I groaned as I woke up. My head was spinning but I found myself tangled in Ryan's arms. I pulled the blanket up over me as I slipped under the blanket. I pressed my body against his.

"Morning, baby," he kissed my forehead, "you feeling ok?"

"I'd feel better if the room wasn't spinning," I said with a groan.

"Why don't you take a hot shower and I'll make breakfast?" he said softly.

"Can't we just stay in bed all day?" I buried my face in his chest.

Ryan chuckled, his fingers trailing lazily up and down my spine. "Tempting, baby. Real tempting. But you need something in your stomach after last night."

I let out a dramatic sigh, nuzzling deeper into his chest. "Fine. But only if you bring me coffee in bed first."

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Deal. But after that, shower, food, and then maybe—just maybe—we can crawl back under these covers."

I peeked up at him with a playful smirk. "You promise?"

His lips curved as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Cross my heart, baby."

"Fuck," I groaned, rubbing my temples.

"What's wrong?" Ryan asked, standing from the bed and pulling his lounge pants up over his hips.

"My sister's in jail, and I have to figure out how to get her out without it turning into a goddamn media circus," I sighed, throwing the covers back and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

Ryan watched me with a mix of sympathy and amusement.

"I'll take that coffee," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "But looks like we're rainchecking that lazy day in bed."

—-

I rode with Jamie to the police precinct, the morning sun glaring off the pavement like it had a personal vendetta against me.

"I guess you were her one phone call," I muttered, pushing my sunglasses higher on my face. "Why is it so fucking bright out here?" I grumbled.

Jamie exhaled, already looking exhausted. "What happened?"

I crossed my arms. "Some dumb bitch from California was all over Rip like a cat in heat," I said. "Then she decided to run her mouth, told Beth she'd enjoy watching her fuck Rip." I glanced at Jamie, watching the inevitable reaction flicker across his face. "Then the bottle crashed, a fight broke out, bouncers got involved, Lloyd threw a punch, and now here we are."

Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. "Christ."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," I said, shifting my weight. "So what's the plan? Or are we just leaving her in there to cool off?"

"The longer she's in there, the more likely the press is gonna catch wind of this," Jamie said.

"You're the attorney—do whatever legal magic you can to get her out of it," I shot back.

"Legal magic only goes so far," he replied. "Have you seen that woman's face?"

"It didn't look too good after Beth was finished with her," I said dryly. "Didn't get a good look at her before, so maybe it's an improvement."

"Aggravated assault isn't just gonna disappear," Jamie pointed out.

"Maybe she will," I answered. He shot me a look. "She's from California, Jamie. She's not sticking around long enough to press charges."

"Let's go face the beast," Jamie muttered as he held the door open. "But I'm doing all the talking."

"Fine, lawyer boy," I said, stepping past him. "But you're taking me to breakfast after this."

I followed Jamie down the hall into a sterile waiting room, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air. I gave a tight smile and nodded as Jamie took the lead, speaking with the officers like the seasoned pro he was. I settled into the chair beside him, crossing my legs as I tried to ignore the unease creeping up my spine. We were waiting for Beth to be brought in, and I wasn't sure which would be worse—the confrontation with her or the fallout of whatever mess she'd gotten herself into this time.

The door swung open, and she was pushed inside, eyes narrowing as she locked onto us. "My heroes," she drawled, the mockery in her tone unmistakable.

"Knock when you're done," the officer muttered, giving us one last look before he left the room.

Beth didn't wait long to make her move. "Of course, the two of you are together," she said, sauntering over to the table across from us, her steps deliberate, like she was walking down a runway.

I bit my lip, trying to keep my mouth shut. Jamie was the one with the legal mind. He was doing the talking, not me.

"Boy, you've really fucking done it this time," Jamie said, his smirk never fading.

Beth rolled her eyes, tossing her hair back. "What's the big deal, Jamie? I got into a bar fight in Bozeman. It should be on a t-shirt in the tourist shop."

Jamie's expression remained unfazed. "I don't think the Montana Board of Tourism is too fond of the locals beating the shit out of tourists."

Beth's lips curled into something close to a grin. "That's why I called you." She shifted her gaze to me, sharp eyes cutting through the tension. "You two can find the rug to sweep this under."

I scoffed. "I don't think there's a rug big enough to cover this one."

Jamie glanced at me before turning back to Beth. "It's a county attorney issue now," he said, voice steady but laced with frustration.

Beth's expression shifted slightly, but she didn't bite. "Your best bet," Jamie continued, leaning in, "is to hope this woman's got a plane to catch or she's too hungover to press formal charges."

Beth raised an eyebrow. "This is your legal advice? To just sit here and hope?"

I shrugged, not sure how else to put it. "Sounds like it's the best option."

Jamie's eyes hardened, his voice dropping low as he looked directly at Beth. "If she doesn't file charges," he said, with a pointed pause, "and that's a big fucking 'if' considering the grapefruit on her forehead, then I'll ask the County Attorney to show some mercy. And I'll cite your diminished capacity to control your fucking emotions." He grabbed my arm then, standing with the authority of someone who was done playing games. "Let's go, we're leaving her here to 'hope.'"

Beth smirked at our backs, unfazed.

"No matter what," Jamie added, "if this reaches the press, it'll be a huge embarrassment for our father."

"Not your father," Beth responded, "your father can't be embarrassed by you anymore."

I stopped mid-step, turning to face her. "You mean our father," I said, making the distinction clear as I motioned between the three of us. "You can't change that, no matter how much you might want to."

Beth's eyes narrowed, her smile twisting into something bitter. "Here's what's gonna happen," she said smugly. "I'm gonna go back to my cell and take a nap. While the two of you sit on the steps, waiting for that bitch to show up, and convince her not to press charges."

I raised an eyebrow. "How do you expect us to do that?"

"Don't care," she snapped. "You two are smart. Figure it the fuck out. It's not really my problem."

Jamie knocked on the door again, his patience already running thin. I rolled my eyes as we turned to walk back down the hall. This was far from over, and I had a sinking feeling that whatever happened next, we weren't going to be able to dodge the fallout for long.

The door clicked shut behind us, and I stayed close to Jamie, feeling the familiar weight of silence settle between us. He didn't say anything, but I could feel it—the sting. The distinction Beth had made, as if Jamie wasn't family anymore, just a pawn in her game. It wasn't just cold; it was cutting.

Jamie knocked firmly on the door of the detective in charge of the case. "You got this Dutton assault case?"

"Yes, sir," the detective replied, looking up from his desk.

"Why no charges against the complainant?" Jamie asked, his voice crisp, the lawyer in him fully awake. "It was a bar fight, wasn't it?"

"It was one hell of a bar fight," the detective said, sounding more amused than concerned.

"There's no self-defense in a bar fight," Jamie countered, leaning in slightly. "Which means the victim is also a defendant. Is she coming in?"

"I'm waiting for her now," the detective answered, glancing at the door like he was expecting a knock at any moment.

"We'll wait with you," Jamie said, not missing a beat.

I took a seat beside him, my thoughts still lingering on Beth's words. I'd never really watched Jamie work—at least not like this. In the courtroom, sure, he was brilliant. But when it came to anything else? He was as clueless as they came. Maybe it was his charm, or maybe it was his stubbornness, but it always seemed like he could talk circles around people, yet struggle to read the room.

"Sounds like breakfast is turning into lunch," I muttered, leaning back in the chair.

The detective, shifting awkwardly between paperwork and the conversation, finally glanced over at me. "You do trick riding, don't you?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "I… uh, yeah," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "I've been off the circuit for a few years, but I still do shows every once in a while. Though it may be a little longer between shows since I'm helping our dad more with the ranch. He's in Helena right now."

The detective nodded, clearly processing, but his expression was hard to read. I couldn't tell if he was genuinely interested or just trying to pass the time. Either way, the silence that followed felt even heavier than before.

I glanced down the hall when I heard the distinct click of heels on linoleum. I nudged Jamie, my voice barely above a whisper, "That's the bit—" I paused, catching the detective's eye before continuing, "That's her."

"Wait here," Jamie said, his tone low but firm. "It'll fuck this all up if she sees you."

I rolled my eyes but kept my voice in check. "Fine, big lunch, huge. Getting dessert too," I muttered under my breath as the door shut behind them. I sank back into the chair, tapping my foot impatiently against the floor, the waiting gnawing at me.

A few minutes stretched on like an eternity. I almost didn't notice the woman as she stormed past me, her heels echoing harshly against the floor, but I exhaled when I saw her head straight for the door, not sparing a glance.

The tension in my chest slowly eased as I watched her exit.

"You saved me a ton of paperwork," the detective said with a half-grin as he walked out of the room, Jamie following close behind.

"No problem," Jamie replied, his tone nonchalant, but the glint in his eyes told a different story. He didn't wait for any more words. "Let's go."

We lingered in the precinct, waiting for Beth to finally saunter out like she owned the place.

"Disorderly conduct?" she snapped at Jamie the second she saw him. "Way to go."

"You're welcome," Jamie replied dryly, unfazed as ever.

"Now I gotta spend my spare time picking up trash on the highway," she grumbled, falling into step beside us. "Which car is yours?"

Jamie hit the unlock button. "I can't take you back. I have to go to Helena."

Beth scoffed, motioning toward me. "You're taking her home. We have the same home."

Jamie didn't bother arguing. "Fine."

I slid into the backseat, already regretting every decision that led me here. I could've spent the day in bed with my cowboy, wrapped up in something a hell of a lot better than Beth's bad mood. Instead, I was stuck in the back of Jamie's car for what was bound to be a fan-fucking-tastic ride home.

Beth glanced back at me, then her gaze shifted, narrowing in on the back seat. Her expression darkened when she spotted the toddler's car seat strapped in.

"What the fuck is that?" she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade.

Jamie barely flicked a glance in the rearview mirror. "What is what?"

Beth pointed, her voice rising. "The baby seat. What the fuck is that for?"

Jamie's face went white as he finally registered it, the air between them thick with something unspoken.

Beth's eyes locked onto him, suspicion morphing into something colder. "Do you have a child?" Her voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous.

Jamie hesitated. Froze.

"Do you have a child, Jamie?" she repeated, softer this time, but with an edge that cut through the silence.

Jamie swallowed hard, hands tightening on the wheel. "A boy," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Beth's entire demeanor shifted—her face contorting with something between rage and grief. Anger for what had been taken from her. Desperation for what she'd never have. Regret.

"God gave you a son?" she whispered, almost to herself. Then her expression twisted, and she turned on him with full fury. "You had my womb cut out of me, and God gave you a fucking son?!"

Before I could react, she lunged at him, her nails digging into his arm as the car veered wildly.

"Beth! Stop!" I shouted, throwing myself between them, trying to pry her off before we ended up in a ditch.

The tires screeched as Jamie slammed the brakes, the car jerking violently to a stop on the side of the highway. Beth threw the door open before Jamie could say a word, stumbling out onto the gravel shoulder, breathing hard.

"Let me guess," she spat, spinning back to face him, her voice trembling with rage. "That broodmare of a fucking campaign manager?"

Jamie exhaled slowly, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "Yes."

Beth let out a bitter, humorless laugh, wiping at her face. "I saw her coming." Her voice cracked, the weight of everything pressing down all at once. And then, without another word, she turned and stormed down the highway.

Jamie threw open his own door. "Beth, stop." His voice was different now—raw, pleading. "Taking you to that clinic is the greatest regret of my life."

Beth slowed but didn't turn around. Her shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths. Then, finally, she glanced back, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Of all the shit you've done in your forty-three years on this planet," she said, voice dripping with venom, "that is really saying something."

"Just fucking stop!" I snapped, unable to take the back-and-forth any longer.

Beth did stop—but only to deliver one last blow. She turned fully, her expression unreadable except for the dangerous glint in her eye.

"I'm gonna take him from you," she said, her voice eerily calm. "Kiss him goodbye, Jamie, because he's as good as gone."

And then she kept walking.

Jamie stood frozen, his breathing ragged, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Get back in the car," he told me, his voice tight, controlled—but I could hear the fear underneath. Not just fear of Beth. Fear of what she was capable of.

Fear for his son.

"She won't hurt him," I said, though I wasn't sure if I was trying to reassure him or myself. "I won't let her. She just needs to cool off."

Jamie let out a bitter laugh, his knuckles going white around the steering wheel. "I've given her over twenty years to cool off."

Then, with no warning, he let out a guttural scream and slammed his fists against the wheel, the car shaking with the force of it.

I said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Beth wasn't done. And Jamie knew it.

Jamie shifted the car into gear, his grip tight on the wheel as the engine rumbled beneath us. His foot pressed on the gas, the car lurching forward as Beth continued her march down the center of the road.

For a split second, I thought he was going to do it.

The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with years of resentment and wounds that never quite healed. Beth didn't stop. She didn't look back. She just kept walking.

Jamie didn't either.

At the last second, he yanked the wheel, swerving as Beth darted farther off to the shoulder. Gravel sprayed as the tires cut against the road, the car jerking slightly before he corrected it.

Beth didn't flinch. She just kept going.

Neither of us spoke after that.

—-

The silence followed us all the way back to the ranch. When Jamie finally pulled the car to a stop, he exhaled, his fingers flexing against the wheel before he shifted into park.

"I'll see you soon," he said, voice quieter than before. He glanced over at me, the weight of everything still lingering in his expression. "Raincheck on lunch, okay?"

I nodded, pushing open the door. "Yeah."

But as I watched him drive off, I knew I'd be cashing in a lot of those rainchecks soon enough.

I walked down to the barn, my boots crunching softly against the dirt. Unfamiliar cars were parked along the path, their presence a stark reminder of what today was.

Then, it hit me.

Monica and Kayce were laying their son to rest.

The ceremony was meant to be a private, traditional Native service—one we weren't meant to witness. It wasn't for us. It was for them.

I understood that, at least in part. This was what Monica wanted. She didn't want a sea of mourners watching as she buried the son she had only held for an hour. She wanted to grieve in peace, away from the weight of expectation and the unspoken condolences of people who could never truly understand.

I could give her that.

So I stayed back, slipping into the cover of the trees. Close enough that, if Kayce needed me, I'd be there. But far enough that, for now, this moment belonged to them.

"Nobody told me," Dad's gruff voice came from behind me.

I didn't turn around. Just kept watching.

"He didn't tell anybody," I murmured. "I just… knew. The way I always know what's going on with Kayce."

Dad exhaled, his presence heavy beside me. "Should we get closer?"

I shook my head. "I think this is how they want it, Dad."

So we stayed back, silent sentinels in the distance, watching as they lowered the tiny casket into the earth. The weight of it—of everything—settled over us like the thick Montana sky.

When the ceremony ended, I walked with my father toward the gravesite, our footsteps slow, measured.

Chief Rainwater approached first, extending his hand. "John."

Dad hesitated, glancing at Rainwater's outstretched hand. "I'm not sure of the protocol."

Rainwater gave a small nod, understanding. "You can go be with your brother, Miss Dutton," he said, his voice steady but kind. "He needs your strength now that his is faltering."

I nodded and stepped past them, my boots sinking slightly into the fresh earth as I reached the grave.

Tate stood there, his gaze fixed on the ground. He was nearly as tall as me now—still a boy, but on the cusp of something else. Something heavier.

I pulled him into a hug, and he didn't resist.

"How are you doing?" I asked softly.

His voice was quiet, unsure. "I don't know yet." A beat of silence. Then, "I always wanted a brother."

I swallowed, my throat tight as my eyes flicked from the fresh mound of dirt to the place where Lee was buried.

"You have one," I told him, voice thick with meaning. "He's just with mine now."

"I barely remember him," Tate admitted, his voice small.

I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "When you're ready, I can tell you all about him."

"We both can," Kayce added, his voice rough but steady. He looked at Tate, then toward Monica, standing silently by the grave. "Let's give your mom a minute to say goodbye."

Without another word, we turned and walked back toward the barn. The ground felt uneven beneath my feet, though I knew it wasn't.

"Kayce…" I started, but the words caught in my throat. What could I say? There was no string of words that could soften this kind of grief.

I had lost a brother. I had lost a mother. But it wasn't the same. None of it carried the weight of what Kayce was feeling now. Because he had lost them, too—and now, he had lost a son who never even had the chance to live.

So I just walked beside him, silent. Sometimes, that was all you could do.

—-

I led my horse out of the barn, the familiar weight of the reins in my hands grounding me. The sun hung high in the sky, warm against my face, a stark contrast to the heaviness lingering in my chest. I focused on the motions—guiding my horse up the ramp, securing the latch on the trailer—letting the simple routine steady me.

We were headed to help the Poison Creek group with branding. They were short-handed, and after the past few days, I needed this. Hard work. The kind that left you sore and sunburned but reminded you that something was still alive in the world.

Shrugging out of my jacket, I climbed into the backseat of Rip's truck, sliding to the middle to make room for Ryan beside me. His shoulder bumped mine as he settled in, his presence warm and solid. Rip threw the truck into gear without a word, and we rattled down the dirt road toward the Poison Creek ranch.

When we arrived, we got straight to work, guiding their cattle into the corrals, sorting them one by one. The scent of dust and sweat filled the air as we wrestled calves to the ground, the branding iron hissing as it met hide. The work was quiet, almost reverent, the kind of ritual that had been done for generations. And by the time we were finished, my body ached in a way that reminded me I was still here. Still moving. Still breathing.

"You get you a plate?" I asked Ryan softly as he sat chatting with the other cowboys chatting.

"Yeah, baby," he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his lap.

I rested against Ryan, letting his warmth seep into me as the steady hum of conversation surrounded us. The long day of work had settled into my bones, but here, with him, I felt lighter. His fingers traced lazy circles over the back of my hand, grounding me in the moment.

"You doin' okay?" he murmured, his breath tickling my ear.

I nodded, exhaling as I let myself relax against him. "Better now."

He pressed a kiss to my temple, his grip tightening just a little. "Good."

The fire crackled nearby, casting flickering shadows across the gathered cowboys as they swapped stories over full plates. The scent of mesquite smoke and slow-roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the dust still clinging to our clothes. For the first time in days, I felt like I could just be.

"I love you, you know," I whispered in his ear.

"I know," he said with a smile.

Colby shot us a look. "When are y'all gonna stop making goo-goo eyes at each other?" He raised an eyebrow. "How long's it been now?"

"I've been in love with him since I was sixteen," I said, smirking. "But it took him a few years to figure it out."

Ryan chuckled, squeezing me closer. "I knew, baby. It was just about timing."

Colby snorted. "And figuring out if you were crazy enough to take on everything that comes with dating the boss's daughter."

I tilted my head, grinning at Ryan. "Yeah, guess you had to decide if loving me was worth the risk."

Ryan's fingers brushed over mine, lazy and familiar. "Baby, loving you was never the question. Surviving it? That was another story."

Colby barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "That's the damn truth. Ain't a man alive dumb enough to cross your dad—except maybe this one."

Ryan smirked, his grip tightening around me. "I'd do it again, too."

I leaned back against his chest, sighing. "Yeah, well, took you long enough."

Colby rolled his eyes. "So what was it? Some big romantic moment? A grand realization?"

Ryan shrugged. "More like me finally pullin' my head out of my ass."

I laughed, tilting my head to press a kiss just beneath his jaw. "Better late than never."

Ryan glanced at Colby, a grin tugging at his lips. "It was your birthday, man. First one after you joined up."

I smiled at the memory. "The night I threw myself at you in the barn."

I didn't bring up the part where he let me go—not at first. It didn't matter anymore. That moment had been a detour, not a dead end. We found our way back, and that was what counted.

Teeter raised an eyebrow. "How long you been working here, baby?"

"Just over ten years, I guess," Colby answered with a shrug, like it wasn't a big deal.

"That's a long fucking time," Teeter mused, smirking.

I glanced at Ryan, my smile softening. "It doesn't feel like a long time," I murmured. "Feels like we're just getting started—like there's still so much ahead of us."

Ryan's grin turned playful. "Good thing you ain't one of them barrel racer girls," he teased. "That would feel like a fucking eternity."

I rolled my eyes, laughing. "Shut up and kiss me, cowboy."

I leaned into him, my heart racing—just like it did the first time. No matter how much time had passed, that feeling never faded.