The morning sun blazed overhead, turning the air thick and dry, the kind of heat that settled into your skin and refused to let go. I leaned against the fence, watching as Ryan and the rest of the hands worked to set up the panels for the branding pen. The metallic clang of steel against steel rang out as Colby snapped two pieces of fence together with a grunt. Dust swirled around his boots, kicked up by the steady movement of men and cattle.

"You gonna join us for some actual manual labor?" Colby called, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his glove.

I smirked, crossing my arms. "I'm supervising. You're doing a great job, by the way."

Colby rolled his eyes. "You always supervise."

"That's 'cause I'm damn good at it," I shot back, grinning.

The scent of sunbaked earth and cattle lingered in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of sweat and leather. But another smell—faint but unmistakable—pricked at my senses. I turned my gaze toward the horizon, where a thick column of smoke billowed into the sky, dark against the endless stretch of blue.

It was early for a fire. Too early.

The blaze was deep in the forest, hidden beyond the hills, but its presence sent a ripple of unease through me. It had been a hot, dry spring, and if the forecasts were right, summer was shaping up to be even worse. The land was thirsty, brittle—one careless spark could turn the whole damn valley into an inferno.

I exhaled slowly, shaking my head before making my way toward my father and Rip. Rip had settled into his role as more than just the ranch foreman—he was family now. Even with the tension between Beth and me, he hadn't taken a side. Maybe because he didn't know everything. Maybe because he didn't want to.

"Morning," I said as I joined them.

"Morning, sweetheart," Dad responded, his gaze fixed on the horizon as we walked. The land stretched wide and golden beneath the sun, but that thin column of smoke in the distance darkened the picture. "It's early for a fire."

"It's gonna be a dry year," Rip said, his voice steady.

I let out a short breath. "It's already been a dry year."

Dad nodded, rubbing a hand over his chin. "Our calves big enough for branding?" His time was stretched thin between home and Helena, and there were things he used to know without asking. Things that, now, had to be left to someone else.

Rip shook his head slightly. "I'd like them a little bigger, but it seems like the whole valley's short-handed."

I glanced toward the pens, "We just helped the Mitchells, and we're getting calls every day now. And now that you're governor, we can't exactly say no."

Dad's expression hardened, but he didn't argue.

Rip crossed his arms. "We need to brand ours first—before we help anybody else."

It was practical. Necessary. But the way things were shaping up, I wasn't sure how much longer we could afford to put it off.

"Here's what I'm thinking," Rip said, his tone all business. "We'll pull the cattle out of the backcountry, push 'em through the valley, and do the branding here. Run two crews—one working the branding, the other pushing 'em out to pasture. No wolves there."

Dad nodded, considering. "How many day workers you figure we'll need?"

I glanced at Rip before answering. "Fifteen will get it done. Twenty will get it done right."

Dad gave a short grunt. "Where are you planning on housing 'em?"

"Was thinking about the loft," Rip said.

Dad scoffed. "Hell no. I don't need some drunk day worker falling down the stairs and suing me." His voice was firm, no room for argument. "Bring out the tents. Everybody sleeps outside. And I mean everybody. I don't need that bunkhouse turning into a damn honky tonk." He shook his head, frustration evident. "No one knows what the hell we do anymore. It's time we remind 'em. Have Gator pull out the wagon—I'm inviting the whole damn county."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot of team ropers in one pen, Dad."

"Only ranch cowboys drag," he shot back as he started walking off, already set on his plan.

Rip called after him. "Sir? You coming?"

Dad didn't break stride. "You're damn right I'm coming."

I pushed my sunglasses up on my nose, watching as the protester strolled down from the hill. My jaw tightened. "What the fuck is she doing here?" I muttered to no one in particular. Without waiting for an answer, I made my way over to find out.

"Can I help you?" I asked, my tone flat.

She took her time surveying the pens, the barn, the horses—like she was taking inventory. "Just checking out my new prison."

I smirked. "Some days it's a prison," I admitted. "Some days it's paradise. Most days, it's something in between."

Her gaze drifted past me to the horizon, where smoke curled into the sky. "What's on fire?"

"The forest," I said simply. "Happens every year. Some years are worse than others."

Her brows knitted together. "How do they start?"

I thought I asked a lot of damn questions, but something about the way she looked at me, at the ranch, at the smoke—it didn't feel like she was prying. She wasn't fishing for intel. She was trying to understand.

"Lightning, usually," I answered.

"Is anybody gonna put it out?"

"They'll try," I said. "But the only thing that can really put it out is God."

She gave me a puzzled look. "God puts out the fire?"

I shrugged. "God brings rain. Rain puts out the fire."

She huffed out a dry laugh. "Nature puts out the fire."

"Nature, God," I said, meeting her eyes. "Same thing."

"What are you doing over there?" she asked, motioning toward the pens.

"Getting everything set up for branding," I told her. "We've got to bring the cattle in from the pasture they've been grazing on all winter, give the calves their shots and brands, then push them out to the summer field."

She wrinkled her nose. "Sounds barbaric."

I shrugged. "I suppose it might seem that way," I said, "but it's not any different from the things people do to their own young."

Before she could respond, Lloyd's familiar drawl cut through the air. "Yee-haw! 'Bout time we do some real cowboy shit."

I chuckled, arching a brow at him. "What's the plan?"

"Gonna ride up there and cold camp for the night," he said. "Drive the cattle down in the morning."

"No tents?" I asked.

"Just the dirt and you," he smirked. "Think you can handle it?"

A soft smile tugged at my lips as I glanced over at Ryan. "I'm sure I'll find some way to keep warm out there."

Lloyd shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he walked off to find Carter and set up the spike camp.

I turned back to the protester. "You ride?"

She scoffed. "Ride a wild animal that you've broken to your will? Uh, no."

"Your name's Summer, right?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Well, Summer," I continued, meeting her gaze, "why don't you just watch what we do here? See it for yourself—then you can decide how barbaric it really is."

I gave her a small nod before turning away, leaving her to chew on my words.

I smiled as Kayce's truck and trailer rolled through the gate. It was the first time I'd seen him since the funeral.

"Hey," I called as his window rolled down, "couldn't stay away, huh?"

"Couldn't miss out on all the fun," he teased, his familiar grin easing some of the weight in my chest.

I turned to Tate. "You ready to go cowboy?"

"Sure am," he replied, "Can we get in some fishing, Grandpa?"

"Not this trip, grandson," Dad said from behind me, his tone warm as he looked between us. "But this... it makes me happy. Having all of you here."

He paused, then added, "Why don't you all meet us up at the house for supper?"

"Alright, Dad," I agreed.

"Clara might need your help, sweetheart," Dad continued.

"With what?" I asked, frowning slightly.

"She's riding out with us," he explained, "needs to be geared up."

"Of course, Dad," I replied. "I'll grab her some things and meet you at the house with Ryan in a bit."

—-

"Please don't make me face dinner with my family alone," I said, gathering a few things for Clara to wear.

Ryan let out a long sigh. "I feel so outta place there, baby."

I turned to face him, a grin tugging at the corner of my lips. "Kayce, Rip, and my dad will be there," I said, trying to make it sound more manageable. "But, you know, my sister's coming too, along with my dad's assistant. Oh, and we can't forget my dad's thirty-something mistress who just got outta prison. Should be a blast."

I stepped closer, wrapping my arms around his waist, then stood on my toes to whisper in his ear, "C'mon, it'll be fun. If it's not, I'll make it up to you when we get back here."

His lips curled into a smirk, his eyes darkening just a little. "How do you plan on doing that?"

I couldn't help but tease. "I'll let you put it anywhere you want."

His grin deepened, and he leaned down to catch my lips with his for a moment, his voice low and playful as he pulled away. "Is that right?"

I gave him a sly smile, knowing I had his attention.

"I can suffer through dinner with your family," Ryan said, leaning in close, his breath warm against my skin. "If I can have you for dessert."

The dining room table was packed, fuller than I'd seen it in years. Not since before my mother died. The thought gnawed at me, an ache in my chest for the people who weren't here anymore. The ghosts that lingered in the quiet moments between words.

I squeezed Ryan's hand under the table, grounding myself in his warmth, in the solid presence of him. A silent offer of comfort—for him, for me, for whatever shitstorm was about to start.

Beth's sharp gaze flicked around the table before she exhaled a dry, humorless laugh. "One big happy family," she drawled, swirling the liquor in her glass before glancing at Clara. "And an assistant." Then her eyes slid to Summer. "And a hooker. I don't know what could make this any better."

Summer tensed beside me, but before she could respond, Gator appeared, balancing two trays filled with steaming cuts of meat.

"So, Gator," Summer said, eyeing the trays with barely disguised contempt. "What did you kill for dinner this evening?"

"Sorry," Gator replied smoothly, "I didn't know you'd be joining us. I would've picked a different everything had I known."

I shot him a sympathetic smile, but Dad didn't miss a beat. "She's gonna be here for the next six months," he told him. "So a vegetarian option each meal would be—"

"A vegan option," Summer corrected, lifting her chin. "Please."

Beth scoffed. "Gator, just give her what we feed the horses."

"So, anyway," Gator continued, ignoring her, "tonight, we've got an assortment of game. On the left, there's venison."

"Which is to say," Summer interjected, "a deer you shot."

"That would be correct," Gator said, unruffled.

"While it was minding its own business, foraging for sustenance," she added.

Gator blinked. "Uh… yeah. Beside that, we have roast duck."

"Are you aware that ducks mate for life?"

"At least something at this table does," Beth muttered.

I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing, but across from me, Monica didn't even try.

"Oh, shit," she burst out, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This is just so fucking uncomfortable."

"Well," Gator pressed on, shifting the tray slightly. "I did kill both of them, if it makes you feel better."

"No," Summer deadpanned. "That makes it twice as bad." She pointed to another section of the tray. "And what is this little creature that can't even feed one person?"

"Actually, I serve four per person," Gator said, his polite smile looking more strained by the second.

"So you kill four," Summer said flatly. "And what exactly is this mystery meat?"

"That's a dove," Gator told her.

Summer stared at him, appalled. "You killed the goddamn bird of peace?"

Kayce, who had been silent up until now, leaned back in his chair, nodding. "Dove's pretty good."

I fought the urge to burst out laughing, but Monica lost it completely, clutching her stomach as she laughed into her hand.

"Can we eat?" Tate groaned, eyeing the food longingly.

Beth leaned forward, placing her glass down with a thud. "Summer, let's you and I take a walk. Maybe I can help educate you on our differing ways of life. Our different value systems."

Summer narrowed her eyes. "You have values?"

Dad sighed. "Whoa, girls—"

"Girls?" Beth and Summer snapped in unison.

Beth shot him a look before turning back to Summer. "Do you see a girl in this room, Dad?" Then she motioned toward the door. "After you."

Summer crossed her arms. "Not on your life."

Still, she stood, following Beth out of the dining room.

I exhaled, reaching for my drink. "Well," I muttered, "that should be fun."

Rip glanced toward the door where Beth and Summer had disappeared, his brow furrowed. "Should I go after them?"

"That's a terrible idea," I said, shaking my head.

Dad let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Gator, why don't we eat while we still can?"

Kayce didn't hesitate, jabbing his fork into a cut of venison like the conversation hadn't just been derailed by a battle of lifestyles. Meanwhile, Gator placed the cooked dove onto Dad's plate.

"I'll take four of them," Dad said, completely straight-faced.

The laughter couldn't be contained. It started as a chuckle, then spread like wildfire until the entire table erupted. Even Monica, who had been barely keeping it together before, threw her head back and laughed.

Dad grumbled into his drink, shaking his head. "You can't make this up."

Rip, still not entirely amused, frowned. "Sir, I'm a bit worried about them."

Dad let out a slow breath. "You probably should be."

I passed the plate of venison down the table to Ryan and Tate who had been drooling since the tray was brought into the room.

"Are all your family dinners this eventful?" Ryan whispered to me.

"Mostly," I told him, taking a sip of my drink. "But this is actually pretty tame."

He let out a quiet chuckle. "Tame? Two women just stormed off to either fight or become best friends, your dad looks like he wants to fire someone, and your sister is one smart-ass comment away from flipping this table."

I smiled, squeezing his thigh under the table. "Exactly. No one's thrown a punch yet."

Ryan gave me a long look, then shook his head with a grin. "Jesus. You're gonna get me killed."

"Probably," I teased. "But at least you'll die entertained."

The dining room had settled into an uneasy quiet, broken only by the scrape of forks against plates. Conversation had taken a backseat, tension simmering just beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break.

I couldn't decide who I wanted to root for. Summer was way the hell out of line—someone needed to knock her off that high horse of hers. But Beth? Beth always won. And part of me, maybe just a small part, wanted to see her taken down a notch. Just once.

Rip broke the silence first, his voice low but certain. "You know what's gonna happen, don't you?"

I barely glanced up from my plate. "I'm sure it's already happening."

Dad let out a tired sigh and set his knife down with a clatter. "I'm just sick of listening to it. Let 'em get it out of their system."

Rip scoffed, shaking his head. "Nothing gets out of your daughter's system, sir."

He wasn't wrong. If there was one thing everyone at this table knew, it was that Beth could hold onto a grudge like it was the last damn thing keeping her alive. She'd carry it around, sharpen it like a blade, and wield it at the perfect moment.

Rip pushed back from the table, unfolding himself from the chair with that slow, deliberate way of his. "Excuse me," he muttered before heading toward the front door.

Ryan leaned in the second it clicked shut behind him, his voice barely above a whisper. "Should we be worried?"

I smirked, finally looking up. "Only if Beth comes back smiling."

I fought the urge to go after them, but I didn't want to get sucked into whatever war they were waging. This wasn't just about clashing values or who had the louder voice. It was about Dad.

In Beth's mind, Summer wasn't just some annoying activist with her self-righteous speeches—she was a threat. Not just to the land, but to the one thing Beth refused to share. Our father.

Beth would never say it outright, but I knew the truth. No one would ever replace Mom in her eyes. And even though I agreed—no one could—it didn't change the fact that Dad had a right to move on. Whether it was Summer, Lynell, or whoever else he found comfort in, Beth would see it as a betrayal. She always had.

The tension sat heavy at the table, thick enough to choke on. I cleared my throat and shifted gears.

"So… um, Clara," I said, cutting through the silence. "I left a couple things upstairs for you to try on."

She glanced at me, visibly relieved at the change of subject. "Thanks," she said, a small smile playing at her lips. "This trip was supposed to be about work, but… well, it evolved."

I smirked. "Oh, it's still about work," I told her. "Just a different kind."

The room fell into a heavy silence as Beth and Summer walked back in, each settling into their seats like nothing had happened. No words, no lingering glares—just quiet, calculated nonchalance.

But the proof was written all over Summer's face. Bruised, swollen, and beaten to hell. Meanwhile, Beth sat there with a smirk that told me everything I needed to know. She'd won this round. And for now, the war was at a standstill.

I didn't think it was over. Not by a long shot. But at least, for the moment, there was a chance at peace.

Summer scanned the table, her expression tight as she searched for something she could eat. After a beat, she reached for the mashed potatoes, spooning a generous portion onto her plate.

"Wait," Beth drawled, tilting her head, "there might be butter in that."

Summer didn't even hesitate. "Fuck it," she muttered, wincing as she shoved a bite into her mouth.

I watched her, intrigued. "So, you've never eaten meat in your whole life?"

"Never," she said, chewing carefully. "My parents were vegetarians."

"Really?" I glanced down at my plate—duck, venison, and steak. I tried to picture a life without it. Just salad and kale or whatever the hell vegetarians ate. Didn't seem like much of a life at all.

Beth snorted. "You know we're not designed to just eat lettuce and grass and all that shit, right?" She gestured vaguely with her fork. "That's why we have to turn it into flour in the first place."

Summer rolled her eyes. "We're not designed to eat that either."

Beth smirked, picking up a piece of meat with her fingers and taking a bite. "This," she said around her food, "is exactly what we're designed to eat. Everything that lives off grass has a four-chambered stomach. You don't."

"That's bullshit," Summer shot back, her tone sharper now.

Beth didn't even blink. Instead, she turned to Dad, tilting her head toward him like he was some kind of judge and jury. "Ask him."

Dad exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face like he was beyond done with this conversation. Then, without missing a beat, he looked at me.

"Why don't you go get the first aid kit?"

I nodded and slid out of my chair, making my way to the downstairs bathroom for the first aid kit. The house felt quieter than usual, the kind of silence that followed a battle—tense, charged, waiting for the next strike.

By the time I returned, Summer was dabbing at her split lip with a napkin, her expression unreadable.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she said, though the purpling bruise on her cheekbone told a different story.

Dad huffed, unimpressed. "Oh, that's a relief," he said dryly. "If it was as bad as it looks, you'd be on a Care Flight to the hospital."

He cast a glance around the table, taking in the uneasy expressions, the way no one seemed sure if they should stay or leave. Finally, he sighed and waved a hand.

"You're all excused."

An almost audible sigh of relief rippled through the room as chairs scraped against the floor. No one wasted time making their exit, eager to escape the thick awkwardness clinging to the evening.

Ryan lingered as he stepped away, catching my hand just before I could pull away. He leaned in, his voice low so only I could hear.

"Anywhere?" he murmured, a slow grin tugging at his lips, reminding me of the promise I'd made earlier.

I caught the gleam in his eyes and felt a smirk of my own forming.

"Anywhere," I confirmed, squeezing his fingers lightly. "I'll meet you back at the cabin once I'm done here."

His grin deepened before he let go, disappearing into the departing crowd.

I turned back to Summer, first aid kit in hand. "Alright," I sighed, flipping open the lid. "Let's patch you up."

Nothing was broken beneath all the blood and dirt. That was something, at least.

After packing up the first aid kit, I made my way through the living room toward the door. Dad and Rip were still by the fire, each swirling a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. I supposed they needed it. Hell, we all did after surviving that dinner.

I paused beside Dad, wrapping my arms around him in a hug before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Good night, Daddy."

"Thank you," he murmured.

I pulled back, giving him a look. "For what?" I hadn't done anything remarkable, at least not in my eyes.

His gaze softened, but there was something heavy behind it. "You've taken on more than I ever wanted you to, sweetheart."

I nodded, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

I had given up a lot—dreams, chances, things I'd once thought were non-negotiable. But I'd done it willingly. Staying here, fighting for this land, protecting what was ours—it wasn't just a duty. It was a choice. And I didn't regret it. Not for a second.

Because in giving up what I thought I wanted, I'd gained something so much more.

This family. This ranch. Ryan.

If I had kept chasing rodeo, throwing everything I had into that life, I wouldn't have any of this. And that… that was something I couldn't imagine living without.

I squeezed Dad's shoulder, giving him a small smile before stepping away. "Good night," I said again, turning toward the door.

By the time I made it back to the cabin, Ryan was already in bed, half-dozing as he leaned against the headboard. His shirt hung open, revealing the toned lines of his chest, and his boots had been kicked off haphazardly at the side of the bed. He looked peaceful like that, bathed in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, his breathing slow and steady.

I didn't want to wake him, so I moved quietly, changing into my pajamas before slipping beneath the covers.

The bed dipped under my weight, and his lids fluttered open, hazy with sleep as he turned his head toward me.

"I was just resting my eyes while I waited for you," he murmured, voice rough from sleep.

I smiled, brushing a hand over his chest. "Sure you were, cowboy."

Leaning in, I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, letting my lips linger against his warm skin.

Then, with a smirk, I whispered against his ear—

"Take your pants off."

—-

I stepped out of the shower, steam curling around me as I reached for a towel. The cabin was still cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The clock on the nightstand glared back at me—3:45 AM. Too damn early for most people. But not for us.

Ryan was already getting dressed, pulling his shirt over his head as he glanced over at me.

"Last one of those for a few days," he said, nodding toward the bathroom.

I smirked as I dried my hair. "Guess I'll just have to make this one count, then."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he buttoned his shirt. "You sure you wanna come out there with us, baby? There won't be any soft bed to sleep in."

I pulled on my jeans, tugging them over my hips before looking over at him. "You'd miss me too much if I didn't come," I teased. "And I can't have you out there distracted by missing me."

Ryan paused, his hands stilling on his belt buckle as his gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate.

"I suppose we can't have that," he murmured, eyes dark with something unreadable. "Though you're plenty distracting when you're there."

I grinned, stepping closer and running my fingers down the front of his shirt, smoothing out the fabric. "Just keep your eyes off my ass, cowboy, and on the cattle—you'll be alright."

He caught my wrist, his grip warm and firm. "No promises," he said, his voice low.

I laughed, shaking my head as I grabbed my boots. It was going to be a long few days, but at least I'd be spending them with him.

The night still held its grip on the land as we stepped out toward the barn, the air crisp with the lingering chill of early morning. The sky stretched wide and dark above us, stars still scattered like dust across the horizon.

Every ranch hand from the nearby spreads had come to help—men and women we'd ridden alongside, worked beside, and looked out for. Just like we had for them. It was the way things worked out here. A quiet understanding, an unspoken promise. You showed up when you were needed, no questions asked.

The low murmur of voices filled the air as they unloaded their horses, the soft snorts and restless shifting of the animals blending with the rhythmic clatter of hooves against packed earth. Warm greetings were exchanged, handshakes and nods given as the circle of trust tightened around us.

Ryan's fingers found mine, his grip firm and steady. I let my hand settle in his, stealing a brief moment of warmth before the long day ahead.

We were all here for the same reason—to get the job done. But as I glanced around at the familiar faces, at the way they'd shown up without hesitation, I knew it meant more than that.

This was more than just work.

This was family.

"I saddled your horse for you, Alex," Carter's voice came softly from behind me. "Do you wanna double-check it?"

I turned to look at him, taking in the way he carried himself now—taller, surer. He wasn't much of a kid anymore.

"I trust you," I said, offering a small nod.

He gave a hint of a proud smile before stepping back to finish tending to his own horse.

I turned back to my saddle, packing my bags with the bare essentials—just what we'd need to get by for the next few days. No room for extras, no luxuries. But I still clipped a thermos full of cold brew to my saddle horn. I already knew I'd be thanking myself come morning.

Colby caught sight of it and shot me a look. "Don't think that's a necessity."

I smirked, tightening the strap. "We'll see how you feel about it tomorrow morning."

The knowing chuckles from a few of the others told me I wasn't the only one who had their priorities straight.

I swung my leg up over my horse, settling into the saddle like it was my second home. In a way, it was. It was like that for everyone here—this was more than just a job. This was a life we were built for.

I urged my horse forward, trotting slowly toward the line of cowboys, the first light of dawn brushing the sky as we all fell into place, ready to begin. The sun was just starting to breach the horizon, casting a pale glow across the land, and the air was still cool, untouched by the heat of the day yet to come.

My father sat proudly atop his own horse, talking to Emmett Walsh, one of his old cattle buddies.

"You sure you got another ride in ya?" Dad asked with a grin, teasing the older man.

The old cowboy's eyes twinkled with mischief. "I'll race your ass up to the top, Governor."

Dad laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Thanks for coming."

"Nowhere I'd rather be," the old man replied, tipping his hat in respect.

Dad turned his attention to the rest of us, his tone shifting to business as he took charge. "We'll ride up along Mount Chisholm, push them down to Lewis Creek, and hold 'em in the meadow overnight. If we're lucky, we'll get 'em all in one drive. No way to get a camp up there, so it's empty stomachs and cold backs for a couple of days."

He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning over the line of cowboys, and then his grin returned, the same one I'd seen a thousand times growing up. He shouted, "Yee-haw!"

The sound was a call to action, a signal that we were about to make our move.

I smiled, the familiar thrill coursing through my veins as we all kicked our horses into gear, riding off toward the horizon. The others behind me whooped and yipped, their voices rising in excitement as the day began in full swing.

We rode through the valley, the soft earth beneath our horses' hooves muffled by the rising heat of the day. By the time we reached the top of the hill, the sun had fully risen, hanging high in the sky, and the day had wrapped its warm hands around us.

"Guys in the back, drop in!" Rip called out, his voice cutting through the morning air.

I rode ahead, my horse's steady gait carrying me up to the peak. I paused, letting my gaze sweep over the horizon. The land stretched out in front of me, vast and unbroken, a beautiful, wild expanse.

Dad rode up beside me, his presence familiar and grounding. He glanced out at the view before turning his attention to me. "And they wonder why we fight so damn hard."

He looked over at Beth, who had come up on the other side, her expression skeptical. "You see what you've been missing?"

Beth didn't seem particularly moved by the sweeping landscape. "Did anyone think to pack any vodka?" she asked dryly, glancing around like we'd just stumbled onto some sort of vacation spot rather than the ranch.

"Beth, just look," I said, nudging her slightly with my tone, trying to get her to see what I saw. I motioned out toward the land that had shaped us, our home.

"Yeah, I see it, Alex," she replied, her voice flat. "It's very pretty."

Dad let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused by her lack of enthusiasm.

"What?" Beth raised an eyebrow. "I said it's pretty. Don't make a thing out of it."

Dad waved a hand dismissively, clearly used to her deflections. "You two drop in there," he directed to Rip and Beth, his voice shifting back to business. "Come on, sweetheart, let's move down a hundred yards so she can't ruin this for us."

Beth shot him a side glance, not backing down. "It's the same view from the porch," she said with a shrug. "Just a different angle."

I chuckled softly at her response, but I didn't let it distract me. Nudging my horse forward, I urged him down the slope, feeling the cool breeze against my skin as I left the peak behind.

I rode alongside Ryan, Colby, and Teeter, guiding the cattle toward the clearing where we planned to group them. The herd had stayed close over the winter, so the roundup went faster than we expected.

"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "we should do something together. All of us."

Colby shot me a quick look as he nudged a stray cow back into the herd. "We're doing something now."

I chuckled, not missing a beat. "I don't mean work, Colby. We do this all the time. I mean, like... go out, do something different. Have some fun."

Ryan gave me a sideways glance, his voice low. "Baby, you know how it is when we all go out together. It usually ends in some kind of violence."

I couldn't help but laugh at the truth of his words, but I pressed on. "It's never been just the four of us," I pointed out. "No bars, no wild antics—just dinner, maybe a movie. Something low-key."

Teeter shifted in her saddle, glancing at me over her shoulder. "You really want us to be that normal?" she asked with a grin, though I could see the curiosity in her eyes.

I shrugged, trying to hide a smile. "I'm just saying, we never get the chance to do anything that's... well, not about work."

Ryan smirked, shaking his head. "I don't know, Alex. I think you might be asking for trouble."

I raised an eyebrow, challenging him. "Or maybe we're just overdue for a little trouble that doesn't involve cattle or fists."

"Alright, you've convinced me," Colby said with a half-grin, giving in. "Though if we end up in another fight, don't say I didn't warn you."

I smiled, the familiar tension of the past giving way to something lighter. "I've been duly warned," I teased, nudging my horse forward as we rode together to push the cattle further into the valley.

The air felt different today—brighter, maybe. As we rode, my gaze wandered over to my sister, who was working with us. To my surprise, there was no scowl on her face, no tension in her posture. Instead, she had a real smile on her lips, something rare and genuine. She was here, participating, but without the usual edge of conflict. She was simply doing the work—without needing to fight.

There was a subtle sense of joy in the air, like we had all found a moment of peace, something we didn't have to fight for. I looked around at the others, feeling the unspoken understanding between us. My eyes finally rested on Kayce.

Kayce had been broken ever since they lost the baby. The weight of that loss had sunk deep into his bones, and I wasn't sure if he could ever fully recover from it. Yet there, in the middle of the valley, with the herd moving peacefully around us, I saw something in him that I hadn't in a long while. It wasn't much—just a glimmer, really—but it was there.

It wasn't joy, not yet. But it was something close. Maybe, in time, that joy would find him again.

I reined my horse to a stop beside my father and Emmett, the old cowboy. The breeze carried the faint scent of earth and cattle, and for a moment, the world seemed quiet—just us and the herd.

"The herd came together quicker than I thought," I said, glancing over at Dad.

He nodded, his weathered face unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, taking in the scene. "Yeah, but it's a good thing. We're ahead of schedule."

"I'm gonna let 'em graze here for a bit," Rip said as he rode up, his horse moving with the same calm precision he always had. "I'll send some of the boys across the creek to keep an eye on things. You all can settle in the shade while the sun's high."

"All right," Dad agreed, his voice steady. "Then find somewhere up the creek we can run a picket line, keep the herd from wandering."

"Yes, sir," Rip replied, tipping his hat before turning his horse and riding off.

Beth watched Rip's retreating figure, her brow furrowing slightly. "I can't believe you're not smiling," she called after him, her voice teasing but carrying an edge of curiosity.

Rip looked over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm smiling on the inside, honey," he called back, his tone just as teasing, yet with a trace of sincerity beneath it.

Beth crossed her arms, looking from Rip's retreating figure back to me. "Y'all don't ever call this work, okay?" She shook her head as if the notion of it was completely absurd. "Ever."

I met her gaze, fighting a grin of my own. "It's hard work, but it's the kind we don't mind," I replied, my voice light but truthful.

Beth scoffed, but there was a softness in her eyes. "I just don't get how you can do this day in and day out and still act like it's some kind of vacation," she muttered, though the amusement was clear in her tone.

Tate and Kayce rode up to join us, both looking like they had just come off a long stretch of quiet, thoughtful riding.

"You bring your fly rod?" Dad asked, his voice casual, but with a hint of a challenge.

Tate shook his head, a slight grin forming at the corners of his lips. "You said no fishing on this trip."

"Ah, right," Dad said, a little sheepish, though it didn't last long. His eyes shifted to me, and I could feel the weight of his gaze. "Alex? How about you? What else did you sneak into your saddlebags?"

I laughed and shook my head, meeting his gaze with a knowing look. "I don't fish, Dad. You know that."

"Well, I didn't realize we'd be done so quick," Dad muttered as he adjusted his hat, his expression softer now, almost amused.

"If we're not careful, John," Emmett piped up, grinning, "people are gonna start thinking we know what we're doing."

Dad chuckled, the sound of it rich and deep. "You, uh, didn't think to bring a fly rod, did you?" he asked, giving Emmett a mock side-eye.

"Of course, I brought my fly rod," Emmett replied, his tone light but confident, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I couldn't resist. "I think Tate may arm wrestle you for it," I teased, raising an eyebrow.

"No need," Emmett said, his smile widening. "Tate, come with me. We're gonna tie these horses up and take turns."

Tate hesitated for just a moment, a small glint of excitement in his eyes as he looked toward the creek. Then, without saying much, he nodded. "Sure thing," he said before he spurred his horse and followed Emmett.

Kayce and I watched them ride off, the silence between us comfortable, though there was something heavy in the air.

"He needed this," Kayce said, his voice softer than usual.

I looked at him, my gaze steady, but my words more than simple acknowledgment. "You both needed this," I told him, a quiet conviction in my voice.

Kayce gave me a small nod, his eyes lingering on the horizon for a moment. There was a silent understanding between us now, something unspoken but deeply felt.

"That was fucking awesome," Clara, the assistant, said as she rode up, her face flushed with excitement. Then, realizing who she was speaking to, she shot my father a sheepish look. "Sorry, Governor."

Dad barely blinked, but Kayce smirked. "Tell us how you really feel."

Clara grinned, completely unapologetic. "It was fucking awesome," she repeated, then winced. "Sorry, again. Wow. So… what do we do now?"

"I think I'm gonna go find my cowboy and curl up under a tree," I told her, stretching in the saddle. Kayce caught my eye, his grin knowing.

"I'm too excited to nap," Clara admitted, practically bouncing in her seat.

Dad let out a small chuckle. "You'll get over that," he assured her. "For now, get yourself on the other side of the creek and make sure these cattle stay on our side."

"All right," she said, still buzzing with adrenaline as she wheeled her horse around and rode off in the direction he pointed.

Dad took in a long breath, looking out over the herd, the land stretching endlessly beyond. "You could sell it," he mused. "Bottle it up and sell it."

Kayce huffed a quiet laugh. "I don't think there's anyone to sell it to, Dad."

I nodded, following his line of thought. "Anyone who knows what it's worth is already out here doing it."

"Maybe so," Dad murmured, giving one last satisfied glance at the cattle before nudging his horse away, likely in search of a shady tree to lay under.

I turned to Kayce, watching him carefully. "How are you doing, really?"

He was quiet for a beat, staring out at the grazing herd before exhaling softly. "I'm okay," he said. "Or at least getting there."

I didn't push him for more. Instead, I sat there with him in comfortable silence, the sounds filling the space between us—horses shifting, cowboys murmuring, the distant clang of metal as someone checked their gear.

My gaze drifted to Ryan, across the way, sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing as he worked with the others to run a tie line between two trees for the horses. Sunlight caught in his hair, and for a moment, I just watched him, warmth settling deep in my chest.

Kayce must've followed my gaze because he spoke again. "Didn't think you'd fall in love with a cowboy."

I glanced toward where Dad had ridden off, then back to Ryan, before finally meeting my brother's eyes. A slow, knowing smile tugged at my lips.

"All the men I've ever loved have been cowboys."

"Go," Kayce told me, his voice steady. "I'll keep watch."

I met his eyes, a silent exchange of trust passing between us. Then, with a small nod, I nudged my horse forward, crossing the creek toward the shade where Ryan was waiting.

He stood relaxed, leaning against a tree, adjusting his hat against the sun. As I approached, his gaze lifted, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face.

"Come to steal my shade, sweetheart?" he drawled.

I smirked, sliding down from my horse. "Among other things."

Ryan reached for me, and I let him, the warmth of his touch grounding me as the sounds of the cattle faded into the background.