Page 44 of The Cowboy and the Stray

"Tess," I barked, more sharply than I intended. "Her name is Tess."

Sloane's jaw tightened. "Fine. Tess. She needs to go. It's been fun playing ranch hand, but this isn't summer camp. She's going to see something she shouldn't. I like her well enough. It isn't that. It's too dangerous. You know we can't be found out. It's the ultimate betrayal to our kind."

I scrubbed a hand over my face. "It's not that simple."

"It is. She can't stay here. It's not safe for her or for us." Sloane leaned forward, gaze intent. "I'll buy her a car myself. Give her some cash. She'll be fine."

Reid snorted. "Right. Maybe we should give her a certificate too. 'Thanks for trying not to burn the house down. Good luck out there.'"

Midge smacked him with her spoon. "Not helpful."

"I'm just saying⁠—"

"Enough." Midge set the spoon down, fixing us each in turn with a hard stare. The silence stretched, taut and brittle. "The girl stays."

Sloane's eyes went wide. "Midge, you can't be serious."

"Serious as sin." Midge laced her fingers together, leaning back in her chair. "I've got a feeling about this one, I told you that when she first came here. It's only gotten stronger."

You could've heard a fly fart in the silence that followed. Midge's "feelings" were rarer than hen's teeth and twice as valuable. She'd called the early frost in '09, the twister in '15, and a dozen other smaller things, all on nothing more than a prickle down her spine. When Midge had a feeling, I shut up and listened.

Reid glanced at me and said simply, "Well, that's gospel, then."

A muscle in Sloane's jaw jumped, but she didn't argue. She couldn't argue with gospel.

I should've been relieved. Part of me was. The part that hummed with the memory of Tess pressed against me, of how right she'd felt in my arms. But the other part, the part mired in guilt and fear, just sank further. What was I doing, letting her stay? Leading her on, letting myself dream of impossible things. She'd never stay, not if she knew the truth. And how could I ask her to? To give up everything, her whole world, for what? A pack of wolves she could never tell a soul about? Isolation on this ranch with us? I loved our life, sure, but it wasn't for everyone.

No. She deserved better. Letting this go on, letting myself fall any deeper, it was cruelty, plain and simple. To her and me both.

But I was weak. Selfish. I couldn't make myself say the words, not with Midge's knowing eyes on me. Not with Tess's scent still clinging to my skin.

Sloane shoved back from the table, chair screeching over the floorboards. She stalked out without a word.

Moments later, the first haunting strains of her violin seeped through the walls, pouring down the stairs like a stream of audible moonlight. The tune was mournful, aching, a lament in A minor.

I sighed. Midge caught my eye.

"She's been playing again," I said quietly.

Midge just nodded. "Better that than throwing things."

Sloane played when her feelings got too big for her skin, when she needed an outlet before she exploded. The violin had seen her through a lot of hard times. A lot of grief.

I recognized the tune. The "goodbye" song, Reid called it. The "life ain't fair and the world's full of shit" song.

Part of me wanted to go to her. Wrap her in my arms like I used to when we were kids, and the world was too big and too scary to face alone. But I wasn't a kid anymore, and Sloane's demons were the kind you had to fight yourself.

So I just sat there, listening to her pour her heart out through horsehair and steel. Trying not to think about how much it sounded like my own.

Midge got up after a while, squeezing my shoulder as she passed. Reid muttered something about seeing a dog about a man and wandered out too.

And then it was just me. Me and the mournful wail of the violin and the weight of all the things I wanted but couldn't have.

Damn it. I had to go find something to focus on before I exploded. Or went to find Tess instead. Where did she go anyway?

An hour later, I was halfway through tightening the loose fence wire, sweat trickling down the back of my neck under the high sun, when Gray's low whistle made me glance up. He nodded toward the road leading up to the main house, where a figure was walking, bold as brass, straight toward us, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a saddle tucked under her arm like a businesswoman might carry a briefcase. Nevermind it was half again as big as she was.

"Well now," Reid muttered, straightening up from the post he'd been resetting and pulling off his leather work gloves. "That's not something you see every day."