The stadium crowd rumbled with polite enthusiasm—about as loud as daytime crowds ever got at the Bowman Rodeo. I still needed to qualify for the big show later tonight—the one my father would actually attend.
It was my first time competing in trick riding, and my stomach was doing somersaults. But I was ready. Months of practice had led me to this moment.
"Alex?" The voice of the new ranch hand broke through my spiraling thoughts. My father had hired him to help out around the ranch, but I hadn't paid him much attention until now.
I turned to face him, taking in the rugged, drop-dead gorgeous cowboy look he had going on. If you were into that sort of thing, anyway. My sister definitely was—she had a habit of collecting cowboys like souvenirs. Me? I tried not to make them my kind of thing. Still, I wasn't blind, and there was no harm in enjoying the view.
"Is it time?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. He nodded, and I drew in a deep breath before swapping my boots for sneakers.
"It's easier to balance in these—and point my toes like a princess," I explained, catching his bemused expression.
Ignoring the smirk tugging at his lips, I triple-checked the saddle straps before leading Denim to the arena entrance. Swinging onto his back, I felt the familiar connection settle between us. We'd bonded deeply over months of practice. He knew my voice, and I could tell by the subtle flex of his muscles how he was going to move. In trick riding, that bond was everything. Without it, you'd be lucky to walk away without a trip to the hospital.
As the announcer's voice boomed through the arena, I launched into my routine. Denim galloped in perfect rhythm as I performed my tricks—hanging gracefully from his side, balancing with precise control, and flowing seamlessly through each movement. For three minutes, it was just me, Denim, and the pounding of hooves on dirt.
When the routine ended, I'd hit all six required tricks, scoring mostly eights and nines. Not bad for my first competition, though it wasn't quite the perfection I'd dreamed of. Still, it was enough to qualify for the next round, and for now, that was enough.
"Your name's Ryan, right?" I asked the ranch hand as he took Denim's reins and offered a hand to help me dismount.
"That's right," he said, his voice low and steady. His fingers lingered at my waist just a little too long, and for a brief moment, our eyes locked.
Then, the unmistakable sound of snickering shattered the moment. I turned to see my brothers and sister watching from a few feet away, grinning like they'd just caught me stealing cookies from the jar.
Being the youngest of five meant this kind of thing was inevitable.
Lee, the eldest, stood with his arms crossed, exuding the same unyielding confidence as Dad. Jamie, the brainiac, had his hands stuffed in his pockets, always sizing up the situation like it was some kind of test. Beth, my cowboy-loving sister, was already smirking, her sharp tongue ready for action. And then there was my twin, Kayce—two minutes older but with enough empathy for the entire family. He had Dad's aspirations but none of his sharp edges.
Beth was the first to strike. "I thought you came here to rodeo, Alex," she drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word, "not pick up ranch hands."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I stepped back, putting space between me and Ryan, and squared my shoulders toward them. "I… he was just helping me down. I thought you all were busy branding steers and wouldn't be here until later."
Lee's teasing grin replaced Beth's sharper tone. "We finished early and told Dad we were coming to watch you fall on your ass. Gotta say, you disappointed." He slung an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a brotherly half-hug.
"You looked great out there, Alex," Jamie added, his words softer and more sincere.
I glanced between their faces, searching for the one I was most nervous to see. "Is Dad here too?"
"You know how he is," Kayce said, his voice calm but laced with the weight of truth. "He said he wasn't coming to the qualifiers, so he's not coming. His word is his bond, right?"
"Yeah, I know how he is." My shoulders sagged just a little, but I quickly forced myself to straighten up. Inhaling deeply, I painted on a smile. "Anyway, I'm starving. Those food stands are calling my name."
I turned back to Ryan, who was brushing Denim with steady, practiced strokes. "You want to come with us? My treat."
Ryan paused, his hand stilling on the brush for just a moment before continuing. "No thanks," he said, not looking up. His tone was polite, but the distance in his words was unmistakable.
It was clear he understood his place—or at least, the place he thought he had. He was the help, and in his mind, that made me off-limits.
—-
A couple of hours later, the butterflies in my stomach were back, fluttering harder than ever. This was it—the big show, the one people shelled out serious cash to see. They came for the spectacle: graceful girls performing acrobatics on the backs of prancing horses, followed by burly men trying to last a grueling eight seconds on a bucking bronco or a raging bull.
For my brothers' sake, I was grateful none of them wanted to rodeo like me. I'd heard too many stories about cowboys who didn't walk away after a bad ride. Grandpa used to joke, "The only good reason to ride a bull is to meet a nurse." Funny, but not enough to ease the reality of the risks.
As I entered the arena, I fought the urge to scan the crowd for my father. I knew he was there. He'd said he would be, and Dad never broke his word. Still, I avoided looking for him. The idea of catching a glimpse of his disappointment gnawed at me. I couldn't let that rattle my nerves.
He thought I'd have given up rodeoing by now, moved on to something more "practical." And sure, I could see myself working a steady job—maybe buried in spreadsheets like Beth in her finance career, or grinding through law school like Jamie. Hell, I'd probably even be content running the ranch alongside Lee, Kayce, and Dad. But rodeoing was different. It was mine. It gave me a sense of purpose nothing else could touch.
The crowd erupted in cheers as I nailed my final trick. Only then did I let myself search the stands, and there he was—Dad, staring right at me. He wasn't scowling. He wasn't angry.
He looked proud.
The sting of tears hit my eyes, and before they could spill, I rushed out of the arena, my chest tight with emotion.
—-
I smiled as I posed for pictures with little girls in cowboy hats, their faces beaming with excitement. It didn't seem that long ago that I was one of them—a little girl with pigtails, starry-eyed at the chance to meet the rodeo queen. Funny how life changes. Now, the rodeo queen from my childhood was the governor of Montana. Not that I'd ever aim for political office. That was more Jamie's ambition—or even Beth's, in her own way.
Four years had passed since I'd won my first rodeo, yet the thrill still felt as fresh as ever. Dad showed up for the qualifiers occasionally now. Lee and Jamie? They never missed one. Beth had moved to Utah, chasing a career that made her more money than she knew what to do with. And Kayce…
Kayce hadn't been around in over a year. After one last blowout with Dad, he'd joined the Navy. Now, he had a wife on an Indian reservation and a newborn son I hadn't met yet. The thought tugged at my heart. Life kept moving, whether you wanted it to or not.
"You ready to head out?" Ryan's voice broke through my thoughts. It was warm, with a smile tucked into the edges of his words as he watched me interact with my pint-sized fans.
"Almost." I grabbed my bag and headed toward the truck, taking a moment to check that Denim was secure in the trailer before climbing into the passenger seat.
Ryan started the engine, and we rolled out onto the road, heading back to Yellowstone Ranch. The hum of the truck filled the silence for a moment before I turned to him. "You know, you're not the low man on the totem pole anymore. You don't have to haul me around if you don't want to."
"I know," he said, his smirk visible even in the dim light of the dashboard. "I know."
Chapter 2
Dawn was just breaking when I woke up, the faint light stretching across the horizon. Not every day was a rodeo. Most days were spent mucking stalls, training horses, and doing all the gritty "cowboy" work it took to run the largest ranch in North America. Yellowstone Ranch wasn't just our home—it was our legacy.
Granted, that legacy had its shadows. At some point in history, this land was taken from others. But for over 150 years, the Dutton family had poured blood, sweat, and tears into keeping Yellowstone alive. Most years, we barely broke even on cattle sales. And even in the leanest years, Dad wouldn't let me dip into my rodeo winnings to help.
John Dutton was a proud man, stubborn as the Montana winters. The ranch was going to run his way, and no amount of pleading or reasoning would change that. So, like the rest of my siblings, I fell in line—mostly. I was still my father's daughter, after all, with a streak of independence I wasn't afraid to show when it mattered.
I rinsed out my mug after my second cup of coffee, set it in the sink, and grabbed my hat before heading to the barn. Mucking stalls wasn't glamorous, but it was mine.
Dad had made it clear when I was eight years old and he bought me my first horse: if I wanted to rodeo, I had to take care of my horse. Every day. No excuses. In return, he'd make sure I had the training and resources I needed to compete. I hadn't missed a morning in fifteen years.
Sometimes I wondered if I'd finally paid him back.
"Mornin'," Lloyd's voice greeted me as I stepped into the barn, the familiar creak of the door punctuating his words. "Black wheelbarrow's for manure, green's for feed. Don't go mixin' them up."
He said that every morning, like clockwork. Lloyd had been on the ranch for as long as I could remember, a fixture of Yellowstone as much as the sprawling pastures and mountain views. He'd been the one who helped me the most when I first started rodeoing. I figured it was because he used to rodeo back in his prime, though he didn't talk much about those days.
"Yes, sir," I replied, flashing him a smile. I grabbed the black wheelbarrow, rolled it to the edge of the stall, and got to work. The rhythmic scrape of the pitchfork felt almost meditative after all these years.
By the time I was finished, I'd cut my morning routine down considerably since I was eight. Mucking out the stalls, feeding, and watering the horses—just a couple of hours' work. Just in time, too, for the rest of the ranch hands to come busting into the barn, ready to saddle up and start their day.
My eyes lingered on Ryan as he saddled his horse, the muscles in his arms flexing with every movement. I couldn't help it; there was something about him that drew me in. Four years of working side by side, and he'd never crossed the line. I was the boss's daughter, and he was the employee. That alone kept things professional—on the surface. But there were always those stolen glances, those tender touches that lasted a little longer than they should for something that was supposed to be platonic. If anything ever happened between us, I knew I'd have to be the one to make the first move.
"So, what's on the schedule today?" I asked, keeping my tone casual as I tried to push aside the tension building in my chest.
"Think Lee wants us to head up to the east pasture, start bringing the pairs down for winter," Ryan replied, glancing over at me as he finished saddling his horse. "You joining us?"
"Sounds fun," I said with a smile, though inside I was trying to figure out how to tell him I wanted more than just the ranch hand–boss's daughter dynamic. But that would have to wait. The ranch came first.
"It's Colby's birthday," Ryan said, catching my attention as we led our horses out of the barn. "You wanna come by the bunkhouse later and celebrate with us?"
"Okay, I'll be there," I answered, surprised by the wave of relief that washed over me. That would give me the perfect opportunity to talk to him on a different level—away from the ranch, away from the expectations.
The wind whipped through my auburn hair as I rode through the tall grass, wrangling cows with the rest of the ranch hands. This was about as cowboy as you could get, and this moment, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
—-
If I were like my sister, I'd put on a cotton dress that hugged my curves, then saunter into the bunkhouse to take my pick of cowboys. But I wasn't Beth. The way she did things only worked for her, and I wasn't interested in just any cowboy. I had my eyes—and my heart—set on one in particular.
So, I showered, put on some makeup, and slipped into my favorite pair of jeans. Then, I made my way to the bunkhouse.
It was loud, as you'd expect a bunkhouse to be. The guys were gathered around the table, laughing and playing cards.
It felt cool. Casual. Just a bunch of guys having a good time. I could do this. I'd done it a thousand times before. Being a girl in this family didn't mean being soft. It meant you had to buck up and fight, harder and more often than anyone else.
Mom explained it to Beth when she came of age, and Beth tried relaying it to me. Once you reach a certain age, boys start to see you differently. And it's up to us to make sure they don't treat us like we're weak. We can't let ourselves believe we're weak, either. Because women are strong. We have to be.
I gave a smile when my eyes met Ryan's. He moved a case of beer from the chair beside him and brushed it off, motioning for me to take a seat.
"What are we playing?" I asked, feigning casual interest. I already knew it was five-card draw—a game I was terrible at—but tonight wasn't about winning. Whiskey wasn't my thing either, but I drank it anyway. Liquid courage, right?
"I think y'all are cheatin'," I slurred after my fifth shot of Jack Daniels, giggling as I leaned on the table for support. "I'm all outta money."
I pushed back my chair and stood, or at least tried to. My legs wobbled, unsure of themselves like a newborn calf. Before I could tip over, Ryan's hand caught my arm, his grip firm and steady.
"Where are you headed?" he asked, his smile soft but teasing.
"Bathroom," I said, pointing vaguely in the direction I hoped it was.
"Other way," he chuckled, nodding to the far side of the bunkhouse.
When I finally stumbled out of the bathroom, Ryan was waiting, leaning against the wall like he'd been keeping an eye on me the whole time.
"You want me to walk you back to the house?" he asked, his tone as steady as his presence.
"You think I can't hang?" I teased, the giggle escaping before I could stop it. My words wavered, betraying me.
"I know you can hang," he said, his grin widening, "but I'm not sure how much longer you can stand."
He offered his arm, and I took it, grateful for the warmth and strength of him beside me. As we stepped into the cool night air, the sounds of the bunkhouse faded behind us, leaving just the quiet hum of crickets and the steady rhythm of my heart pounding in my chest.
I knew what I had to do. If I didn't say something now, the moment would pass, and I'd regret it forever.
"I wanted to tell you something," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"What's that?" he asked, glancing down at me with those kind eyes that always seemed to see straight through me.
I opened my mouth, but the words tangled themselves into knots, impossible to untangle. So, I reached up instead, cupping his face in my hands and pulling him down to meet me.
The kiss was everything I'd imagined and more—warm, slow, and electric. His hands slid to my waist, holding me firmly, yet with a tenderness that made my knees feel weak all over again. The barn wall caught my back as I pulled him closer, my fingers trailing down his chest until they fumbled with the buckle of his belt.
"Wait," Ryan murmured, his voice rough, breaking through the haze.
"What's wrong?" I asked, blinking up at him, my breath catching. "Don't you want me?"
His thumb brushed my cheek, his expression soft but resolute. "More than you can imagine," he said, his words slow and deliberate, "but not like this. I want the first time we're together to mean something—not something you might regret in the morning."
"I won't regret it," I promised, my voice trembling as I toyed with his belt buckle. "I swear, I won't."
"You say that now," he said, pressing his lips gently to my forehead. "But let's make sure."
He stepped back, his hands lingering on my waist as if it took everything in him to let go. "If you still feel the same tomorrow night, meet me in the barn after dinner."
He gave me one last smile, the kind that could melt steel, before walking away, leaving me breathless and aching for more.