UNBROKEN PROMISE

~81~ Apologise

Logan and Oma walked back toward the ranch, hand in hand, the sunlight casting gold over the fields. Oma's face was glowing-soft and contented, her smile tucked at the corners of her lips. There was something different in the way she walked now. It was quiet joy, plain and simple.

But as they reached the edge of the trees near the south fence, they spotted a figure on the far side of the path. Matthew.

The moment Matthew caught sight of them, his posture stiffened. He made eye contact with Logan for half a second, then quickly turned and veered in the opposite direction, disappearing around the old tool shed.

Logan's mouth tugged into a slow, satisfied smirk.

Oma stopped walking and turned toward him, arms folding, her expression unreadable. Logan turned too, noticing she'd halted.

"What?" he asked, already sensing what was coming.

"You beat him up, now he's scared of you and your smiling?," she said flatly, brows lifting slightly.

He shrugged like it was nothing. "He deserved it. It'll be a lesson he won't forget."

"Logan..." Her voice was soft, but there was weight behind it. "It's not proper. You should apologize. Matthew was just trying to be nice."

"Nice?" Logan barked a short laugh. "That boy's idea of 'nice' was starin' at you like you were somethin' he could take. That ain't right. I ain't apologizin'. Not now, not ever."

They stood there for a long moment, the breeze rustling the leaves around them, both locked in a stubborn glare. And in that glare, Logan saw it—saw how much she'd changed.

The old Oma would've looked down, maybe murmured something mild to smooth it all over. But not this Oma. This Oma stood her ground, chin tipped up, eyes steady. She wasn't afraid to challenge him anymore.

And though it made his jaw twitch, though it sparked that stubborn fire in his chest, he couldn't help the pride that curled low in his gut. She was finding her voice. She wasn't that quiet, unsure girl anymore and part of him loved her more for it.

Oma crossed her arms again. "You're impossible Logan." she said, exasperated.

Logan sighed, long and deep, then stepped forward and gently pulled her close. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple, then her cheek.

"Go on now, sweetheart," he murmured against her skin. "Go back to the house. Finish your work."

Oma leaned back just enough to look at him. "You're not dismissing this, Logan. We're going to talk about it."

He gave another sigh, running a hand through his still damp hair. "Don't make this more complicated, woman. We'll talk later."

She gave him a slow, measured nod, then turned and walked toward the house, her steps just a bit sharper than before.

Logan watched her for a second, then shook his head to himself, muttering something under his breath as he turned toward the barn, hands tucked in his pockets.

That woman had a way of tugging at him from the inside out—but he wouldn't have it any other way.

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Dinner had been quiet at night. Oma had warmed up the stew she'd prepared for lunch—tender cuts of venison with carrots and potatoes, seasoned just the way Logan liked it.

Fresh biscuits from the morning were reheated, and she'd even drizzled them with honey, setting a little extra butter on the side of the plate like always.

Logan noticed all the little touches, but neither of them mentioned the earlier conversation. The weight of it still hung between them, unspoken but far from forgotten.