The cool morning air nipped at my skin as I watched my father with a quiet intensity. There was always something in his movements that carried the weight of years spent in this unforgiving life—decisions made with the kind of certainty only time and hardship could forge. But there was a darkness too, a side of him I rarely saw up close. He carried it well, like a second skin, but I knew what it cost him.

I didn't want to burden him with Jamie's mess, not when he had enough on his plate already. He was a man who'd sacrificed more than anyone could understand to keep us standing. But Jamie had crossed a line, and I wasn't sure there was any coming back from it.

"Hey," I said, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. My father didn't look up at first, focused on the saddle before him. But when he did, his eyes softened just slightly, the weight of everything pressing down in the space between us.

"Everything alright?" he asked, his voice rough but still laced with the kind of care I rarely let him show.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Just... thinking about things."

He gave a short nod, as if he understood. He always did, even when I didn't have the words to explain.

"I'll handle it, Dad," I added quietly, though I wasn't sure if I meant the ranch, my brother, or the heavy secret I was carrying now. Either way, I knew it was mine to bear.

"Where you headed?" I asked.

"The only time I'm focused on the present is when I'm sitting in the saddle," he said.

I understood that feeling too well.

"Enjoy your ride, Dad," I offered a weak smile.

"You want some company?" Kayce offered.

"If you think you can keep up," Dad responded.

"You mind keeping an eye on Tate," I nodded, watching as my father and Kayce rode off, their silhouettes blending into the early morning light. The quiet that followed felt heavier than it should have. I knew exactly where they were going, and I knew why. But I couldn't bring myself to follow.

Some wounds never really healed.

Tate's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "You wanna play cards?" he asked, shuffling a deck in his small hands.

I forced a smile. "You hustling me already, kid?"

He grinned. "Dad says a man's gotta know how to win at something."

I chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Alright, let's see what you've got. But don't cry when I take all your pocket change."

For now, I'd focus on this. On Tate. On the one part of my family that wasn't tangled in secrets and regret.

I was about twenty dollars down when I finally gave up. I may have underestimated my nephew, or I may have let him win.

"You wanna go watch Rip train some colts?" I asked. His face lit up and he rushed back out the front door, not waiting for me to catch up.

Shaking my head with a soft chuckle, I followed Tate outside, watching as he ran ahead toward the corral. His excitement was contagious, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the simplicity of it. No burdens, no secrets—just a kid eager to watch some horses work.

Rip was already in the round pen, a young colt trotting circles around him, ears flicking back and forth as he gauged his trainer. Tate climbed up onto the fence, leaning forward eagerly.

"Think I could do that one day?" he asked, eyes never leaving the horse.

Rip smirked, giving the lead rope a slight flick to change the colt's direction. "You listen, learn, and don't let your head get too big? Maybe."

Tate nodded like Rip had just given him the greatest wisdom in the world. I couldn't help but smile. Maybe this was what I needed—a morning spent watching horses and listening to my nephew dream big.

"Why are you doing it?" Tate asked.

"I wanna get all the shit outta his system so I can get on him," Rip answered.

"You owe me a dollar," Tate stated.

"I ain't paying you a fucking dollar," Rip snorted.

"So you don't go ass over tea kettle?" Tate looked at me then back at Rip. Neither one of us wanted to coach the kid on his language.

"Exactly," Rip said, bringing the colt's face down so Tate could pet it.

Tate's curiosity was endless, and Rip's patience—while rough around the edges—was steady. Watching them, I couldn't help but smile. Moments like this, simple and unspoken, were what made everything else worth it.

"You can add babysitting to my list of talents," Rip called out to Kayce as he and our father rode back in from the pasture.

"I didn't see that one coming," I teased.

"Me neither," Kayce admitted with a smirk.

Before either of us could say more, Tate stepped forward with all the confidence of a man twice his size. "Grandpa, I need to talk to you."

Kayce raised a brow. "Do I need to be part of this conversation?"

"Nope. You ain't got any money. I just won all of Aunt Alex's, so it's gotta be him," Tate said matter-of-factly.

I chuckled, shaking my head as I looked at my brother. "Your son is a shark."

"This oughta be good," Kayce muttered as we watched Tate and our father walk off for their 'man-to-man' chat.

Rip leaned on the fence, watching them go. "You got a smart kid, Kayce."

I smirked. "Must've got it from his mother."

"Yeah, kinda figured," Rip replied, deadpan.

A few moments later, Tate came jogging back, excitement written all over his face. "Daddy, you gotta train my horse!"

—-

I'd been avoiding Jamie for days. Every time we passed each other in the hall, my silence was colder than the Montana air outside. And he felt it.

"Alex, let me explain," he muttered, desperation creeping into his voice. "Please."

I'd always been the one to defend him—against our father, against Beth. But this time, I couldn't make myself do it. He'd gone too far.

"I don't want to hear it, Jamie." My voice was firm, but the ache in my chest betrayed me. I hated seeing my brother like this, drowning in his own guilt. But I wasn't ready to throw him a lifeline. Not yet.

Maybe I should have listened to him. Maybe if I had, he wouldn't have let the despair consume him, wouldn't have let it drive him to the edge.

"DAD!" My voice echoed through the house as my eyes locked onto the gun rack in the living room. One rifle was missing. My stomach dropped. "Where's Jamie?"

I didn't wait for an answer. I tore out of the house, my boots barely hitting the porch before I was running full tilt toward the barn. My hands were shaking as I yanked the reins from one of the ranch hands, barely sparing him a glance. "I need this."

I swung into the saddle, spurring the horse into a gallop before he could ask what the hell I was doing. I didn't have time to explain. There was only one place Jamie would go.

The sound of hoofbeats behind me told me my father was right there, chasing the same ghost of hope I was. We had to get to Jamie before it was too late.

I saw him standing in the clearing. And dropped down to his knees. Rifle tucked under his chin.

I slowed my horse to a stop, easily I climbed down. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes as I watched my brother, who had been wallowing in what he had done with no one by his side.

I couldn't lose another brother. I barely survived losing Lee—I wouldn't survive this.

"Jamie?" My voice was barely above a whisper as I took a cautious step closer. "I'm not leaving. Please don't make me watch you do this."

His hands trembled around the rifle, his eyes hollow and lost.

"You know the thing about suicide," Dad's voice was rough behind me, steady but full of something I couldn't quite name. "You don't just kill yourself—you kill every memory everyone ever had of you."

Tears burned at my eyes as I met Jamie's. "This will be all I remember, Jamie. Not my way-too-serious older brother who taught me how to drive. Not the brother who drove me to my first rodeo, who helped me when I was too stubborn to ask. All of that will be gone. And I'll be left with just this."

"No one will mourn your loss, son," Dad said, his voice like gravel. "Because this isn't losing your life—it's quitting it."

Jamie let out a shaky breath. "I quit, Dad."

"I won't let you," Dad shot back without hesitation.

Jamie's jaw clenched, his eyes desperate and angry all at once. "Why not? What do you care?"

"Because it's selfish!" Dad's voice cracked like a whip in the cold air.

"This can't be fixed," Jamie whispered, his voice thick with pain. "I can't be fixed."

"You're not beyond repair, Jamie," I swallowed the lump in my throat. "None of us are."

Dad took a step forward, softer now. "Your granddad used to say, 'You can't fix a broken wagon wheel, but you can use the parts to make a new one.'" He let out a breath. "I never should have sent you away. You needed more time here. I can give you that—I want to give you that." His hand reached out, steady, patient. "But I need you to give me that rifle, son."

Jamie's breath shuddered as he hesitated. For a moment, I thought we'd lost him.

Then, finally, slowly, his fingers uncurled from the stock, and he placed the rifle in our father's waiting hands.

—-

"This is silly," Jamie muttered, stuffing the last of his things into a bag.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "It's what you need right now."

He huffed, but he didn't argue. "I don't belong there."

"Maybe not," I admitted. "But you don't belong alone, either."

I grabbed my own duffle bag and followed him out, meeting Rip in the living room. We walked to the bunkhouse in silence, the quiet of the ranch settling around us like a heavy blanket.

Inside, it was a typical Tuesday—guys gathered around the table, playing cards, bullshitting like always. Rip led Jamie toward an empty bunk while I lingered near the doorway.

Colby's gaze flicked to my bag. "You finally movin' in here?"

"Something like that," I smirked. "Maybe I can convince y'all to do something other than play cards for once."

Lloyd's eyes narrowed slightly, flicking between me and Jamie. He hadn't set foot in the bunkhouse since we were kids, and everyone knew it.

Rip clapped a firm hand on Jamie's shoulder. "Lawyer's gonna try his hand at cowboying."

A few chuckles rumbled through the room. Jamie shifted uncomfortably, but I just gave him a look. You wanted a fresh start? Here's your chance.

He exhaled and nodded, as if making peace with whatever came next.

"Y'all want us to deal you in?" Jake asked, shuffling the deck.

I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head with a smirk. "My nephew already cleaned me out once today," I said, settling in next to Ryan. His hand found my thigh, warm and effortless, like it belonged there. "I don't need to be swindled twice in one day."

"I'll play," Jamie said, a little too eager, pulling out his wallet. "What's the buy-in?"

He fumbled for a moment before producing a couple of crisp hundred-dollar bills. I barely held back a laugh. My out-of-touch brother was about to get a dose of reality.

"Whoa, we're just working girls here, huh?" Colby chuckled, raising a brow at the sight of the big bills.

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a wad of reasonable-sized bills, handing them to Jamie before he embarrassed himself further.

"I'm not an ATM," I teased, plucking one of his crisp hundreds from his fingers before he could protest. I grinned, folding it neatly between my fingers. "See? I'm already ahead fifty, and I'm not even playing."

Jamie rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to settle in.

"What you mean, working girls?" Ethan asked, clearly confused.

"Well, I mean you shave your nuts," Colby replied with a grin, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No, you shave your nuts, bro," Ryan chimed in, his tone playful but no less mocking.

"With your razor," Colby shot back, giving Ryan a smug look. "Cause that's what men do."

I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter as the banter went on. "Just how close are you two?" I quirked a brow, glancing between the two of them.

Ryan shot me a quick, amused look as I stood and moved toward the fridge. "Jamie?" I held up a beer, and he gave me a silent nod, accepting the drink.

As I popped the top and handed the beer to Jamie, the tension in the room seemed to ease, the lighthearted banter pulling us all back from the darker corners we'd been lingering in. I settled back in my seat, watching the guys place their bets, trying to gauge Jamie's every move. I glanced at him, trying to read his expression, but it was hard to tell if he was bluffing. He had that poker face, and with him, it always felt like a game.

"I fold," Jamie said, breaking the silence with a calm statement.

"You made the right decision," Jimmy said with a small grin.

I met Jamie's eyes across the table as he muttered, "I know."

And in that moment, I realized something—he wasn't just playing the game. He was fitting in. It wasn't just the cards; it was the way he was starting to find his place here again, even if it was just for a night. The weight of the last few days still lingered, but this was a step toward something better. At least, I hoped it was.

"You all continue your game," I said with a smile, pecking Ryan on the cheek before standing up. "I'm going to shower."

He looked up at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and I couldn't resist adding, "Not an invitation."

Ryan smirked. "Wasn't even thinking about it."

"Yes, you were," I teased, giving him a wink as I turned toward the bathroom.

"Only because I'll miss you terribly while you're away," he called after me, his tone playful.

I rolled my eyes with a smile. "I'm sure you'll manage."

I knew he would, but it was nice to leave him with a little something to think about.

I unpacked my hair products—shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, in separate bottles—lining them up on the ledge in the shower, shoving Ryan's 3-in-1 to the side with a shudder. No scents of Irish Spring or whatever that blue one was for me today. "Much better," I muttered, stepping under the warm spray. The warm vanilla lavender scent filled my nose and the stress of the day started to drain away, leaving me with the quiet of the moment.

Jamie was where he needed to be, and I was where I wanted to be.

After a quick shower, I slipped into my pajamas and headed back into the main room. But I froze at the door, hearing voices on the other side.

"So, you and my sister?" Jamie asked, his tone curious.

"About that..." Ryan replied, hesitation in his voice.

I knew I shouldn't be eavesdropping, but I couldn't help it.

"Ryan's got it bad for Alex," Colby said, teasing. "About falls off his horse every time she rides by."

"Not every time," Ryan chuckled, sounding embarrassed.

"So do you love her?" Jamie asked, the question heavy in the air.

I held my breath, not sure if I was ready for the answer.

I stood frozen just outside the door, my heart hammering faster than I cared to admit. My mind raced with possibilities, not sure if I was ready to hear the answer.

I heard Ryan shift in his seat, the soft creak of wood under his weight, followed by a quiet clearing of his throat.

"I... yeah. I do," he finally said, his voice low but steady. "I love her."

Jamie didn't respond right away, and for a moment, I thought maybe he'd let it drop. But then, softer this time, he asked, "Does she know?"

I swallowed hard, warmth blooming in my chest alongside a vulnerability I wasn't prepared for. I didn't know what I had been expecting, but this—hearing it out loud—was more than I was ready for.

"I think she does," Ryan answered, his tone gentle yet sure. "I think she's known for a while now."

My breath caught, my heart skipping a beat. A smile tugged at my lips even though I remained hidden behind the door, taking in the weight of his words.

I took a steadying breath, willing myself to keep it together, then turned and stepped back into the room, slipping effortlessly into my usual seat at the table.

Keeping my expression neutral, I leaned back in my chair, letting my eyes sweep over the group before landing on Jamie. He knew. He could see it in my eyes. But he didn't say a word.

"So," I said, breaking the moment with a smirk, "how much money did you swindle my brother out of?"

"I think your brother is holding out on us," Ryan said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my temple. His voice dropped just for me as he murmured, "You smell nice."

I fought the urge to melt right then and there, instead flashing a teasing smile. "I just couldn't do another shower with Irish Spring."

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest, but I could feel the warmth creeping up my neck. His little gestures, his easy affection—it was all so effortless for him. And for me? It was getting harder and harder to pretend I wasn't completely undone by him.

I sat on the edge of Ryan's bunk, smoothing lotion over my arms and chest, feeling a little more at home here than I had before. The quiet hum of the bunkhouse, the familiar voices, the scent of leather and man—it was starting to feel like my place, too.

I could feel his eyes on me from across the room, the weight of his gaze lingering as I moved my hands over my skin.

"It's your turn, man," Colby chuckled, snapping Ryan out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. Then, with a smirk, he added, "But I'm winnin'."

Ryan huffed, finally tearing his eyes away from me to toss his bet into the pot. "Yeah, yeah, keep dreamin', Colby."

I bit back a smile, pretending not to notice the way he kept stealing glances my way.

The game finally came to a close, and one by one, the hands settled into their bunks for the night. The bunkhouse dimmed, the quiet hum of conversation fading into the rustling of blankets and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor.

I glanced over at Jamie, watching as he shifted, trying to get comfortable in a bed that wasn't his. He looked out of place, stiff and uncertain, like a man wearing boots a size too small.

"You okay?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

He nodded, though his expression was distant. "I'm just… figuring it out."

I offered a small smile. "I know. You'll get there."

As I turned to leave him, his voice stopped me.

"Alex," he hesitated, then sighed. "I'm sorry."

I met his gaze, seeing the weight of everything he'd done—the regret, the shame, the hope that maybe I could let him back in. I wasn't ready to forgive him. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.

But I knew he needed something from me, some kind of acknowledgment that he wasn't completely alone.

So I gave him a small nod. It wasn't forgiveness, but it was something. And for tonight, that had to be enough.

I tucked myself in next to Ryan, never even considering any other bunk. Beside him was where I wanted to be. His arm slipped around my waist, pulling me closer as he buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath warm against my skin.

"Just so we're clear," he murmured, his hand smoothing over my stomach, his smirk evident even in the dim light. "I'm not having sex with you while your brother is across the room."

I smiled, shifting my hips slightly as I settled in. "I didn't think you would."

Ryan chuckled softly, pressing a lazy kiss just below my ear before settling in beside me. The warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, made it easier to push away the weight of the day.

"I love you, too," I let myself say out loud.

"I know, baby," he murmured.

"Will you two go to sleep," Colby groaned from the upper bunk. "Some of us have to work in the morning."

"Good night, Colby," I said louder.

Ryan chuckled against my skin, his lips pressing one last kiss to my shoulder. "Good night, Colby," he echoed, amusement lacing his voice.

Colby huffed from the top bunk. "Y'all are insufferable."

I smiled, snuggling deeper into Ryan's warmth. "Sweet dreams."

Ryan's breathing evened out, his grip on me loose but secure.

I felt at peace. Loved. Safe. And as sleep pulled me under, I knew I wouldn't want to wake up anywhere else.

—-

I stepped out of the bunkhouse door, coffee in hand, watching as my father moved with quiet purpose. Kayce was finally home. Truly home. Monica and Tate were with him. Dad was settling into Lee's old cabin—giving up the main house to my brother. It was his home now.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like the family was finding its way back together. The way it was always meant to be.

Ryan came up behind me, his arms slipping around my waist as he pressed a kiss to my temple. "You okay?"

I nodded, leaning into him. "Yeah. I think I am."

I stared at Lee's cabin, my father's cabin, feeling a twinge of sadness. I missed him. His memory was etched into the land he fought and died to protect.

"Are you ready for him to know?" I asked. Everyone on the ranch knew about me and Ryan, everyone except my father. And now Jamie did, it was only a matter of time.

"Am I excited to tell your Dad, my boss, that I've been fucking his youngest daughter in almost every corner of his ranch?" I heard the smirk in his voice, "I don't know how thrilled he'll be to find that out."

"I wasn't suggesting we phrase it quite like that," I told him.

Ryan chuckled, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Yeah, I figured."

I sighed, my eyes still on the cabin, the weight of the conversation settling over me. "It's not like he doesn't already suspect something."

"Oh, he definitely suspects," Ryan muttered. "Man's got eyes in the back of his head."

That was the damn truth. My father always knew more than he let on.

"You think he's gonna put me in the dirt?" Ryan asked, only half-joking.

I turned to face him, running my fingers over the scruff on his jaw. "If he was gonna, he'd have done it by now."

Ryan huffed out a breath. "That's not as reassuring as you think it is, baby."

I smirked, tugging him down for a quick kiss. "Then maybe we should get it over with."

"I think I have chores that need doing," he said.

"Stall all you want, cowboy," I told him, "but eventually we'll have to tell him."

"Yeah," he agreed.

The rumble of the truck hauling a horse trailer pulled me out of my thoughts. Rip and Kayce had taken Tate to pick up his horse. The kid's face lit up as he rushed to the back eager to see his new best friend.

"Alex!" Tate called over to me, "Come see him. He's perfect."

"I'm coming," I called back, I smiled at my cowboy, "Saved by a horse."

Ryan let out a mock sigh of relief. "Damn, I owe that horse my life."

I chuckled, squeezing his hand before heading toward Tate, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Kayce was already at the back of the trailer, unlatching the doors while Rip steadied the ramp. The second the gate swung open, Tate's horse stepped forward, ears flicking as he took in his new surroundings.

"He's beautiful, buddy," I said, running a hand down the horse's sleek neck. "What'd you decide to name him?"

Tate grinned up at me. "Lucky."

I smiled, running a hand down the horse's sleek neck. "Lucky, huh? That's a damn fine name."

Tate nodded enthusiastically. "Because I'm lucky to have him. And he's lucky to have me."

Kayce chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Can't argue with that."

Tate turned back to his horse, his excitement bubbling over. "Can I ride him now?"

Kayce shook his head, amused. "Let's get him settled first, alright?"

Tate huffed but didn't argue, already too busy admiring his new companion. I caught Rip's eye, and he smirked. "Kid's got the bug now. No turning back."

I laughed softly, watching as Tate gently ran his hands along Lucky's face. "Yeah," I murmured, "looks like he was born for this."

Dad barely acknowledged Jamie who had been unloading hay from the trailer when he emerged from the cabin to watch his grandson beam over the new horse. I saw the sadness in my brother's eyes. This was the way Dad was helping him to get past everything. To build Jamie into a new man.

Kayce guided Lucky into the corral letting him lose to run around and get acclimated to the place.

"His whole life is in your hands, Tate," I said, remembering the words my father said to me when he bought me my first horse, "how you treat him is how his life goes." I caught the look of recollection in my father's eyes and he smiled.

Tate nodded, taking in the weight of my words, the responsibility of a living creature now in his hands. "I'll take care of him," he said with a newfound determination in his voice.

Dad's eyes softened as he watched his grandson, the stoic rancher in him momentarily giving way to something gentler. He gave a nod of approval, though it wasn't much more than a subtle gesture.

Rip glanced between Jamie and Dad, a knowing look passing between them, but he didn't say anything. The air was thick with unspoken thoughts, and I could feel the tension there, the way Jamie was still struggling to find his place again.

"Alright, Tate," Rip lifted hay from the barrow, tossing it into the corral for the horse. "He's a good horse. He'll do good for you."

—-

"We gotta go," Kayce shouted into the bunkhouse at me, "grab whatever medical supplies you have and come on. It's Beth."

"Wait where's Rip?" I asked as I gathered the supplies I had. It wasn't much, and he didn't tell me what happened but I gathered everything I had.

Kayce paused, having a soft conversation with Jimmy and Ryan. They followed behind. It was bad.

The urgency in Kayce's voice pushed me to move faster, my heart hammering in my chest as we sped down the dirt roads. The air seemed to thicken with every second, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something worse was waiting for us.

"What happened to her?" I asked, trying to get a clearer picture, but Kayce's eyes stayed focused on the road ahead, lips tight with worry. He wasn't in the mood for explanations.

All I knew was that Beth was in trouble, and if Rip wasn't already there, then it was worse than we could imagine.

We pulled up in front of a scene that sent chills through my bones. Rip's truck was already parked outside of her office, the door still open.

I rushed up the steps, Beth's face was covered in blood. Her eye had already started to swell shut. Her clothes were torn. And three dead bodies were lying on the floor. One belonging to her assistant, Jason, the one who threw up in my grandmother's rose bush. I didn't know the other two, they wore masks.

I didn't pause to ask questions, I knew what they did. Gently I brushed my sister's hair away from her face as she trembled. My brave badass sister was terrified. Not because of what they did to her, but because Rip was sitting on her office couch with a bullet lodged in his stomach.

My heart skipped a beat as I took in the scene—Beth, her face pale and battered, and Rip, sitting writhing in pain on the couch, a dark stain spreading across his shirt. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. My hand trembled as I touched Beth's shoulder, trying to steady myself and her.

"Beth?" I whispered, my voice barely breaking through the chaos. She barely responded, her eyes distant but filled with a fear I'd never seen in her before. I glanced at the bodies around her, the lifelessness of the scene settling in like a heavy weight on my chest.

"Beth, look at me," I urged again, trying to pull her focus away from Rip's condition, "we're gonna get you both out of here, okay? We're gonna get you safe."

She looked up at me then, her eyes wide with desperation. "I couldn't—" Her voice broke, and she had to swallow hard before continuing, "He's... he's bleeding bad, Alex."

My father led the surgeon into the office to assess Rip's injuries, and I felt a wave of relief knowing someone with real medical training was here. I stepped back, allowing the doctor to do his work, while I focused on Beth, keeping my hands steady as I cleaned her up.

"Nothing's broken," I reassured her softly, meeting her eyes as I gently wiped the blood from her skin. "But this is gonna sting." I applied disinfectant to her wounds, watching her flinch but stay still. Silently, I thanked whoever was listening that she didn't need stitches.

Beth winced but didn't flinch away, her eyes never leaving mine. She was trying to hold it together, but I could see the strain in the tightness of her jaw and the way she clenched her fists. She didn't need to say it, but I knew exactly what she was feeling—helpless, frustrated, and afraid.

"You're gonna be alright," I murmured as I continued to clean the cuts along her cheek and jaw. The blood was already starting to clot, but there was a bruise forming, dark and ugly. Her usual fierce, unstoppable self was hidden beneath the fear in her eyes. I could tell she wanted to ask about Rip, to get up and be by his side, but she didn't. She was still processing what had just happened, her mind racing with what might come next.

As I finished applying the disinfectant, I wiped away the excess with a damp cloth. "You don't have to talk about it now, Beth," I said softly, hoping to give her space to breathe. "But we'll get through this, okay? We're a team, and we've been through worse."

She nodded slowly, her gaze flickering toward Rip and the surgeon, who had started to move around him, checking his vitals. The tension in her shoulders hadn't eased, and I knew the weight of everything happening was starting to sink in. She wanted to be strong, but even Beth couldn't hold up the world on her own.

"If I can't take him to the hospital," the doctor said, "I'll have to get him to my office. I need to cauterize these wounds."

Dad gave a firm nod. "Thank you for this."

"I don't know how we keep this hidden, John," the doctor warned.

"It'll stay hidden," my father replied with quiet certainty. I exchanged a glance with Kayce, who was already scanning the room, calculating how to erase every trace of the violence.

Ryan and Jimmy carefully lifted Rip from the couch, guiding him down the steps to the truck waiting outside.

"I wanna go with him," Beth murmured, leaning on me for support.

"Beth…" Dad began, his voice tinged with concern.

"I wanna go with him," she repeated, her tone unwavering.

Dad just nodded, not questioning her again.

I slipped my arm around my sister's waist, guiding her down the steps. My hand instinctively tightened around her as we followed the guys to the truck. I helped her into the back, watching as they carefully lifted Rip into the passenger's seat, his body limp from the pain.

Ryan's eyes met mine for a brief moment. There was something in his gaze, an unspoken understanding. This wasn't just about the danger they faced—it was about proving himself, showing my father that he could be trusted, that he would do whatever it took. Even if it meant putting everything on the line.

—

I groaned awake as the rays of dawn crept through the bunkhouse window. I shifted to let Ryan climb out of bed. I smiled as he brushed the hair away from my face.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured.

"I bet you say that to any woman who sleeps in your bunk," I said back.

"True," he responded, "but you're the only woman I've had sleep in my bunk."

I smiled at his words, feeling the warmth spread through me as he stood to start his day. His hand lingered for a moment on my shoulder, a silent promise that we were in this together, no matter the chaos of the day ahead.

"Sleep well?" he asked, looking at me with those deep, thoughtful eyes.

"Better with you here," I replied, knowing it was the truth. It had been a long time since I'd felt so at ease.

"Yeah, me too," he pressed a soft kiss to my temple before making his way across the room. I couldn't help but watch him walk away. Even in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, he stole my breath.

Kayce strode through the door, shaking his head at me before heading to Jamie's corner of the bunkhouse.

"Come with me," Kayce said to him. Jamie was lowman now. It wasn't our idea, Dad insisted Jamie needed this to remake him into the man he should have always been.

I watched Kayce and Jamie leave the bunkhouse, my mind spinning with everything that had happened over the past few days. The weight of the decisions, the aftermath, and the way we were all shifting to fill in the gaps. It wasn't just about the ranch anymore. It was about healing, finding the places where we could start fresh—even if it meant taking a step back.

I shook my head, trying to focus on the moment. Kayce was right to give Jamie this chance, and if anyone could push him, it was Kayce. But I couldn't help feeling like we were all running in circles, trying to fix things that had already broken too far.

I pushed myself out of bed, and moved through the room, helping the guys pick up the remnants of the fun they had the night before. It was a quiet, easy task. Something that I could do to distract my mind.

"Alex," Kayce called through the door, "Dad wants you at breakfast."

I nodded, got dressed, and followed after him.

The walk to the house was quiet, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Kayce didn't say much, but he didn't need to. There was something unspoken between us—understanding, maybe even a little bit of anticipation. Breakfast with Dad was never just breakfast. It usually meant a conversation was coming, one I wasn't sure I was ready to have.

Monica and Tate were already seated at the table when I walked in, Monica's chair now permanently beside Kayce's. I made my way around the table, taking the seat next to Beth as she followed closely behind me. Her face was still bruised, her movements slow and deliberate, pain evident in the way she carried herself.

Monica glanced at Beth, then at me, but said nothing. The silence was heavy, but I didn't press it.

"How you feeling?" I asked, keeping my voice light.

"Like I just spent a week at a fucking spa," Beth muttered, attempting to take a bite of food but wincing at the effort.

She set her fork down with a sigh before calling out, "Hey, Gator?"

"Yeah, Miss Beth?"

"Would you mind making me a smoothie?"

"Of course. What kind?"

Beth barely missed a beat. "Two scoops of ice cream, three shots of vodka. Bring it to me on the porch, would ya?"

I followed my sister out to the front porch. Beth didn't want my help, but she needed it. I settled into the chair beside hers, saying nothing. There were no words that could undo what had happened to her, no reassurance that could erase the damage.

"Kayce sent them a message loud and clear," I finally said, my voice even but firm.

Beth didn't respond, just stared out at the land, her fingers drumming idly against the arm of the chair.

A dark SUV rumbled up the driveway, slowing to a stop in front of the house. The chief of the Broken Rock Reservation stepped out from the backseat. If Dad had agreed to meet with him over this, then things were worse than I thought.

Another car pulled in behind the SUV, sleek and polished, looking out of place against the dust-covered trucks scattered around the ranch. Dan Jenkins emerged, straightening his jacket as he took in the scene.

I already knew how this would end. The men responsible for what happened to Beth weren't just going to die—they were going to be made an example of.

And I should have felt something about that. Guilt. Hesitation. Even a shred of unease.

But I didn't.

They had tried to break my sister. They had nearly shattered the strongest person I knew.

They deserved worse than death.

Jenkins' gaze lingered on Beth's bruised face longer than he probably intended. For once, he looked uncomfortable, out of his depth.

"The Becks did that to you?" he asked.

Beth leaned back against the porch railing, arms crossed over her chest. "My face was just the appetizer."

Jenkins swallowed, guilt flickering in his eyes. Beth had spent the better part of her time at the ranch trying to ruin this man, to make him pay for what he tried to take from our father. And yet, standing here now, she was the one who had suffered at the hands of someone worse.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking away.

Beth scoffed, a humorless smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "What doesn't kill us, right?" She stood, stretching as if shaking off the weight of the conversation.

I met her eyes. "I don't think it makes us stronger," I murmured. "Harder, maybe, but not stronger."

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "Hard is the goal."

Jenkins gave a weak chuckle, shifting on his feet. "I don't think you could get much harder."

Beth just tilted her head, watching him, unblinking.

Unsettled, he cleared his throat and turned away, making his way to the clearing under the tree for his meeting with our father.

I gave Beth's shoulder a gentle squeeze, "I've got to head out to babysit Jamie. OK?"

She shook her head, "I didn't think it would take you long to forgive him."

"I haven't forgiven him," I told her. "He almost killed himself."

"If he'd finished the job, he would be doing us a favor," she said.

"You don't really mean that," I said.

Beth scoffed, lighting a cigarette with steady hands despite the bruises marring her face. "Don't I?"

I held her gaze, searching for something—some crack in the armor, some sign that she didn't mean it. But Beth had always been good at building walls, and after what had been done to her, those walls were thicker than ever.

"He's still our brother," I said quietly.

She exhaled a plume of smoke, looking out over the land like she was searching for an answer in the horizon. "That used to mean something."

I sighed, squeezing her shoulder one last time before stepping off the porch. "It still does."

She didn't argue, but she didn't agree either.

And I wasn't sure which answer would have made me feel worse.

My boots crunched against the gravel as I made my way to the barn, the familiar scent of hay, leather, and hard work filling the air. Inside, Jamie was knee-deep in the unglamorous part of ranch life—mucking stalls. His shirt was already streaked with dirt and sweat, a sight I never thought I'd see on my clean-cut brother.

As I leaned against the stall door, I watched him struggle with a particularly temperamental two-year-old. The young colt snorted, tossing his head in irritation as Jamie tried to usher him out of the stall to clean.

"Be careful," I warned, crossing my arms. "He hasn't warmed up to people yet."

Jamie hesitated, glancing at me before cautiously stepping aside as the horse stomped its hooves, ears pinned back in warning. "You could've mentioned that before I stepped in here," he muttered.

I smirked. "Figured you'd learn faster this way."

Jamie exhaled sharply, wiping his brow. "Why do you work so hard for this?"

I frowned, not expecting the question. "It's part of the job, Jamie. Someone has to do it." I studied him for a beat, seeing the frustration etched into his face. "Hell, I never heard you complain when I was the one doing it."

His grip on the rake tightened. "I just don't get it. This life… all of this. You and Kayce, even Beth in her own way, you all bleed for this place. And Dad—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I don't know if I'll ever be what he wants me to be."

I softened, leaning against the stall door. "You don't have to be what he wants, Jamie. You just have to figure out who the hell you want to be."

For a moment, he didn't respond, just stared at the mess in front of him like it held some deeper meaning. Then, with a resigned sigh, he turned back to his work.

Maybe he'd figure it out. Maybe he wouldn't.

But at least for now, he was trying.

—-

"You sure you don't need help, baby?" Ryan quirked a brow, watching me wrestle with breakfast for the bunkhouse. Scrambled eggs and toast—this shouldn't be hard. I'd watched Gator do it my whole life. Yet somehow, the eggs were sticking, the toast was… well, crispy, and the whole thing was quickly turning into a disaster.

I grabbed Ryan's coffee, took a sip, and immediately wrinkled my nose before handing it back. "I think I can manage without giving anyone food poisoning."

"You sure about that?" Colby asked, eyeing a piece of toast that had gone past golden brown and straight into burnt.

"In my defense," I said, gesturing toward the outdated appliances and sad excuse for seasonings, "I'm working with limited resources."

Ryan smirked, clearly amused. "Limited talent, too."

I shot him a glare, scoffing as I plated the eggs—slightly overcooked, but still edible. "See if I ever do anything nice for you again."

"I mean, your own brother would rather clean stalls and starve," Colby chuckled, shaking his head as he pushed his plate away.

"My brother doesn't have taste," I shot back, crossing my arms.

"I'm starting to wish I didn't have taste buds," Jimmy muttered, eyeing his eggs like they might fight back.

"It can't be that bad," I said, grabbing a fork off the table. With a determined jab, I speared a bite of my overcooked, over-salted eggs and popped it into my mouth. Immediately, I regretted it. My face twisted as the overly seasoned mess hit my tongue. "Okay… you're right. These are bad."

Ryan smirked, watching me suffer. "Told ya."

I swallowed hard, pushing my plate aside. "I can make you something else," I offered, already standing.

"Please, don't worry about it, baby," Ryan said, his voice warm with amusement.

"It'll be quick and easy," I insisted, grabbing a box of cereal from the top of the fridge. I held it up like a peace offering. "Frosted Flakes or Cheerios?"

"Can I borrow a truck?" Jimmy asked, glancing around the bunkhouse.

"What for?" Lloyd leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes.

"Check should've cleared by now," Jimmy said, shifting on his feet.

"Money burning a hole in your pocket?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"No, it's for my grandpa," he replied, a little defensive.

"Wait… Jimmy, can you even drive?" Colby asked, eyebrows raised.

Lloyd sighed, rubbing his temple. "Christ, you really are a gambling man," Ryan muttered.

"You might be better off taking a bicycle," Colby chuckled.

"I can put training wheels on it for you," Jake added with a grin.

"Hardy har har," Jimmy deadpanned, clearly unamused.

Ryan's brow furrowed. "The fuck does that mean?"

"It's a sarcastic laugh," Jimmy muttered, shaking his head.

Before anyone could throw another jab, the door slammed behind Rip as he walked into the bunkhouse, his movements stiff and labored. His face was lined with pain as he struggled toward his bunk.

"You okay?" I asked, concern lacing my voice.

"No," he gritted out, not even bothering to sugarcoat it.

That was enough of a cue for the guys to clear out, sensing it wasn't the time for jokes.

"Stay away from the eggs," Colby warned as he slipped out the door, earning a chuckle from the others as they filed out.

I left Rip to his misery, but I stayed close, keeping an eye on him while giving him the space he needed. In the meantime, I had my own mess to clean up—literally.

The kitchen was a disaster. Burnt toast sat abandoned on a plate, eggs that could double as rubber were stuck to the pan, and the smell of over-salted failure lingered in the air. With a sigh, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, scraping and scrubbing as I muttered under my breath.

"You try to do something nice…" I grumbled, rinsing out the pan.

Behind me, I heard Rip shift in his bunk, letting out a quiet groan. I glanced over my shoulder but didn't say anything. He wasn't the type to accept help unless it was forced on him, so I let him be.

At least until I finished salvaging the kitchen from my disastrous attempt at breakfast.