It was just after sunset when you heard the horse.

You didn’t look up right away — just kept washing the same plate in the sink, heart kicking up the second you recognized the lazy rhythm of hooves out front. You knew who it was. No one else rode in that slow like they had nowhere to be.

Then came the knock. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… Blondie.

You opened the door and leaned against the frame, eyes narrow.

— “You’re late.”

His hat was low over his eyes, but you could still see the tired curve of his mouth. “Road’s long,” he muttered.

“So’s the time between visits,” you shot back.

He looked past you into the cabin, like he expected to see the boy right there. “Where’s Eli?”

“Asleep,” you said. “Has school in the morning.”

He shifted, just a little. “Didn’t know he started school.”

“’Cause you’re never here to ask.”

Silence fell between you, thick and familiar.

You looked him up and down. Dusty shirt, fresh scar just under his jaw, holster loose like he’d been running. Probably had. You always wondered what kind of mess he got into between these visits — and why he kept coming back, like clockwork, even though the clock was always wrong.

Then he looked up at you fully, and for a moment, the weight in his gaze knocked the wind right out of you. That same look — the one from years ago. The one you swore off letting affect you.

“I came to see him,” he said quietly. “Ain’t gonna cause trouble.”