Page 48 of No Turning Back
Sam squints at me. “The man’s a disgraced employee who got disowned and divorced in the same year.”
“You don’t know that it was because he found out the truth. He might just be an ass.”
Sam just gives me that disappointed,really?kind of look. We hold each other’s gaze, neither of us backing down.
Living with Sam has been… easy. Fun, even. We still haven’t been officially approved for the foster care situation, some backlog in the system, but one thing has changed: my dog.
Blue, my scruffy little mutt, is curled up in the corner right now. She’s supposed to bemydog, but somehow, she keeps ending up in Sam’s bed at night. He swears it’s because I snore. I’m convinced it’s because he sneaks her treats when I’m not looking. Dog stealer.
Speaking off, his hand slips out of his pocket just as Blue trots over. I can hear the crunching even from across the counter.
“Aha!” I point my coffee mug at him. “Dog stealer, caught in the act.”
He freezes mid-sip, not even looking guilty. “It’s calledbonding,” he says, low and even, like I’m the one being unreasonable while he’s the one keeping treats in his pocket.
“Bonding? Withmydog?”
“Maybe she’s trying to tell you something.” His eyes lift to mine, holding there just a beat too long. It’s not the playful glint I’m used to, this is something slower, heavier. The air between us shifts, tightening like a pulled string.
I feel my throat go dry, so I sip my coffee even though it’s gone lukewarm. “And what exactly is she trying to say?”
“That she likes the company,” he says quietly, a corner of his mouth lifting. “That maybe she’s not the only one.”
The words settle in my chest, warm and dangerous, and for a second I forget to breathe. Blue sighs, curling back into the corner, completely oblivious to the way my pulse has started to race.
I manage a laugh, light, forced. “Still a dog stealer.”
His gaze lingers for another long moment before he looks away. “Guilty as charged.”
“What time you gotta leave?” he asks after a stretch of quiet that’s more comfortable than silence has any right to be.
“Eight,” I answer, already dreading it. “God, I hate leaving.”
He smiles, the kind that says he knows. “Yeah, you’d much rather help me clear the bunkhouse.”
I gasp. “You’refinallydoing it?”
“The grass is nearly done,” he says with a shrug. “Figured I should at least check what’s in there.”
“You really haven’t checked it yet? What if someone’s living there?”
He laughs. “What, a secret ranch hand? Nah. The whole place is boarded up. I don’t think it’s been opened since my grandpa shut down the ranch.”
“Why’d he do that?” I settle into a chair at the island, it doubles as a dining table.
Sam takes the seat across from me, his elbows resting on the stone. “Back in the seventies, this place was huge. Barns, stables, cattle, my grandpa had a full working ranch. Then his wife got pregnant.”
I smile a little at the image.
“It was a difficult pregnancy,” he continues. “She delivered a healthy kid, but… she was never the same again. I don’t know if it was postpartum or what, but when my mom was three, her mom committed suicide.”
“Oh, God.” I cover my mouth.
“It broke my grandpa,” Sam says quietly. “He realized that instead of being there for her, he’d been too wrapped up in running the ranch. So, in his grief, he fired all the hands, sold off most of the animals, and shut everything down. My mom left as soon as she could, met my dad, but when he died while she was pregnant… she just came back here. And never really left.”
The coffee turns bitter in my mouth. I set the mug down, the ceramic clinking against the stone counter. "I'm so sorry, Sam."
He nods, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "It's why I came back, you know? After she died. Couldn't stand the thought of this place just sitting empty, rotting away with all that sadness."
