Page 56 of Leather & Lies

Jackson stands at the center of it all, shouting directions that the wind catches and scatters. Even drenched and mud-splattered, he moves with the same quiet authority I remember, the same strength that drew me in the first place. That still draws me, if I’m honest with myself. And I have to be honest now—I’ve run out of lies to tell myself about why I turned back.

I could blame the lightning that spooked the cattle, the crash of thunder that sent them breaking through the fence. Could tell myself I only helped because lives were at stake—animal and human both. But watching Jackson now, the way his shirt clings to his shoulders as he works, I know better. I chose this. Chose to stay, to help, to be here in this moment with him.

And I’ll have to choose to leave again.

The thought settles in my chest like a stone, heavy and cold despite my overheated skin. I push my dripping hair back from my face, aware of every ache, every place the rain strikes my exposed skin. The storm is dying now, but its aftermath will linger. In more ways than one.

“Shiloh.”

I don’t have to turn to know he’s approaching—his attention shifts to me like a physical touch. But I turn anyway, because I’ve never been a coward, and I won’t start now. Not even when looking at him hurts like pressing on a bruise.

Jackson stops a few feet away, close enough that I can see the rain tracking down his face, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. Far enough that I can still pretend this is just about the cattle, about the storm, about anything but the current pulling us together even as I plan my escape.

“You’re shivering,” he says, and I realize he’s right. The adrenaline is fading, leaving me cold and trembling in its wake. His eyes haven’t left my face, searching for something I’m not sure I can give him. “Come inside. Please.”

It isn’t an order. That’s what breaks me—the gentleness in his voice, the choice he’s giving me even now. I nod, a quick jerk of my head, and follow him toward the barn. Each step feels like both surrender and defiance, my feet squelching in the mud as lightning flashes overhead.

Behind us, his men are still working, their voices carried away by the wind. But ahead, the doors to the house stand open where we left them, hours before, light spilling out into the rain like a beacon. Like an invitation.

Like a warning.

I cross the threshold knowing exactly what I’m walking into and knowing just as surely that I’ll walk away from it come morning. For now, though, I let the door close behind us, shutting out the storm and leaving us in a bubble of lamplightand shared breath, where the only thunder is the beating of my own heart.

Water drips from our clothes, forming puddles on the floor. Shadows dance across Jackson’s face as he kneels and searches a trunk in the mudroom, pulling out a blanket.

“Here.” He holds it out, not moving closer, letting me choose the distance between us.

My fingers brush his as I take it, and I fight the urge to snatch my hand back. Or to let it linger. Both feel equally dangerous. “Thanks,” I manage, wrapping the rough wool around my shoulders. It smells like him.

“You could have kept running.” His voice is quiet, barely audible over the rain drumming on the roof. “But you came back.”

“The cattle were in danger.” My voice is steady, certain. This, at least, is simple truth. “I couldn’t just let them drown.”

“Would have been my problem. Not yours.” He steps closer, and I force myself to hold my ground. “You could have kept going.”

“No.” The word comes out sharp, almost angry. “I couldn’t. Not when I could help.” I meet his gaze directly, refusing to let him make this about us. “Those animals didn’t deserve to die just because I was running away from you.”

His expression shifts, respect and another emotion I don’t want to name crossing his features. “No, they didn’t.” He moves to adjust the blanket where it has slipped from my shoulder, his fingers careful not to touch my skin. “You always did have a stronger moral compass than me.”

“That’s not true.” The warmth of his nearness makes me too aware of how cold the rest of me is. “You would have done the same thing.”

“Maybe now.” The words hold weight, an acknowledgment of change that makes my chest tight. “A few years ago? I’m not so sure.”

Thunder crashes outside, closer than before, and I flinch. Not from the sound—I’ve never been afraid of storms—but from how it pushes me half a step closer to him. The blanket is heavy on my shoulders, his scent wrapped around me, and suddenly the room feels too small, too intimate.

“I should check on the horses,” I say, but don’t move. Can’t move, with him looking at me like that, like he can see right through my practical reasons to the turmoil underneath.

“They’re fine. The men will have secured them by now.” His hand falls away from the blanket, but he doesn’t step back. “You’re exhausted, Shiloh. Let someone else handle things for once.”

The kindness in his voice is worse than any demand could have been. I can fight orders, can resist force. But this gentle concern, this understanding—it threatens to undo me completely.

I should step away. Should remind myself why I’d been running in the first place. Instead, I find myself swaying slightly, exhaustion making my bones heavy. The blanket slips again, and this time when he reaches to fix it, my hand catches his wrist.

“Stop being so careful with me.” My voice is rough, matching the calluses on my fingers where they press against his pulse. “I won’t break.”

“I know.” His other hand comes up to brush wet hair from my face, and this time he doesn’t shy away from touching me. “You’re the strongest person I know. That’s why?—”

I kiss him. Not because of any romantic notion about storms or destiny, but because I choose to. Because if this is ending—and it is, it has to—I want one moment where I don’t hold back.

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