The fearless rodeo champion I had become faded into the background as I opened the heavy oak door to my father's house. The faint creak of the hinges echoed in the quiet, and the scent of aged wood, leather, and faint smoke wrapped around me like an old, familiar blanket. The glint of the Y etched in the stained glass above the door cast fragmented light onto the polished hardwood floor, a subtle reminder of the legacy I had tried to outrun. Even after being away for almost two years, it still smelled like home.

"Kayce ask you to be a buffer?" my father's deep voice cut through the stillness, pulling my gaze to where he stood, hands clasped behind his back, near the fireplace.

I hesitated, letting the weight of his question settle. "I told him he already had the best buffer with Tate," I said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "But he wanted me to be here anyway."

"I needed you here," he said quietly, turning his head to meet my eyes. The flicker of the fire illuminated his face, softening the hard lines I had always associated with him. For the first time, I noticed something I'd never seen before—sadness, raw and unguarded. "I need my family here."

"I'm here now, Dad." My voice was steady, but my chest ached at the sight of him like this. He had been unshakable when Mom passed, stoic and composed even as the rest of us fell apart. Yet now, his eyes glistened with unshed tears, and the cracks in his armor were visible.

"For as long as you want me here," I added, stepping further into the room. My boots thudded softly against the floor as the warmth of the fire seeped into my skin.

"All right," he said simply, his voice steady but subdued. "Dinner will be ready soon. Get cleaned up."

I nodded, unsure if I should say more, and turned toward the stairs. The faint creak of the steps beneath my boots was a sound I hadn't realized I missed until now. Each step felt heavier, weighted with memories I wasn't sure I was ready to confront.

When I reached the top and pushed open the door to my old room, it was as though time had frozen. The air was faintly stale, carrying the scent of dust and pine from the furniture polish Mom used to swear by. My work boots, worn and scuffed from countless hours on the ranch, still lay kicked over near the back wall, exactly where I had left them.

My gaze drifted to the desk. The book I had stopped reading sat there, face down, pages slightly curled from where I had pressed it too hard. I trailed my fingers over its spine, brushing away a fine layer of dust. It was surreal, like stepping into a photograph of my past.

The bedspread, a faded patchwork quilt my mother had made, was still neatly tucked as though she'd done it herself. The faint scent of her lavender lotion lingered, almost imperceptible but unmistakable. My chest tightened. For a moment, I just stood there, absorbing it all—the stillness, the familiarity, and the ache of knowing the only thing that had truly changed in this room was me.

I slipped off my boots and sank onto the edge of the bed, letting the weight of the day settle over me. It was strange how the smallest things—a misplaced boot, an unfinished book—could hold so much of who I used to be.

After showering and changing into clean clothes, I paused by the window, wiping the fogged glass with my sleeve. The barn stood stark against the dusky sky, its silhouette flanked by the distant bunkhouse. A soft glow from its windows hinted at life and routine carrying on, unchanged in my absence. I wondered if Ryan knew I was back.

Of course, he knew. How could he not? News of the prodigal daughter's return likely spread faster than wildfire out here. Everyone probably had their own version of the story by now, but the bigger question lingered: would Ryan care? Or had the time and distance carved a gulf too wide to bridge?

I pushed the thought aside with a sigh. There was no sense in stirring up old ghosts when I hadn't even faced the living ones yet. Family first. I had to get through dinner before I even thought about dealing with him.

I made my way downstairs, the soft murmur of voices drifting through the house. The dining room came into view, its warmth spilling into the hall. I stopped in the doorway, my stomach knotting at the sight of them all.

Lee sat to Dad's right, as he always had, his posture as rigid as ever. Jamie was beside him, his expression a carefully curated mix of indifference and discomfort. On Dad's left sat Beth, sharp-eyed and leaning back in her chair with a glass of wine in hand.

And then there was Kayce's seat, empty but loud in its absence, like a wound no one dared to acknowledge.

I slipped into my place beside Beth, the familiar scrape of the chair on the floor breaking the tension in my chest. Her sharp glance flicked to me, assessing, before she smirked and muttered something under her breath about my timing.

The table was the same, the faces were the same, but something about the air was heavier now. This wasn't just dinner; it was the beginning of everything I'd been avoiding for the past two years.

caught the subtle glances between Lee and Jamie, the kind that spoke louder than words to anyone paying attention. Something was going on, something they weren't telling me. My chest tightened with that old familiar frustration—being left in the dark wasn't new, but it stung all the same.

Turning to Beth, who never held anything back, I leaned in slightly. "What the hell is going on?" I asked, keeping my voice low but firm.

She tilted her glass, swirling the wine lazily before taking a slow sip, her sharp blue eyes cutting to me. "You may not have noticed while you were out living your Rodeo Barbie dream," she began, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "but things have been heating up around here. They're still trying to take the ranch."

My stomach dropped. "Who's they this time?"

"Before, it was some yuppie developer with big plans for condos," she said, her tone as bitter as the wine she was drinking. "Now, it's the people behind that goddamn Paradise Valley resort that went up next door. They've got more money than God and no sense of boundaries."

I let her words settle, my gaze drifting to Lee and Jamie again. Lee stared at his plate like it might answer his prayers, while Jamie shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between the rest of us.

"They've been coming at us from every angle," Beth continued, leaning closer. "Lawsuits, buyouts, even sending their sleazeball reps to schmooze at the local meetings. Every day, it's something new."

"And Dad?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Her expression softened briefly, though her voice stayed sharp. "He's holding on, but it's taking a toll. We all see it, even if he won't admit it."

"If being run off the fucking road is a slight toll," Jamie muttered, his fork clinking against his plate.

I froze, my eyes narrowing as I turned to him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Beth sighed, setting her wine glass down with deliberate care. "Dad didn't tell you, of course. Two weeks ago, he was run off the road by a semi. Belonged to Paradise Valley."

My stomach twisted, a mix of anger and disbelief clawing at my insides. "Are you kidding me?"

Jamie shook his head, his jaw tight. "Wish I was. They didn't even bother to hide it—logo on the side, clear as day.."

My fists clenched under the table, the familiar fury of helplessness bubbling up. "And what, nothing's being done about it? What's the plan? You've got legal options, right?"

Beth snorted, leaning back in her chair. "You think they care about legal? They've got lawyers on retainer who could bury us six feet under with paperwork alone. Jamie's way out of his league. That's why I'm here."

"Beth—" Jamie started, his voice defensive, but she waved him off.

"I'm just calling it like I see it. This isn't just a land grab; this is a declaration of war."

I turned to Dad, who had been silent through it all, his gaze fixed on the table. Finally, he looked up, the weight of the years etched deeply into his face. "We'll handle it," he said, his voice low but resolute. "But we need to be smart. This isn't just about fighting back—it's about surviving long enough to win."

His eyes locked on mine, steady and unyielding. "I need you here to help your brothers and sister. Keep this place running, keep the family strong. We've fought for this land for generations, and I'll be damned if we lose it now. But we don't win this by charging in guns blazing. We win by being better—by being tougher."

I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat tightening. "Okay, Dad," I said, my voice barely above a whisper but full of resolve. "I'm here. Whatever you need."

"I need you to convince Kayce to come home too," Dad said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "You're his soft spot."

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "I think that spot changed when he got married and had a son," I replied, my tone laced with something between honesty and regret. Kayce and I were twins, as close as two people could be growing up. We shared everything—our thoughts, our dreams, even the burdens this family heaped on us. "We're both different now, Dad."

He didn't argue, just gave me that long, measuring look of his, the kind that said he knew I wasn't done talking.

I leaned back in my chair, staring down at my hands. "I don't know if I can bring him back. Or if I even want to." My voice dropped, edged with frustration. "It's all chaos and drama. Always has been. You know as well as I do that whatever we do to retaliate is going to blow back on us. On him. On his family."

Dad's jaw tightened, the flicker of the fire catching in his eyes as he studied me. "He belongs here. You both do. This place is who we are—it's in your blood, in his. You can't just walk away from that."

I looked away, out the window, where the faint glow of the barn lights barely reached the dining room. "Maybe not. But it's not just his blood anymore, Dad. He's got Monica. He's got Tate. And what happens if bringing him back here gets them hurt?"

The question hung heavy in the air, and for once, Dad didn't have an immediate answer.

"I'll talk to him," I finally said, though the words felt hollow. "But I'm not making any promises. If he doesn't want to come back, I'm not going to twist his arm."

Dad nodded slowly, his face unreadable. "Just try," he said.

I gave a small, reluctant nod in return, though the knot in my stomach told me this was a battle I wasn't sure I wanted to fight.

Dinner was another one of those dinners we didn't actually eat. The plates sat on the table, untouched, as the conversation spiraled into arguments and uneasy silences. At times, I felt bad for Gator. He poured his heart into cooking meals that were destined to sit in the fridge as leftovers, slowly forgotten.

I stepped out onto the porch, the cool night air biting at my skin. The horizon stretched endlessly before me, the faint silhouettes of rolling hills and grazing pastures fading into the darkness. This land—it was vast and unyielding. Even after spending my whole life here, there were parts of the ranch I hadn't set foot on. But that didn't matter. It was ours. It was everything we were fighting for.

The sharp, acrid scent of a Marlboro Light wafted toward me, announcing Beth's presence before she even spoke.

"How long are you here for?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Until this is done," she said simply, her voice low and even.

That was Beth. Always confident, always sure. She had this uncanny way of making you believe she held all the answers to the world's problems, like she was the only one who could fix things. But I knew better. Underneath that armor of sarcasm and sharp edges, she was just as broken as the rest of us. Maybe more.

"You think we'll win?" I asked, not entirely sure what I meant—this fight over the land, the struggle to keep the family together, or just life in general.

She took a long drag from her cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dark before she exhaled. "We don't have a choice," she said finally, her tone cold but resolute. "You either fight for what's yours, or you let them take it. That's how it's always been, and that's how it always will be."

Her words settled over me, heavy and unrelenting.

"Doesn't mean it won't cost us," I murmured.

Beth didn't answer right away, just flicked her ash onto the porch railing and stared out into the distance. "Everything worth having costs something," she said. "You just have to decide if it's worth the price."

I sank into my bed, the sheets cool against my skin, and let my mind drift back to the question I had been avoiding. Was it really worth it? The years I'd spent chasing a dream, leaving behind everything I knew. It had to be. It was my dream, the one I'd fought for and made come true. But now that I was back, staring at the life I left behind, it felt harder to reconcile.

The world I'd walked away from hadn't stayed frozen in time, waiting for me to return. Things had moved on, changed in ways I couldn't fully grasp yet. Could I go back to the way it was before? Could I find a way to pick up the pieces and put them all back together, just like they were? Or would there always be something lingering, something we couldn't outrun? Something that would keep us from ever being the same again.

I must've drifted off somewhere between my thoughts, because when I finally opened my eyes, it was late. The sunlight was no longer streaming through the window. It had to be after eight. I couldn't remember the last time I had slept past the sunrise, not since I was eight years old.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed, the quiet of the house was almost unsettling. I glanced at the clock—eight-thirty. I wasn't used to the world still being at rest when I was awake. I stood there for a moment, staring at the door, unsure whether I was ready to face the day.

Over coffee, I listened as I was briefed on the latest mess—the cattle dispute with the reservation and the buffalo Dad had to purchase for the ceremony. I didn't really understand it, but it was one of those traditions that had to happen, a symbolic gesture to represent the hunt. I nodded along, letting them talk, not wanting to interrupt with my own questions.

"You outta ride out with us, Alex," Lee said, his voice playful but insistent. "Been forever since you've done some real cowboy shit."

I raised an eyebrow, smirking as I looked over at him. "That's cause I'm a girl, jerk," I teased, but the smile I gave him was wide and genuine. The banter with Lee had always been easy. He never judged, never expected me to be anyone other than who I was. "But yeah, I'll come. Can you get one of the guys to saddle me a horse?"

I wasn't ready to face Ryan yet. The thought of running into him by accident, of having to speak to him, made my stomach knot. It had been a long time since we'd been anything other than memories. I wasn't sure if I wanted to reopen that chapter yet.

Lee gave me a knowing look, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Sure thing," he said, his tone softening. It was as though he could read my thoughts and knew exactly what I wasn't saying. Lee was perceptive like that.

I couldn't help but wonder how much he knew. He'd figured out who my cowboy was the morning after Ryan and I had our first night under the stars, the kind of night that left its mark, even in the most subtle ways. Lee had also pushed hard to have Ryan considered for Livestock Agent, which, deep down, I knew was the best move. Ryan knew the land, the people, the way things worked here. He had more experience than most, only Lloyd and Rip had been here longer.

I just hoped Lee didn't do it for me. I never wanted him to make decisions based on me, even though part of me knew he probably already had.

I braided my hair loosely down my back, plopped my hat on my head, and stepped outside the front door. The brisk morning air hit me, and I stopped, almost in awe. The view from the front porch stretched out in every direction, bathed in the golden light of the rising sun. I had almost forgotten how breathtaking it was—the rolling hills, the distant mountains, the endless sky. It had a way of making everything else seem small, insignificant.

It was moments like this that reminded me why generations of Duttons had fought, bled, and died for this land. It wasn't just property; it was a legacy, a piece of who we were.

I walked toward the saddled horses, catching sight of Jamie, who looked slightly out of place in jeans and boots instead of his usual suit. "No suit and boots today?" I teased, flashing him a grin. "Do you even remember how to ride?"

Jamie glanced up from adjusting his saddle, his expression half amused, half defensive. "I remember," he said with a small smirk.

"Good, because I'd hate to see you fall on your ass," I shot back, the playful tone in my voice making him chuckle under his breath.

I tightened the cinch on my horse's saddle, feeling the weight of his gaze.

"What about you?" Jamie asked, his voice quieter now. "When was the last time you just rode without performing?"

I froze for a moment, my hands stilling on the leather straps. He wasn't wrong. Most of my time in the saddle over the last few years had been under the bright lights of the rodeo arena, every movement judged, every second counted. Riding used to be simple—me and a horse, nothing else.

I shrugged, trying to brush off the heaviness of the question. "Guess we'll see if I remember how today," I said, forcing a grin as I swung myself up into the saddle.

Jamie gave me a look, one of those rare moments when he saw right through me. He didn't press, though. Instead, he mounted his horse, settling into the saddle with the awkwardness of someone who hadn't done it in a while but wasn't ready to admit it.

"Let's hope you're not as rusty as you look," I quipped, nudging my horse forward.

"Same goes for you, Rodeo Barbie," he shot back, and I laughed despite myself.

I paused, the reins slack in my hands, as a familiar truck rumbled up the driveway.

Kayce.

The sight of my twin stepping out of that truck felt like a piece of me was found, a piece I hadn't even realized was missing. He moved with that same deliberate slowness he always had, a calm steadiness that seemed to say he was in no rush for anything. But now, Tate was trailing behind him, his small hand clutching Kayce's as they made their way toward Dad.

For a moment, I just watched. Kayce was home, at least for now. I knew why he was here—to let Dad get to know his grandson. And I knew my part in all of this, the role Dad had given me. I was supposed to convince Kayce to come back for good, to bring him back into the fold.

With a sigh, I swung down off my horse, handing the reins to Lloyd, who was busy helping Dad saddle his own horse.

Dad's expression was hard to read, as usual, but I caught the flicker of awe in his eyes as he looked at Tate. As much as John Dutton tried to keep his emotions in check, family was everything to him. It always had been, even if he showed it in ways that weren't always easy to see.

I watched as Dad hoisted Tate up onto the front of his saddle, his usually stern face softening just enough to remind me that, at the end of the day, he was a grandfather too.

Turning my attention back to Kayce, I crossed the space between us. He looked up as I approached, a small smile tugging at his lips. There were no witty jabs this time—Lee and Jamie could handle that.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. He hesitated for just a moment before returning it, the way he always had.

"I missed you," I said quietly, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them.

Kayce didn't say anything right away, but I felt him squeeze me just a little tighter. "Missed you too," he finally said, his voice low and warm.

"Hey, Kayce," Jamie called, his voice carrying across the open field. "Grab a horse, let's go."

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips as we headed out toward the pasture to start rounding up the buffalo. The saddle beneath me felt like home, familiar and steady, even if today's task was far removed from what I'd grown used to. This wasn't about rodeo glory—it was about family, tradition, and the land.

I stayed close to my brothers, finding comfort in their presence. Even so, I couldn't help but let my gaze wander over the group of ranch hands riding with us, searching for a face I wasn't sure I wanted to see. I knew Ryan was here—I could feel it, the way you just know someone important is nearby—but today wasn't the day for that confrontation.

"The buffalo will hold here," Jamie said, pulling me from my thoughts. He turned to me with a half-smile. "You wanna join us at the river? Do a little fishing?"

Fishing wasn't my thing, but the thought of being by the river, away from everything else, sounded like the exact kind of distraction I needed. My brothers had a way of looking out for me, even when they didn't realize they were doing it.

"Yeah," I said, nudging my horse forward.

We strolled to the river at an easy pace, Tate now perched in front of Kayce on his saddle. His laugh echoed across the water as Kayce handed him a fishing rod, helping him cast from horseback. The scene was pure, simple—one of those rare moments where life felt like it could pause, even if just for a little while.

I wasn't much for fishing, though. After a while, I tied my horse to a nearby tree and wandered to the bank, letting the sun warm my face as I sat and watched. They were hooting and hollering in no time, each fish reeled in bigger than the last. It was the kind of thing we used to do as kids, and for a moment, it felt like time had folded in on itself.

They'd need a fire soon, to dry their clothes and cook their catch, so I busied myself gathering kindling and getting one started. As the flames crackled to life, I leaned back, letting the sounds of the river and my family's laughter wash over me.

We sat around the fire as the smell of roasted fish wafted through the air, the aluminum foil crackling softly in the heat.

"Don't worry, Bitsy," Lee said with a teasing grin, poking at the foil with a stick. "I'll share with you. Kayce's catch wouldn't even fill a mouse."

I rolled my eyes, smirking as I leaned back on my elbows. "Whatever would I do without you?" I shot back.

Lee grinned wider, looking altogether too pleased with himself. "Starve, probably."

"Looked to me like Tate caught the biggest one," I added, glancing over at my nephew.

Tate sat cross-legged next to Kayce, a proud look lighting up his face. But before he could agree, he pointed sharply at Jamie. "Naw, it was him," he said with all the defiance of an eight-year-old, his finger wagging in Jamie's direction. "Though mine was the next biggest!"

We all laughed, even Jamie, who threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll take the credit if I have to," he said, shaking his head.

"You mean you want the credit," Kayce chimed in, his voice full of amusement.

Jamie shot him a look, but his smirk gave him away. "I was being modest."

"Since when?" Lee asked, his tone dry as the Montana air.

The firelight flickered across their faces as they continued ribbing each other, the banter flowing as naturally as the river behind us. Tate looked back and forth between his uncles, his grin wide as he soaked it all in. I stayed quiet, content to just sit and listen, my heart full in a way I hadn't expected.

These were the moments that made it all worth it—the fights, the chaos, the never-ending weight of being a Dutton. For all its struggles, this was what we were fighting to protect.

"Alright, kids," I said, breaking into their bickering with a grin. "Let's see if that fish is edible or if I need to start rationing granola bars."

Lee shot me a look as he pulled the foil off one of the fish. "You doubt my skills, Bitsy?"

"Always," I teased, stealing a piece of fish off his plate before he could stop me.

"It's a good day," Tate said, his voice quiet but confident as he took a big bite of his fish.

"Every day's a good day, just like this," Jamie added, leaning back against a tree and staring out at the river.

Kayce let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Who you kidding? I bet you haven't been down here in years."

Jamie shrugged, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Only thing we haven't done in years is see you, Kayce," he shot back, his tone pointed but not harsh.

The fire popped, filling the space where Kayce's response might have been. He glanced down at Tate, his expression unreadable, before looking back at Jamie.

I knew this was my cue, the perfect moment to chime in and remind Kayce of all the things he'd missed out on while living with Monica on the Reservation. The holidays, the ranch traditions, the countless little moments that made this place home.

But the words wouldn't come.

Because deep down, I understood.

Kayce wasn't staying away because he didn't love us or the ranch. He was staying away because he loved his family—his family with Monica and Tate. And because, whether we liked to admit it or not, our father had driven him to make that choice.

"Shit, I miss being young," Lee laughed, wiping his hands on his jeans. "You wake up in the morning, and you just keep right on dreaming, right?"

Kayce didn't miss a beat. "You're 38 and living in your father's house. Is that the dream? It sure ain't mine."

Lee's grin turned sharp as he balled up a piece of foil and launched it at Kayce, who ducked just in time to avoid it hitting him square in the face.

"Hey!" Tate's voice rang out, brimming with righteous indignation. "Don't throw things at my dad, fucker!"

Before anyone could stop him, Tate flung his own foil—complete with fish—straight at Lee.

Lee toppled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. The rest of us weren't far behind. I could feel the laughter bubbling up, uncontrollable, until I was clutching my sides.

"Don't worry, bud," I managed to say between breaths, turning to Tate. "They're just brothers fighting. They're not really mad at each other."

Tate crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Still shouldn't throw stuff," he muttered, though the glint in his eyes suggested he wasn't entirely innocent in the matter either.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the ranch in shades of gold and amber, Kayce and Tate prepared to leave.

I gave Kayce a long hug, holding on just a little tighter than usual. "It's good to see you," I said quietly, my voice steady but full of meaning.

"You too," he replied, his voice low.

I crouched down to Tate's level, brushing a strand of hair out of his face before planting a kiss on his forehead. "Take care of your dad for me, okay?"

"I will," he promised, puffing out his chest in that way only kids his age could, full of confidence and sincerity.

Kayce lifted Tate into the truck, giving me one last nod before climbing in himself. As they drove down the long dirt road leading away from the ranch, I stood there on the porch, watching until the taillights disappeared into the distance.

The laughter from earlier still lingered in the air, but now, it felt quieter—almost fragile.

Lee stepped up beside me, the silence between us comfortable. "You think he'll come back?" he asked, his voice low.

I didn't answer right away, my eyes still on the road. "I think he wants to," I finally said. "But wanting and doing are two different things."

Lee nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. "Yeah. Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

As the last rays of sunlight faded, I couldn't help but feel the weight of everything still to come. The fight for the ranch, the strain on our family—it all loomed ahead like a storm on the horizon.

"You doing alright being back here?" Lee asked, his voice softer than usual, breaking the quiet of the evening.

I shrugged, my gaze wandering toward the bunkhouse in the distance, its lights glowing faintly against the darkening sky. "I suppose," I replied, though the knot in my stomach told me otherwise.

Lee followed my line of sight, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You don't have to face him tonight," he said gently. "He'll still be here tomorrow."

I let out a quiet laugh, though it lacked humor. "It's not about him being here or not. It's about...what happens when I do. What if—" I stopped myself, shaking my head.

"What if he doesn't feel the same way?" Lee finished for me.

I sighed, crossing my arms and leaning against the porch railing. "Yeah. Or worse, what if he does? What if I open that door and everything we had...comes rushing back? I came back here to help the family, Lee. Not to get caught up in...in that."

Lee leaned beside me, his expression thoughtful. "You know, for someone who's busted her ass proving she's tougher than any man in the rodeo, you sure do scare easy when it comes to matters of the heart."

I shot him a glare, though the corners of my mouth twitched upward. "Don't start with me, Lee."

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. "Hey, I'm just saying, you've been through worse than this, Alex. You're tougher than you think. But...you don't have to do it all at once. Take your time."

I nodded, his words settling something in me, even if just a little. "Thanks," I said quietly.

Lee clapped a hand on my shoulder, his touch reassuring. "Don't mention it. Now, come on. Let's see if Gator left any of that pie for us."

I followed him inside, but my thoughts lingered on the bunkhouse. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'd face him. But tonight, I'd take Lee's advice and give myself a little more time to breathe.