I sank into a deep dreamless sleep. I was glad my mind had finally shut up for a little while. There was only so much I could do. I couldn't force Kayce to come home more than I could force things to work out with Ryan. It just had to happen.

The scent of biscuits baking stirred me from my slumber. I dressed quickly and headed down the steps to the dining room. The table full of eggs, biscuits, and bacon. Little bit a fruit to round it out. I'm sure that was Beth's input.

I sank into a chair, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The smell of fresh biscuits and bacon made my stomach rumble, and for the first time in days, I felt a sense of calm.

Beth was already at the table, nursing a cup of coffee like it was her lifeline. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty," she teased without looking up.

"Morning," I replied, grabbing a biscuit and slathering it with butter. "This looks...domestic. You didn't cook, did you?"

She snorted, finally glancing my way. "As if. Gator's a miracle worker. You should be grateful I even let fruit onto the table."

"Letting fruit onto the table? Wow, Beth, you've changed," I joked, earning a half-hearted glare.

Lee walked in, his boots clunking against the hardwood floor. "Glad you're up, Alex. Thought we'd have to send a search party."

"Funny," I shot back, biting into the biscuit. "You'd miss me if I didn't show up."

Jamie was next to join, scrolling through his phone, likely already handling ranch business. He sat down with a grunt, grabbing a piece of bacon. Trying to find some legal way to get the cattle back from the reservation.

Dad entered last, his presence filling the room like always. "Good, everyone's here," he said gruffly, grabbing his usual spot at the head of the table. "Eat up. We've got a long day ahead."

Beth rolled her eyes but didn't argue, and the rest of us fell into a quiet rhythm, eating as the morning sunlight streamed through the windows. For a moment, it felt almost normal—like we weren't fighting to hold onto the land, like the weight of the past wasn't hanging over us.

After breakfast, the usual hum of ranch life picked up again. Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone finished eating, and Dad stood, coffee mug still in hand.

"Lee, you'll handle the east pasture. Jamie, get me everything on that new chief before this afternoon's meeting. Beth, you're with me." Dad paused, his gaze settling on me. "Alex, I need you to check on the cattle by the southern fence line. See if they've broken through again."

"Sure," I said, already planning to grab my horse and head out.

Beth smirked as she stood, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "First real work since you got back, huh?"

"Don't you have someone to terrify?" I shot back, grinning.

She just laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she followed Dad out of the dining room.

I stayed behind, helping clear the table with Lee, who lingered longer than usual. He bumped my shoulder as we carried the dishes to the sink.

"You need me to have a horse saddled for you?" he asked.

"I think I can remember how to do it," I retorted.

"You know the barn is still next to the bunkhouse, right?" he added casually, though the grin on his face said otherwise.

I stopped, narrowing my eyes at him. "I didn't think y'all moved it while I was away. What are you getting at?"

"I'm just saying," he teased, his grin widening. "Might as well rip the Band-Aid off."

I froze for a moment, my stomach tightening at his words. Ryan. I didn't need to ask to know exactly what—or who—he meant.

"Yeah, well, some wounds need more time to heal," I muttered, turning back to the sink. The sound of running water filled the silence as I rinsed a plate, trying to push down the mix of nervousness and anticipation clawing at my chest.

Lee didn't press, but his knowing smile lingered as he handed me another dish.

I sucked in a steadying breath as I headed toward the barn, my boots crunching against the dirt path. If luck was on my side, Rip had already sent the ranch hands out into the fields, and I could dodge any awkward run-ins for another day. Not forever—just a little longer.

The barn door creaked as I pushed it open, and I let out a relieved sigh. It was quiet. Empty. Just the faint scent of hay and leather, and the occasional shuffle of hooves.

But then I heard it—the uneven tapping of hooves on the barn floor. My heart sank as I looked toward the source of the noise. Denim, my horse, was being led out of his stall, and the person holding his reins made me stop in my tracks.

He looked about as much like a cowboy as a goat in a saddle. His hat was sitting crooked on his head, his jeans were so baggy they threatened to drop off his hips, and his boots squeaked with every step. Worst of all, he was holding Denim's reins like he was afraid the horse might eat him.

I stepped forward, crossing my arms. "Who are you? And what in the hell do you think you're doing with my horse?"

The "cowboy" froze like a deer in headlights, fumbling with Denim's reins. "Uh, I—I'm Jimmy. Rip told me to saddle up a horse for the fence line." He scratched the back of his neck nervously, his face flushed red under the brim of his hat.

He froze mid-step, fumbling with the reins like they'd suddenly turned into snakes. "Uh, Rip told me to saddle up a horse for the fence line," he stammered. "I—I didn't know it was your horse."

"Rip told you to grab a horse," I said, stepping closer and gently taking Denim's reins from him. "But I can guarantee he didn't tell you to grab my horse. Denim's a rodeo champion—he doesn't go out in the fields to run cattle or whatever chore you're doing today."

Jimmy scratched the back of his neck, his face flushing red under the brim of his crooked hat. "Sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. "Didn't mean to step on any toes or… hooves."

I let out a slow sigh, shaking my head as I led Denim toward the tack room. "Jimmy, rule number one: don't touch a horse unless you know who it belongs to. Rule number two: Denim's mine. Don't even look at him without asking first."

"Got it," he said quickly, nodding so hard his hat nearly fell off. "Won't happen again."

I watched him shuffle off, his boots squeaking with every step until the barn door creaked shut behind him. Green, through and through.

Turning back to Denim, I patted his neck, murmuring under my breath, "Blissful avoidance or not, looks like today's already off to an interesting start."

I removed Denim's saddle and got him settled back in his stall, making sure his feed trough was full of his favorites. "We'll go out for a ride tomorrow, I promise. Today, I've got to work." I got a snorted response in return. I suppose he was fine with the arrangement.

Finally, I made my way out to the south fence line, guiding the horse I'd chosen for the job. I rode along about three miles of fence line before I ran right into them.

The entire crew of ranch hands was standing in the field, digging post holes and running wire to replace the fence that had been knocked down. Avoidance was out the fucking window now.

"Mornin', Alex," Ryan called, looking up from his post with that damn smile of his.

It was too late to turn my horse around and run in the other direction. All I could do in the moment was man up and not let him see that he'd shattered my heart into a million pieces.

"Morning," I finally managed, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "Came out to help. What needs doing?"

"Didn't think this would be your kind of thing," he said, his words carrying a slight edge. Was he trying to bait me into an argument? I wasn't about to take the bait, not here, and definitely not in front of everyone.

I'd dug fence posts with my brothers for years before he even showed up. But I couldn't throw that back at him. Not without sounding like a smart-ass.

I took a deep breath and nodded, focusing on the task. "I'm not one to shy away from work." I grabbed the shovel, positioning it at the edge of the post hole.

Ryan didn't respond immediately. His eyes lingered on me, and I could feel the weight of his gaze, like he was waiting for me to say more—waiting for me to crack. But I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

I drove the shovel into the earth with a force I hoped masked how tight my chest felt. The rhythm of work was grounding, even if it did nothing to stop the way my thoughts kept circling back to that night we'd shared—before everything fell apart.

After a few moments, Ryan stepped closer, pulling his own shovel from the ground. "You're not doing it right," he said, his voice low but firm.

I shot him a glance, eyebrow raised. "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm serious," he replied, his lips twitching into a half-smile, but there was something almost apologetic behind it. "Let me show you."

I hesitated but handed him my shovel, trying to ignore the way my skin burned at the small act of closeness.

I bit my lip as I watched the way his arms flexed as he drove the shovel into the dirt. Stop it, Alex, I said to myself, you can't fall back in again, not this quickly. But damn if he didn't have good arms.

"Thanks," I said back to him, "I think I've got it from here."

"Do you?" he quirked a brow, "Where's your gloves?"

"Gloves?" It didn't register what I would need gloves for.

"You'll fuck your hands all up if you keep going like that without them," he said.

I glanced at my palms, I hadn't thought of that. Hell I wasn't planning on being out in the field fixing fence posts but here I was.

"Shit, I got so turned around by that new kid I didn't think to grab any," I knew he was right. The last thing I wanted was blisters on my hands.

"Oh, Jimmy?" he asked. "He's um… interesting."

"If you say so," I responded, "if he touches Denim again, y'all might be down a ranch hand."

Ryan reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of work gloves and held them out to me, "Here." The coolness was back in his voice again.

"Thank you," I said softly watching him move back to his work.

"Just don't go breaking any nails, princess," he called over his shoulder.

I couldn't help the slight smirk that tugged at my lips. It was just like old times—back when I wasn't so quick to push him away. But now, I just shoved it down, refusing to let it get to me.

"Don't worry, Ryan. My nails are just fine," I shot back, making sure my voice was steady as I dug my shovel into the ground.

But it felt harder than it should have, like every word I said was laced with something unsaid. The awkwardness in the air was thicker than I wanted it to be, and I hated how it clung to me now. I glanced up at him again, working with that same easy confidence he always had, but there was something else behind his eyes. Something I couldn't quite figure out.

I focused on the fence post I was digging up, determined to bury whatever the hell it was that had shifted between us.

The hours and miles of fence ticked by and before I knew it, it was time to head back. I climbed on my horse waiting for the hands to head back before making my way. I had survived my first encounter with Ryan.

The sun was low as I made my way back, casting long shadows across the land. I kept my eyes forward, not wanting anyone to see the tears that had slipped past my defenses. The ride back was quieter than I expected. No one had said much after we'd finished with the fence, but I couldn't stop thinking about the way Ryan's voice had sounded. The sharpness, the distance—it was like he'd built a wall between us, and I wasn't sure if I could climb it again.

I wiped my cheek, hoping no one noticed. Hell, no one had ever really understood how much it hurt when I left, how everything I'd built away from here was still connected to the pain I felt from the past. And it was like stepping right back into it, all over again, just when I thought I could move forward.

My horse moved with an easy rhythm beneath me, but every step felt like a weight in my chest, dragging me back to memories I wasn't ready to face. And there he was, standing by the barn, just watching. Ryan.

I wasn't sure if I wanted him to say something, or if I wanted to just disappear into the barn and forget this moment entirely.

I slipped off my horse, my eyes met his and I waited. He didn't say anything so I walked past him into the barn, leading my horse to their stall.

"Why did you come back?" he said.

"This is my home, why wouldn't I come back," I stared at the barn wall, scared to turn around, knowing if I did he would see.

"But why now?" he added.

I took a deep breath, my fingers tightening around around the reins. The words hung in the air between us, thick with something unspoken, something neither of us wanted to confront.

"I didn't think it would be like this," I said, my voice a little shaky as I avoided his gaze. "I thought… I thought maybe things would be different. I thought I could come back, help out, and maybe everything would just pick up where we left off."

I finally turned, meeting his eyes. The warmth I had once known in his gaze was gone, replaced by something colder, harder.

"Did you expect that?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm.

"No," I answered honestly, "but I thought maybe we could…" I trailed off, unsure of what I even wanted to say. He was still Ryan, but it felt like a lifetime ago since I'd known him in any way that made sense.

He took a step closer, but there was no warmth in his movement. He was still a distance away, both physically and emotionally.

"You can't just walk back in and expect everything to be the same," he said, his voice quieter this time, but still laced with that edge.

"I never said I expected it to be the same," I shot back, my chest tightening. "But damn, Ryan, it doesn't mean it has to be this… this thing between us. We don't even know how to talk anymore."

He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze turning away.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Alex," he muttered, voice low. "Things are different now. And we're not the same."

His words cut deep. Deeper than I expected them to.

"You are so fucking infuriating," I spouted as I tugged at the straps of the saddle. "How long after I left did you wait to laugh with the boys about how you fucked the rancher's daughter? Days, weeks?" I huffed as I pulled down the saddle and carried it into the tack room.

"That's not fair, Alex and you know it," Ryan said back.

"Do I know it?" I stared straight at him, "How do I know it?"

Ryan took a step toward me, but I wasn't sure if it was to close the distance or to give me space. Either way, it didn't matter. The wall I had spent so long building up between us was breaking down, and I didn't know how to stop it.

"I didn't—" he began, but I cut him off.

"No," I snapped, "You took the first opportunity you saw to tell me you didn't trust me. Did you already have someone else?"

"Alex…" Ryan said softly, his voice tinged with something close to regret.

But it didn't matter anymore. All of it—the anger, the confusion, the betrayal—it was too much. I couldn't stand it.

I laughed but there was no humor in it, "I'm just a fucking idiot for thinking we were more than what we were. I guess that's not your fault. It's mine."

Ryan stood there, silent for a long moment, as if weighing his next words.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Alex," he said, his voice almost a whisper now. "But I can't pretend like everything's the same when it's not."

I nodded sucking in a breath, "Tell me the truth, even if it hurts, cause I want to get it all out of the way now."

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Was it ever real, you and me? Or was that something I let myself believe?"

My heart ached for the moments I waited for his response.

"It was real," he said.

I nodded. I didn't know what I wanted to do now. If I wanted to try and rebuild something with him. Or just know that he didn't set out to hurt me and move on. I just needed time.

I raised an eyebrow as I stepped into the house, surprised to find Beth sitting at the kitchen table with two glasses in front of her. One of them had the familiar golden hue of whiskey, the other a pale tropical concoction, clearly designed for me.

"Beth, you know I don't drink whiskey," I said with a slight smile, despite the heaviness still weighing on my chest.

She smirked, giving me a look that said she wasn't taking no for an answer. "I know. But I also know you've been hit hard today, and you could use something stronger than water."

I sighed, knowing I couldn't avoid this. She was right. My mind was spinning, the emotions swirling like a storm. And maybe—just maybe—a drink would help dull the edge.

"Come on," she said, nudging the glass closer to me. "Gator made it extra strong. Just one sip, and you'll forget all about him."

I hesitated for a moment, then took the glass. The rum hit my senses like a wave, sweet and strong, and for a moment, I felt a little lighter. I sank into the chair next to her, the weight of the world still heavy on my shoulders but, for a brief second, not quite so suffocating.

Beth raised her glass, clinking it against mine. "Here's to moving on, however that looks."

I clinked it back, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of my lips. I wasn't sure if I was moving on yet. But for tonight, I'd let myself forget. Just a little while longer.