I found it here with you. Wyatt turned to look at her. "You belong here. You know that, right?" "I'm starting to," she said.
But it's hard. I spent so long not belonging anywhere that it's hard to believe this is real, that it's going to last. It'll last as long as you want it to. "What about you?" What do you want?
The question hung in the air between them. Wyatt could deflect, change the subject, keep things safe and undefined, but he was tired of being alone, tired of keeping his walls up. "I want you to stay," he said. Not just because you're a good worker or because the place runs better with two people. I want you to stay because I care about you.
Because I've gotten used to having you around and I don't want to go back to how it was before. Ayla's eyes glistened in the starlight. "I care about you, too, more than I thought I could care about anyone." "Yeah." Wyatt stood and crossed to where she sat, settling beside her on the bench.
He took her hand and she laced her fingers through his. They sat like that for a while, not speaking, just being together, and it was enough. The days grew longer and warmer. The work continued, relentless as always, but now there were moments of lightness woven through it. Ayla taught Wyatt songs from her childhood, humming them while they worked.
He taught her to play cards, and they'd sit up late into the night playing hand after hand, betting chores instead of money. When she won, which was often, she'd laugh with genuine delight. And the sound of it made something in Wyatt's chest unfurl. They talked about the future more openly now. where to plant the garden, which breed of cattle would do best on this land, whether they should build a second barn or expand the existing one. Every conversation reinforced the same truth.
They were building something together, something permanent, but there were still shadows. Ayla had nightmares sometimes, waking in a cold sweat, her breathing ragged. The first time it happened, Wyatt heard her from his cot and came to check on her. She was sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, staring into the flames. "You all right?" he asked.
She nodded without looking at him. "Just bad dreams." He sat down beside her. "Want to talk about it?" "Not really."
She was quiet for a moment, then said, I keep seeing Harlo's face. Keep hearing his voice. Sometimes I wake up and I'm back in that house and I can't get out. He's gone, Wyatt said gently. He can't hurt you anymore.
I know, but my brain doesn't seem to care what I know. It just keeps replaying the worst parts over and over. Wyatt understood that he'd had his own nightmares over the years. Sarah's death, the men he'd killed in the war, moments when he'd failed or come close to dying. The past had a way of clawing its way back, especially in the dark.