Chapter 2

Sofia handed over the shift report. Her eyes burned with fatigue, but adrenaline still buzzed in her veins. In the ICU, behind the frosted glass, Ethan Callahan lay unconscious under sedation, his casted leg suspended in a cumbersome traction device. Monitors blinked slowly: heart rate 58, blood pressure 110/70, saturation 98%. Stable, but on a knife's edge.

"He's alive after the knife, but infection is the next round," said Dr. Vance, appearing at her side with a half-empty coffee. "The Callahans have tough bones and heads like rocks. Don't expect thanks."

Sofia looked at Ethan's sharp profile in the white light. Without the anger, he seemed younger, fragile. The scars on his hands told stories of wire and pulled reins.

"Has he woken up?"

"For a moment. He growled at the nurse who tried to give him medicine. Called her a 'city poisoner.'" Vance gave a dry chuckle. "Welcome to Serenity Creek, where distrust is a sport. Go rest. This heat eats the unwary."

Sofia rested her forehead on the steering wheel, letting the air conditioning blow dust in her face. The town stretched out ahead: empty streets, "For Rent" signs swaying, the "Valley Saloon" sign flickering lamely. It was the opposite of Houston. Exactly what she needed. A place where no one knew of her failure. Where "Nurse Sofia Alves" could still be redemption, not the face of the boy she lost on the table.

She parked in front of the "Mill Café." The bell tinkled when she opened the door. Three men in the corner cut their conversation. The silence weighed heavier than their stares.

"Good morning," Sofia greeted, heading to the counter where a woman with gray braids scrubbed a pot with fury.

"They say you saved Callahan's neck yesterday," the woman said, without lifting her eyes. "Betty Sanders. Coffee's on the house. After all, if Ethan died, who'd pay Ben's tab here?"

Sofia hesitated. Hostility dripped in that place.

"I just did my job," she replied softly, but loud enough for Betty to hear.

"Job?" Betty gave a dry laugh. "Here, real work is just the sun scorching the earth. The rest is surviving." She poured a pitch-black coffee into a mug. "Want gossip with that? It's free before ten."

The men at the table scraped their chairs. One of them, with a bulldog face, spat on the wooden floor.

"Gossip? What's there is that the Callahans are one step from losing Dry Land. Bank on their tail, dead pasture, and Ben blowing the rest on gambling and whiskey."

The younger one, in a trucker cap, shook his head.

"Rick Dawson offered clean money last month. Ethan spat on the proposal. Pride doesn't fill a cow's belly, Lou."

"Callahan pride is an old disease," grumbled Lou, the bulldog. "Remember old Joseph? Died in that 'accident' on the cliff because he wouldn't sell a scrap of land to Dawson. Pure stubbornness."

Sofia felt a chill. Accident. The same word Ethan had shouted in his ICU delirium. She took a sip of the coffee, strong as hell.

"And their mother? Marlene?" asked Lou.

Betty let out a harsh laugh.

"That wildcat? She holds grudges like a pro. Since Joseph died, she's locked her sons in a vault of rules. Ben escaped through the bottom of a bottle. Ethan... well, Ethan turned to stone." Leaning on the counter, she lowered her voice. "Be careful if you step on Dry Land, girl. Marlene shoots first and asks questions later. Especially at an outsider messing with her boys."

The bell tinkled again. A man entered, wearing expensive snakeskin boots and an impeccable white shirt. Silence fell like a knife.

"Betty, darling. Coffee, black, no sugar. Like my mood today," Rick Dawson smiled, his blue eyes sweeping the place until they landed on Sofia. "Ah. The heroine of the hour. Sofia Alves, right? I heard you tamed our wild bull yesterday."

Sofia felt the coffee sour in her mouth. Dawson oozed danger.

"I just treated a fracture, Mr. Dawson."

He pulled up a stool, ignoring Lou's angry glares.

"Modesty. I like that." He took the coffee Betty poured forcefully. "Ethan is... tough. Like his ranch. But even the toughest break when the land dries up and debt tightens." He swirled the mug, studying her. "Serenity Creek needs new blood. Maybe you'd like to know I offered a full health post for the town."

The subtext hung in the air: Work for me. Stay away from the Callahans. Sofia straightened her back.

"Thanks, but I'm good at Mary Saint."

Dawson smiled, but his eyes didn't.

"Small town has a short memory, dear. But a wound... ah, a wound can rot if not cared for right." He tapped the counter. "See you later, Betty. And, Sofia? Watch out for the thorns. Even the prettiest cactus hurts."

When he left, the air started circulating again. Lou spat once more.

"Smooth-skinned snake. Just missing the rattle."