I stood in front of the bathroom mirror in the bunkhouse, staring at the brand on my chest. The skin around it was red, irritated, and tender to the touch. But it was there—a permanent reminder of what I did, what we did.

"Put some of this on it, baby," he murmured, stepping behind me. He started to hand me the burn cream but hesitated, deciding to apply it himself. His fingers were gentle, careful, as he smoothed the cool ointment over the raw skin, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

"I wish you hadn't," he admitted, his gaze dark and wistful as it trailed over the mark. "They were perfect."

"So was yours," I countered, my eyes drifting to the red 'Y' seared into his chest. A symbol of everything we had given and everything we had lost.

Around us, the others took turns applying the cream to their own brands, each one wearing the same silent acknowledgment of what had been done. We were connected now, tied to this place in a deeper, darker way than we had been just days ago. A brotherhood forged in pain, in loyalty, in blood.

I winced slightly as my bra strap settled against the edge of the 'Y' before buttoning up my shirt, the sting a lingering reminder of the cost we had paid.

The door swung open, and the barrel racers stumbled in. Their gazes flickered to us, their expressions shifting. Laramie's eyes widened in awe, fascinated by the marks on our skin. Mia, on the other hand, curled her lip, disgust flickering across her face before she turned away.

I met her stare head-on in the mirror, unflinching. Let her look. Let them all look.

"How's your face?" I looked over at Teeter as she pulled on her ball cap.

"I think it'll be fuckable soon enough," she cast a smirk in Colby's direction. I saw how the nightmare they'd experienced brought them closer. "Else I'll just have to have him fuck me from behind."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing. "I knew you'd wear him down eventually." I cast my eyes over at Ryan. "Cowboys around here are hard to crack, but when they let you in, they don't let you go."

—-

It was supposed to be a lazy day at the ranch. The cattle were grazing in the field they were meant to be in. Beth and Dad had gone to Helena to meet with the Governor and Jamie to see what could be done with the Market Equities threats.

Lazy days don't last.

They never do.

My phone rang. Rip. I could count the number of times he called me on one hand.

"You find the thing you were looking for?" I asked. I knew he was going to propose to my sister. He wanted his dead mother's ring to do it with. It was sweet in a morbid kind of way. The kind of sentiment Beth would appreciate.

"Yeah," he answered, his voice tight. Then after a beat, "Have you talked to your Dad or Beth?"

I frowned. "Not since they left. Why?"

"I've been trying to reach them, but they ain't answering."

"Dad hates his phone," I tried to reassure him. "You know that."

Rip wasn't convinced. "Yeah, I know. But he wouldn't send me to voicemail."

My stomach twisted. Rip wasn't the kind to worry without reason. He didn't call just to chat. If he was reaching out, it meant something was off.

"Mother fucker, I gotta go, there's a horse down in the field," he cursed, his voice sharp. Then the line went dead.

Rip never said goodbye. But that wasn't what made me uneasy. It was the way he'd asked about my father. Like his gut was telling him something was wrong.

And I trusted Rip's gut.

I heard the squeal of an unfamiliar vehicle outside. My body tensed as I ducked down, sliding the rifle from under Ryan's bunk. I loaded it, clicking the shells into place with steady hands.

Slowly, I moved toward the door, tucking the rifle into my shoulder and holding it up, ready. My pulse pounded in my ears as I caught sight of a dark van pulling up. The doors swung open, and six men wearing clown masks spilled out armed with military-grade weapons.

They weren't friendly.

I inched my way out the bunkhouse door, every muscle coiled with tension. Then, a shot rang out from the house.

"Stay behind me," Ryan said, pressing himself against the wall. I nodded, my breath shallow. I was out of my element. There was no time to discuss our options, no time to second-guess. Another shot was fired.

Lloyd.

I turned my head just in time to see one of the masked men crumple to the ground near the corral, Lloyd's rifle still aimed, smoke curling from the barrel.

The fight had begun.

Ryan held his finger over his lips and pointed at one of the masked men standing just feet away from us. I nodded, tightening my grip on the rifle. In a flash, Ryan lunged, his arm crushing the intruder's throat as I swung the butt of my rifle into the man's face. The sickening crunch of bone echoed in my ears.

Another shot rang out.

Ethan tumbled off his horse, clutching his side, his face twisted in pain. A fresh wave of rage surged through me. I didn't hesitate. I raised my rifle, locked onto the shooter, and squeezed the trigger.

He didn't have a face anymore.

Smoke clung to the air—thick, acrid, curling from the barrels of our rifles and from my grandfather's cabin. Rip's cabin.

Everything was a blur. Time seemed to stand still even as it rushed past me in violent flashes. My heartbeat roared in my ears, my breath shallow and quick.

The ground trembled beneath me, but whether it was from the gunfire, the pounding of hooves, or the weight of what we had just done, I couldn't tell.

I locked my eyes on Monica's who stood in the field across from me clutching Tate tight to her chest to shield him from the nightmare that unfolded. I stood there frozen for a moment counting the bodies that littered the ground. Five…there were six.

"There's one more," I called out.

"He's in the house," Monica said. I tried to focus on her words.

"That's all of them…" I muttered, the weight of my rifle felt heavier in my hands.

The tension in the air was thick, the quiet after the storm settling over the field like a shroud. My heart was pounding in my ears, but I forced myself to stay still, to keep my eyes on Monica as she held Tate protectively. There was something about the way she gripped him, that motherly instinct, it made me feel both protective and helpless at the same time.

Monica's voice trembled slightly, though she tried to keep it steady. "You need to get him out of here. The last one... I think he's still alive."

I looked toward the house. My fingers tightened around the rifle, a reminder of how close we had come to losing everything. "You sure? I don't see him moving."

"He's in there, Alex. Please, don't let him get away."

The plea in her voice broke through the fog of my thoughts. I nodded, turning my gaze back to the house. One more left. I wasn't going to let him slip away.

I took a deep breath, my hands steadying as I made my way toward the door.

I slipped quietly inside, the man who made it inside had bled out on the kitchen floor. I nudged him with my boot to make sure he was really gone.

"That's the last one," Lloyd echoed behind me, Jake was beside him and they lifted his body and dragged him outside.

"Give me the rifle, baby," Ryan's voice called out to me. I relaxed my grip and handed it over to him. His arms wrapped around me as I buried my face in his chest.

Ryan's embrace was a steadying force, grounding me as the weight of what had just happened started to settle in. My muscles ached, my chest tight with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. I let myself melt into him, the scent of him—comforting, familiar—easing the knot in my stomach.

"You did good," Ryan murmured, his voice soft but firm, like he was trying to reassure both of us. His hand stroked my hair gently, like he could hold me together with just that touch.

I swallowed hard, trying to push back the emotions threatening to surface. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, Ryan."

His grip tightened, just enough to remind me that he was there, that I wasn't alone in this. "I know. But we're still here. We made it through. You kept them safe."

The sound of the bodies being dragged outside echoed faintly through the house, but I wasn't thinking about them anymore. I was thinking about us, about what came next. The aftermath, the quiet that followed the chaos, and the decisions we'd have to face moving forward.

"We'll figure it out," Ryan whispered, like he could hear the questions swirling in my mind. And for a moment, that was enough.

"Y'all stay here," Lloyd called as he ushered Monica and Tate back inside, his tone commanding but low. "Ryan, Colby—keep watch. Just in case."

I glanced over at him, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Is everyone OK?" It was a dumb fucking question—of course, no one was OK. Everyone was shaken, everyone was hurting, but I couldn't help myself.

"Everyone alive?" I added quickly, regretting the first question as soon as the words left my mouth.

Lloyd's gaze flickered to the kitchen floor, and for a second, I could see the weight of the situation in his eyes. "Yeah. Teeter took Ethan to the vet," he said, voice quieter. "Your father was shot. He's been airlifted to the hospital. When we're sure this place is clear, we'll take you to him."

I nodded, my gaze fixated on the pool of blood slowly spreading across the kitchen floor. It felt like everything was still, like the room was frozen in time, but inside, I was anything but calm.

—-

Days blurred into weeks, and weeks slipped into months. My father remained in a coma, unresponsive, trapped somewhere between life and death. Beth's office building had been reduced to rubble, her world shattered with it. She'd lost another assistant in the explosion. She was healing—physically, at least—but there was a hollowness to her now, something that didn't seem to lift.

Kayce... Kayce had taken bullets, his body a battlefield from the men who'd tried to take our father down. He'd done what needed to be done, but it had cost him more than just blood.

He wasn't the same after that. The fire that once sparked in his eyes had dimmed, and the smiles that used to come so easily were gone, replaced by a kind of silence that spoke louder than any words could.

Me, I was holding it together. There wasn't time to break down—not when there was a ranch to run and lives on the line. I figured it out, even without Jamie or Beth to help. I'd spent years watching my father, Beth, and Jamie do what needed to be done, and now it was my turn. The lessons sank in deeper than I realized. I couldn't let them take it from us, not when everyone else was fighting just to stay alive.

I sat behind my father's desk, the familiar weight of it pressing down on me in a way it never had before. It felt different now, almost like it had grown heavier with responsibility.

Then, my phone rang. Beth.

I hesitated for just a moment before grabbing it, my hands trembling slightly. I sucked in a breath, bracing myself for whatever news she was about to give me. My pulse raced as I swiped to answer.

"Daddy's awake," she said, her voice quieter, calmer than it had been in weeks. I could hear the relief in her words, though it was wrapped up in something deeper, something we both needed more than we'd realized. "He wants to come home. I need you to help me get a room ready for him. A nurse."

My heart hitched, the weight that had been pressing on my chest for months easing just a little. I felt like I could finally breathe again. "When?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected.

"Day after tomorrow," she said.

"I'll have it done," I promised, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Love you, Beth."

"I know," she sighed, the familiar edge to her voice almost soothing in its bluntness. "Love you too, Alex."

We weren't the type of family that needed to say it all the time, not with the way we showed it. But after everything, after all that had happened, I couldn't leave it unspoken. I needed her to hear it, to know I meant it with everything I had.

And just like that, the heaviness of it all didn't seem quite so suffocating.

—-

I stood in the doorway of my father's room, taking in the cold, sterile reality of it. Machines hummed softly, IV lines snaked from poles, and a hospital bed dominated the space where his old one used to be. He was going to hate it. Every last piece of it. But it was the price of bringing him home, the compromise the doctors had made.

And then there was the nurse. Maggie. Some overly chipper girl with a permanent, too-bright smile. He was going to hate her too.

"Alex," Beth called from downstairs, her voice carrying through the house. "We're home."

I stepped into the hallway just in time to see the EMTs maneuvering my father's stretcher through the front door. They struggled up the stairs, nearly losing their grip. My heart lurched.

"Hey! That's precious cargo you've got there," I snapped, stepping aside but keeping a sharp eye on them. "Be careful."

My father's gaze met mine as they carried him past, his expression unreadable beneath the exhaustion. I reached out and squeezed his hand, grounding both of us in the moment. "Welcome home, Daddy."

The second they rolled him into his room, his face twisted in irritation. His sharp eyes scanned the equipment, the wires, the bed that wasn't his.

"Get this shit outta here," he grumbled, his voice hoarse but laced with that signature Dutton stubbornness. "Alex. Beth. I fucking mean it."

Beth sighed, already exhausted before the real battle had even started. I stepped forward, arms crossed, ready for the fight I knew was coming.

"Can't, Dad," I said firmly. "It's either this bed or the one back at the hospital. And I want you here, where I can keep an eye on you."

His scowl deepened, but he didn't argue. Not yet, anyway. He just let out a slow, aggravated breath, settling back against the pillows like a man resigned to war.

This was going to be a long recovery—for all of us.

"Get some rest, Dad," I said, giving him one last look before stepping out the door. He muttered something under his breath, already irritated, but I let him be. If grumbling kept him alive, so be it.

Beth was waiting for me on the porch, a cigarette perched between her fingers. We stood in silence for a moment, staring out at the land we had almost died to protect. The sky was painted in hues of deep orange and violet, the kind of Montana sunset that should have felt peaceful. But all I could feel was the weight of everything that had happened.

"How long do you give him?" I asked, arms crossed as I glanced over at her. "Before he sends that chipper bitch packing?"

Beth took a slow drag, exhaling smoke into the cooling evening air. "Day, tops," she said flatly, her lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile.

I huffed out a quiet laugh. "Yeah. That sounds about right."

For a moment, it was just us, the silence stretching between cigarette drags and unspoken truths. We weren't the same people we were before all this.

"Kayce still out there?" I asked, my eyes tracking the faint rustle in the brush. He was out there—I knew it before Beth even answered. Since coming home from the hospital, he'd barely left his post. Always watching, waiting for another ambush.

They had made it to our home, crossed that sacred line, and shattered what little sense of security we had left. Robbed us of our sanctuary. And Kayce wouldn't let that happen again.

Not after what they made Tate do.

Not after what they made all of us do.

Beth didn't say much, just took another slow drag of her cigarette and nodded. She didn't have to say anything. We both knew Kayce wasn't coming inside anytime soon.

"You're fired!" Dad's voice thundered from the other side of the door.

I barely flinched. Just sighed and muttered, "Didn't even last the day."

A moment later, the door swung open, and Dad stepped onto the porch. He was shaved, dressed, looking like himself again—but there was something different. A weariness in his eyes I had never seen before. It wasn't just exhaustion. It was deeper, heavier. The kind of weight a man carries when he's lost too much.

"You two should stay in the lodge until we have this figured out," he said, his voice rough but steady.

Beth shook her head, her tone flat. "Rip and I moved into the foreman's house."

Dad nodded. "Good. That's closer. The cabin's too remote."

Beth stilled. I watched her swallow hard, the moisture in her eyes barely held at bay.

"The cabin is gone, Daddy," she said, her voice quieter than I'd heard it in a long time. "They killed that too."

A muscle in Dad's jaw ticked, his fingers curling into fists. "What else did they decide to kill?"

I placed a steadying hand on his arm, helping him ease into the porch chair. "It'll still be there tomorrow," I said gently. "You're home. That's all that matters for today."

"We'll talk defeat tomorrow," Beth agreed, exhaling a slow breath. "I want to end this day on a victory."

Silence settled over us, thick with everything left unsaid. Then, from the shadows, Kayce emerged, moving toward the house. He was still dressed in full camouflage, dirt smudged across his face, his expression unreadable.

But I knew that look.

He was still at war.

Even now, even here—he hadn't come home yet. Not really.

—-

"I'm going out. Won't be back 'til late," Beth announced as she stepped off the porch, the gravel crunching beneath her boots.

I frowned. "Where are you going?"

She didn't hesitate. "I'm going to look that snake in the eye and confirm what I already know."

I exhaled sharply. "He wouldn't do that to us."

Beth stopped mid-step, her laugh cold and humorless. "You mean he wouldn't do this to you." She shrugged off her jacket, the dim porch light catching the scars etched into her skin—scars that were as much Jamie's fault as anyone else's. "When are you gonna wake up to who he really is? Time and fucking time again, he has let us down."

I didn't argue. Because deep down, I knew she was right.

Not about Jamie being behind this—not completely. But about the person he was turning into.

He had called me. He had called Kayce. He had even called the hospital. But not once had he called Beth. He wouldn't give her that. Wouldn't let her hear it from him.

And when he spoke to me, he asked about the ranch more than he asked about our father.

Jamie would always be my brother. No matter what he did, no matter how far he drifted from us, that fact wouldn't change. He had spent his whole life trying to prove he belonged—first to our father, then to the rest of us, and finally, to himself. But when he discovered he was adopted, I think he thought that truth would break the bond between us. That we'd stop seeing him as one of us.

I never had to question my place in this family. Jamie did. Maybe that's why he always seemed like he had something to prove.

I remembered a day, long before I understood what made us different.

"Why can't I have bright blue eyes like Jamie?" I had asked my mother when I was five, staring up at her with the hazel eyes I'd inherited from my father.

She had smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Jamie's special, honey," she said softly. "God gave him to me."

I didn't understand what she meant at the time. I just accepted it the way children do, as if it were some simple truth of the world, no different than the sky being blue or the mountains standing tall.

But now, looking back, I wondered if she had said it more for herself than for me.

My father cleared his throat behind me as he stepped back outside, pulling me from my thoughts. His boots scraped against the wooden planks as he groaned, gripping the railing before stepping off the porch.

"Where are you going, Dad?" I asked, quickly following after him. I reached out, catching his arm to steady him when he wavered slightly.

"Bunkhouse," he answered, his tone firm but tired. "Need to talk to them."

I frowned. "That's a long walk. You just got out of bed two days ago."

"Guess that's why you're gonna have to walk with me, sweetheart," he grumbled.

I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. Stubborn old bastard. But I didn't argue. Instead, I tucked my arm around his, matching his pace as we made our way across the yard. His steps were slower than they used to be, but his grip was steady, his determination unshaken.

He wasn't ready to sit on the sidelines. And no matter how much I wanted to force him to rest, I knew better than to try.

The bunkhouse was quieter than it used to be. Everything had been quieter since the attack. The hands had fought for this land—fought for us—like it was their own. And in some ways, it was. They had shed blood for it, lost sleep over it, and carried the weight of it just like we had.

When we stepped inside, all eyes drifted toward us, the low murmur of conversation fading into silence. It wasn't just me they were staring at—it was him. John Dutton didn't make appearances in the bunkhouse, not unless it was for a reason. And this time, it wasn't for discipline or orders.

I felt my grip on his arm relax as he stepped away from me. I lingered near the wall, watching as he crossed the room, his presence commanding even in his weakened state.

"No picnic working here, huh?" Dad started, his voice carrying through the room. The hands exchanged glances, a few nodding, but no one spoke.

He let out a slow breath. "I'm here to say I'm sorry. And I'm here to say thank you."

That caught their attention. The hands straightened slightly, their gazes locked onto him.

"I'm sorry people came after you to get to me. That's not what you signed up for. I'm sorry you went through that." He paused, his eyes sweeping the room, landing on each of them in turn. "Now, to thank you. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart: thank you for fighting back. Thank you for protecting this place," he glanced at me, "for protecting my family. I'll never forget it."

For a long moment, no one spoke. Some of the men nodded, others looked away, like they weren't sure what to do with his gratitude. But I could see it mattered.

Dad clapped his hands together. "Now, you stop worrying about fighting. Worry about cowboying. You leave the fighting to me."

He moved toward the kitchen, his steps slower but steady. When he caught sight of the overflowing trash can, beer cans stacked haphazardly on the counter, and empty boxes littering the floor, he let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Good Lord," he muttered, shaking his head. "Looks like you boys could use some beer, huh?"

I smirked, watching as he yanked open the fully stocked fridge. Some things never changed.

Letting out a breath, I settled into the chair next to Ryan, finally letting myself relax, even if just for a moment.

Dad pulled a beer from the fridge, popped the cap off, and took a long swallow like it was the first decent thing he'd had in weeks.

"Dad…" I started, knowing full well he wouldn't listen to my warning.

He cut me a look before Lloyd spoke up. "You alright to drink, boss?"

Dad smirked, leaning back against the counter. "Lloyd, I've come to the conclusion that the only thing on this earth that can kill me is me." He took another sip, his expression lighter than it had been in a long time. Then he turned toward the table, eyes scanning the group. "Any of you dipshits feel like losing a week's wages to the boss?"

That got a round of laughter, the kind that came from men who thought they had a chance—until they didn't. They liked to think they could bluff their way into a bonus, but Dad had been playing cards longer than most of them had been alive.

His gaze drifted over to Laramie as she leaned into Walker, then landed on Ryan, whose arm was already draped over my shoulders. A flicker of something crossed his face—curiosity, amusement, maybe even approval, though he wouldn't say it outright.

"Can someone explain to me how this whole deal is working out?" he asked, nodding toward the tangled web of relationships in the room.

Jake smirked. "Well, that's what you'd call a constant state of evolution."

Dad chuckled. "Well, look at the big words from Jake," he said, pulling up a chair.

"We playing Hold 'Em now?" Ryan asked, sliding the deck to Lloyd.

"Depends on how much money you want to lose, cowboy," I teased, shooting him a wink.

Colby grinned. "Just so you know, when we play cards, we talk a lot of trash. So don't go getting your feelings hurt, alright?"

Dad leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "If one of you boys thinks you can insult me, give it your best shot."

Ryan chuckled. "Don't mind if I do."

"Alright, the game's Hold 'Em," Lloyd said, dealing out the cards.

I tossed my money into the pot, watching as my father analyzed his hand. He looked more at ease than I'd seen him in months, like the weight of the world had lifted—if only for the night.

—-

Ryan's hair had gotten longer over the past few months, and I still hadn't decided if I liked it. But when he looked down at me with that same easy smile, none of that really mattered.

"So, when do you plan on talking to my father?" I asked, running my fingers through the tousled strands.

"Talk to your father about what?" he smirked as he climbed out of bed, stretching before reaching for his jeans.

I propped myself up on my elbow, watching him get dressed. "I know what you're planning. I just don't want you to be disappointed with the size of my dowry. Might just be a sack of potatoes and a broodmare."

He paused, one boot in his hand, brow lifting. "Who told you? Was it Colby?"

I smirked. "I'm not divulging my sources, cowboy. I took an oath."

"Yeah, it was Colby," he sighed, shaking his head before crossing the room. His hands found my waist as I knelt on the bed, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"I'm just waiting until your dad's feeling better," he murmured.

"That might take longer than I'm willing to wait," I whispered, tracing my fingertips along his jaw.

Ryan's lips curved into that slow, knowing smile before he dipped his head, his mouth grazing the spot on my neck that turned my thoughts to static.

"Let me do this my way, baby," he whispered against my skin.

I sucked in a breath, the heat stirring low in my stomach. "You drive a hard bargain."

He gave my ass a playful swat. "Get dressed, Travis is bringing horses to show your dad."

"You know the way to my heart," I teased, climbing out of bed.

As I pulled my nightgown up over my head, I felt his gaze linger. The air between us thickened for a second before I smirked and turned away, grabbing a clean pair of jeans and a shirt from the closet. My fingers brushed over one of his good shirts hanging there, a quiet reminder of how much time we spent together. We split our nights between my room and the bunkhouse, but his best shirts—the ones he didn't want to wrinkle—always ended up here.

I glanced over my shoulder to find him still watching me, that familiar heat in his eyes.

"Keep looking at me like that, and we won't make it outside in time to see those horses," I warned.

Ryan grinned, running a hand through his hair before reaching for his hat. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

He eyed me for a moment, seeing the shirt that I wore fit tight across my chest, exposing a little more cleavage than I normally did for ranch chores, but didn't say anything out loud.

"What's that look for?" I cocked a brow.

"You're going to be a distraction," he smirked slipping his arms around me.

"That's the idea," I tilted my hat back and stepped up on my toes to press a soft kiss to his lips, "Easier to talk Travis down if he's looking at my boobs."

Ryan chuckled, his grip on my waist tightening just a little. "Can't say I love the strategy, but I can't argue with the logic."

I smirked, adjusting my hat as I stepped away from him. "Travis is a businessman, but he's still a man. A little distraction never hurt negotiations."

Ryan smirked, shaking his head as he grabbed his belt off the chair. "You sure know how to play the game, baby."

"That's the plan," I shot back, pulling on my boots. "Now come on before my dad wonders if you finally talked me into running off to Vegas."

He grinned at that, tossing his arm around my shoulders as we headed out. "If I had, we wouldn't be coming back."

Travis and his team unloaded the horses, each one more impressive than the last. Their coats gleamed in the sunlight, muscles rippling as they stepped off the trailer with the confidence of champions.

"Well, your new crew is a hell of a lot prettier than your old one," I called out, eyeing the riders. Most of them were women—tall, lean, and sharp-eyed, each one looking like they belonged in a magazine as much as they did in a saddle.

"Goddamn, I love when Travis comes to the ranch," Jake muttered, practically drooling.

Travis caught my eye, then glanced at Jake, smirking. So much for using my assets to negotiate—I had competition.

"So, you're from where? Texarkana?" Travis asked Teeter, squinting at her like he was trying to place an old memory.

"Yeah, Texarkana," she answered, chewing her gum like she had all the time in the world.

"Which side of the river?"

"North."

Travis barked out a laugh. "That ain't Texas, that's goddamn Arkansas. Stop tellin' people you're from Texas."

Teeter just shrugged. "Whatever you say, man."

Rip strolled up, arms crossed over his chest. "You ever sell that five-million-dollar bastard?"

Travis smirked. "I try to leave every show with an empty trailer." He nodded toward a sleek new saddle perched on the fence. "Had Andy Masci make you something special."

Rip cocked a brow behind his dark sunglasses. "Yeah? What for?"

"Little wedding present," Travis grinned.

Rip huffed a laugh. "How'd you figure that out, motherfucker?"

Travis threw up his hands. "I'm a horse trainer, brother. When a woman goes off the market, I get a fucking email."

One of his girls led a pair of horses over, their hooves thudding softly against the packed dirt. Travis gave me a once-over, then gestured to the horses.

"Alex, I do appreciate the effort, but I think these two will do what you need."

I stepped up onto the fence, leaning forward just enough to make my point. "Suppose I can't talk you into a two-for-one special?"

"You could try," Travis said, looking down at me with a knowing smirk. "Can't say how much it'll work."

Before I could push my luck any further, the sound of hoofbeats drew his attention past me. I turned to see Dad and Kayce riding in from the fields, their silhouettes framed by the late afternoon sun.

"I don't think the doctor cleared you for riding," I said, narrowing my eyes at my father.

Kayce gave me a look—one I knew all too well. He'd already had this argument and lost.

"I didn't ask him, sweetheart," Dad said simply as he swung down from his horse, landing with a grunt.

None of us pressed the issue. Instead, we all turned our attention to Travis, watching as he worked his horse with a level of skill that was damn near mesmerizing.

"Goddamn," Kayce muttered, eyes locked on the stallion as it spun and surged forward with effortless power. "He just gets the livestock, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Rip responded, almost in awe. "What are y'all shopping for?"

"I need a pair for Roman trick riding," I answered, my excitement creeping into my voice.

"The hell is that?" Rip asked, brow furrowed.

"It's when you stand on two horses and ride around the arena," I explained.

Rip looked at me like I'd lost my damn mind. "That sounds… interesting."

"It's fucking awesome," I corrected him.

Dad sighed, shaking his head. "Sweetheart…"

I braced myself. I knew that tone.

"I don't need you to buy me a pony, Dad," I said before he could go any further. "I'm not eight years old anymore."

"I know that," he admitted. "Just thought you were done with all that."

I crossed my arms, leveling him with a look. "I'll still be doing it when I'm eighty."

Dad exhaled sharply, his expression caught somewhere between pride and exasperation. "I'd just like to see you live that long."

"I know what I'm doing, Dad," I assured him, my voice softer now.

He nodded, but I could still see the worry lingering in his eyes.

"What exactly are you looking for?" I quirked a brow, steering the conversation away from the worry still lingering in his eyes.

"Legacy," he answered simply. Then, after a beat, he continued, "You know the King Ranch down in Texas?"

I nodded.

"They got 825,000 acres."

Kayce nodded too, following along.

"The land down there is so thick with oil," Dad went on, "you could stab the damn ground with a shovel and strike it. So how's that ranch still there? That's the real question."

"Yeah," Kayce said. "You'd think some big oil company would've bought them out by now."

Dad pointed a finger at him. "That's because they got ahead of it. Started their own oil company, bred their own cattle, hell, even bred their own horses. There ain't a single horse in that arena you can't trace back to the King Ranch." His gaze moved between us. "That's what we're gonna do. Outside of this valley, who even knows we're here? I'm gonna make sure the whole damn world does."

"You want to put Travis on the road?" I asked.

Dad nodded, then looked to Rip. "You know him best. What do you think?"

"That fucker doesn't do anything but win," Rip said, then glanced at me. "Just like you."

Kayce wasn't convinced. "Can we trust him?"

I smirked. "He puts the whore in horse trainer."

Rip chuckled. "If he's riding for the Y, he'll be true to it. But he'll fuck over everyone else, sir."

Dad took a slow breath, then stepped toward Travis, who was still mounted.

"Hey, John," Travis greeted with a knowing grin.

Dad motioned toward the horse he'd been working. "How's he priced?"

"Through the roof."

"Well, what if I put him on the road with you? How's he priced then?"

"Price stays the same, but you'll earn it back in less than a year," Travis answered without hesitation.

"I'll take him," Dad said, no room for argument. "Now show me more."

Travis's grin widened. "How many you want?"

I shook my head slightly, already seeing the gleam in his eyes.

"When people see horses," Dad said, "I want them thinking of the Yellowstone."

Travis nodded knowingly. "John, you know the deal—there's no money in the oak. All the money's in the acorn. I'll find you a stud. Give me three years."

Dad shook his head. "Don't have three years. Just get me in now. Find me acorns on the way to that winner's circle."

Travis studied him, then asked, "You want cutters?"

"I want all three," Dad replied.

Travis let out a low whistle. "John, that's gonna cost a lot of money. A few million to do it right."

Dad didn't hesitate. "Can you win it back?"

Travis leaned forward in the saddle. "If we're doing this, then let me do it right. I'll get you the best of the best in all three, and I'll stack checks on your desk as thick as a damn phone book."

Dad gave him a firm nod. "Do it."

Travis didn't waste a second. "Alright. I'll start making calls." With that, he turned his horse and rode off.

Kayce exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "We can't afford to do this."

Dad didn't waver. "Yeah, well, we can't afford not to, son."

I took a breath, stepping forward. "Dad?"

He turned, already bracing for a fight. "I don't need you to try to talk me out of it, honey."

"I'm not gonna try to talk you out of it." I hesitated just long enough for him to notice. "I just… I want to be a part of it. This is my legacy too. I want to invest in it."

Dad studied me for a long moment, then finally, he nodded. "Alright then, you're in."

That was all I needed to hear.