If she decides this place isn’t for her—if the distance, the isolation, the pace wear her down—then the ranch is mine outright. No shared authority. No compromises. No constant friction.
I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, hoping I wouldn’t have to circle back to this, but I’m running out of patience. I need her out of my hair. She’s driving a wedge into production and workflow, and that’s something Ican’t afford—not here, not when everything already feels like it’s balanced on a knife’s edge.
“Sounds good, Monty. Have a great night,” I say, already turning away.
He doesn’t move. He watches me carefully, like he sees the direction I’m heading and doesn’t like it—but as my lawyer, not my conscience, he says nothing.
At the end of the day, whatever I do to secure my ranch—as long as I’m not breaking any laws—is my business. Monty never said I couldn’t do it with a little convincing, and I’m not the kind of man who backs down when the stakes are this high.
I walk back out to my truck, the gravel crunching under my boots, and I realize I feel lighter than I did going in. The decision locks into a place in my chest, solid and resolved. Soon, Sloane will be out of my hair and off my property, and Hollis Ranch will be mine alone again—no shared authority, no friction, no second-guessing.
I know I should feel guilty, but I don’t. Not really. I tell myself I’m doing her a favor. She doesn’t want to be here anymore than I want her here, and when this is over, she gets to go back to her life in Austin—the one she actually chose.
I count that as a win.
Starting tomorrow, I’ll start nudging her toward the truth—that this place isn't what she thought it was. I won’t force her hand. I won’t push her outright.
I’ll just make sure she sees it for herself.
I can be considerate about it. Or at least, less openly hostile.
I can pretend.
seven
Sloane
Ithink I’ve been going about things wrong when it comes to Gage.
I’ve already come to terms with the fact that he’s never going to see me as an equal, so I may as well stop trying. But it’s deeper than that: he’s never going to see me as a partner in this ranch. Not in the way that means we both have a hand in the operations.
He’s gotten used to doing things by himself, and I’ve disrupted his routine—but mine has been blown apart too. My entire life has been uprooted for the next six months; the least he could do is be a little nicer.
It’s too much to ask, I know, but a tiny part of me hoped he would lighten up and warm to me, even a fraction. I keep telling myself I don’t care what Gage thinks of mepersonally, but it would be nice to have some common ground.
Either way, I know it isn’t going to happen, and the best thing I can do is stay out of his way for the time being—which is why today I decide to explore the area. I’ve spent so much time focusing on how to get Gage to acknowledge my worth here that I never took the time to see the full extent of the ranch.
I also need a break from all the paperwork I’ve been reading through. I’m at the point where I feel like my eyes are going to fall out of my head if I don’t get some fresh air and a change of scenery.
It makes me glad the land has so much additional area to wander; otherwise, I’d be running into Gage more often, and I desperately need a break from the constant tension between us.
To be honest, if it wasn’t for digging through the property line paperwork, I’d never have known how expansive the land truly was—or how much of it had been quietly ignored.
And it’s large—larger than I ever expected.
There is an abundance of acreage here that is completely untouched, thick with forestry along the property line. I don’t even think Gage knows the full extent of it—andif he does, he hasn’t touched it in years or tried to do anything more with it.
It’s like he treats the ranch as if it stops at the top of the hill, ignoring everything beyond it, when Hollis Ranch actually stretches all the way into the far end of the wooded area past it.
I can already imagine how many more cattle or other livestock this land could support, and how much additional revenue it could bring in over time. But again, Gage would never listen to me.
As I walk along the dirt path, the canopy of trees offers perfect shelter from another scorching hot day. The quiet stillness is welcoming compared to the chaos back at the ranch, and for the first time all morning, I can breathe.
Honestly, this is the kind of solace I could get used to if it stays like this for the remainder of my time here. Everyone has been welcoming and kind—well, all the ranch hands, anyway—and they’re the only reason it feels worth getting up in the morning while I’m stuck here.
I dread getting out of bed and stepping outside, already bracing myself for another argument or another list of things I’m not supposed to do. Every morning feels like gearing up for battle, because I can’t even do anything on my own without it becoming an issue.
If it were up to Gage, I probably wouldn’t even be allowed to use the bathroom if he could find a way to prevent it.
