mine, suddenly serious beneath the playful surface. "Life's too short for performance. I'd rather be inconvenient and real than polished and empty."
The words hit somewhere deep.
Inconvenient and real. Everything I've never been allowed to be.
"Must be nice," I murmured. "Knowing who you are like that."
"Who said I know who I am?" He grins, but there's something underneath it now. Depth I didn't expect. "I just know who I'm not. That's a start."
We step outside into the bright afternoon sun. Theron glances at the road leading out of town. "Which way you headed?"
I point toward the ranch, and his eyebrows lift.
"No kidding. I'm going the same way." He falls into step beside me. "Let me walk you. Not safe for a woman alone out here."
"Chivalry or paranoia?"
"Maybe I just want company." He shoots me a sideways look. "You're interesting, Raven. Most people aren't."
The walk back feels shorter than it should. We talk about nothing and everything—the weather, the town, the best places to watch the sunset. He tells me about growing up here, about the ranch, about feeling like he never quite fit the mold his family expected.
"Older brothers cast long shadows," he says, and there's something raw beneath the casual tone. "You either spend your life trying to fill their shape, or you find your own."
"Which did you choose?"
"Still figuring that out." His smile turns wry. "See? We're both running toward something."
I catch myself comparing him to Weston without meaning to.
Weston's intensity, his controlled silence, the grief that clings to him like smoke. And Theron's warmth, his unarmored honesty, the way he makes me feel seen without feeling judged.
Different gravitational pulls. Both are equally dangerous.
We're approaching the ranch house when the front door swings open.
Weston steps onto the porch, and the temperature drops ten degrees. His eyes move from me to Theron, and something unreadable flickers across his face. A muscle ticks in his jaw.
"I see you've already met," he says. His tone is flat. Controlled. "How was your trip, Theron?"
"Wait.” I blink, confusion cutting through the warmth in my chest. “You two know each other?"
Weston's gaze settles on me, steady and heavy. "This is my younger brother, Theron. He went to another city for a couple of days to pick up some goods."
Brother. The word echoes in my skull.
"Speaking of which,” Weston turns back to Theron, arms crossing over his chest, “I don't see any raw materials in your hands, Terry."
Theron waves a dismissive hand, still grinning like this is all tremendously entertaining. "Relax, I left everything in the car. Go check the garage. It's all there."
But I barely hear him.
My mind is spinning, replaying every moment of our conversation. Every flutter of attraction. Every laugh, every glance, every accidental touch. The charming stranger who made me feel seen and the brooding man who makes my pulse race are brothers.
Brothers.
And I'm living under the same roof as both of them.
Theron catches my stunned expression and winks, clearly enjoying my shock. "Surprise."
"You could have mentioned that," I managed.
"Where's the fun in that?" His grin sharpens, and for a moment I see it—the edge beneath the sunshine. "Besides, you didn't ask."
Weston watches our exchange with a jaw tight enough to crack teeth. Something dangerous simmers behind his storm-blue eyes, a possessiveness he has no right to feel and probably hates himself for feeling.
"Raven." His voice is low, rough. "Did you get everything on the list?"
"Yes." I hold up the bag like a shield. "All of it."
"Good." He turns and walks back inside without another word.
The door closes behind him, and I'm left standing between the house and Theron, my heart pounding for reasons I can't untangle.
"He's always like that," Theron says softly. "Don't take it personally."
"Like what?"
"Guarded." His honey eyes find mine, suddenly serious. "West has been carrying weight for a long time. Makes it hard for him to let anyone close."
There's no jealousy in his voice. No competition. Just understanding.
"And you?" I ask. "What do you carry?"
His smile returns, but it's different now. Sadder. Realer.
"The knowledge that sometimes staying is harder than saving." He holds my gaze a beat too long. "See you at dinner, Raven."
He walks toward the garage, and I stand there watching him go, my situation suddenly infinitely more complicated than it was this morning.
Two brothers. Two different kinds of want.
And me, caught in the middle of something I'm not sure I can survive.