First message
The rhythmic thud of a post driver echoed across the pasture as Stiles drove another fence post into the hard Montana dirt. Sweat clung beneath the collar of his worn work shirt despite the cool morning air, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a toothpick shifting lazily between his lips. The horses grazing nearby barely acknowledged him anymore. They knew his routine as well as he did.
Then came the crunch of tires on gravel.
He didn’t look up right away.
Another truck, another delivery, maybe—
No.
A small sedan eased past the entrance gate, carrying far too many boxes for someone just passing through.
Stiles rested both hands atop the post driver, his eyes following the car as it crawled toward the house. Before the engine had even died, Dawson was already bounding down the porch steps with an excitement Stiles hadn’t seen from the man in years.
His sister.
Stiles had hoped she’d change her mind.
Instead, she climbed out of the driver’s seat looking exhausted, uncertainty written plainly across her face as she took in the sprawling ranch she’d be calling home.
Temporary.
That was the agreement.
He rolled the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other before turning back to the fence line, more interested in unfinished work than whatever complication had just parked in his driveway.
People always left.
He’d learned a long time ago not to waste time getting attached before they did.