“If working means being upstairs with you,” I tease, nipping his bottom lip and letting the suggestion hang between us, “you won’t have to make me do anything.”
He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating against my lips, his grip tightening like it takes effort not to pull me closer, not to give in.
Then, before I can push him into agreement, he pulls back, dragging in a deep breath, his jaw tightening as if he’s forcing himself to remember everything waiting outside this moment.
“I’ve got work to finish,” he says, voice careful now, steadying. “But enjoy yourself—for me.”
I pout anyway, brushing one last kiss against his lips. “I will.”
I step back and head inside, leaving him on the porch—and hating how quickly the disappointment settles in when he doesn’t follow. I tell myself it’s nothing. That he said he had work to do. That this is what grown adults do. Still, the quiet feels heavier than it should.
The day drags on, mostly because I’ve been banned from anything ranch-related, left with too much time and nowhere useful to put it. Don’t get me wrong, the break from paperwork should feel like a gift, but without work to anchor me, my thoughts don’t give me much peace.
I’ve never been good at standing still. Back there, I’m decisive—needed, trusted. My days are structured around urgency and expectation. Here, being benched feels less like rest and more like being quietly erased, like I’m something fragile that needs to be kept at a distance.
I manage to lose myself in a book on my tablet for a while, curled up in the quiet. I rarely make time for that, even without the ranch. I can’t remember the last time I let myself escape reality for more than a few minutes without checking the time or my phone.
By the time morning slips into afternoon, I still have a hundred and fifty pages left, but my attention keeps drifting—back to Gage, and then to food. He and I share the same work ethic, which means it’s a miracle either of us remembers to stop when we should.
If I forget to eat, he’s usually the one nudging food into my hands. Somewhere along the way, I got used to doing the same.
When I step outside, I scan the ranch for him, but only Hank, Jesse, and Mason move through the yard, each of them busy in their own way. If Gage isn’t out on the land, he’s usually in the office, so my feet carry me there without much thought.
I pass through the barn on the way, slowing to pet each horse along the aisle. Their warmth and steady presence ground me for a moment, the familiar sounds and smells settling something restless in my chest as I head toward the office.
When I reach the office, I stop short.
Gage is on the phone.
He looks tense, jaw tight, papers spread across the desk in front of him like he’s been digging for answers instead of waiting for them. Since he started trusting me, he’s left this part to me—so why is he buried in it now, without a word?
“I know you’ve told me a hundred times already, Monty, but the ranch is—” He cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sharp sigh.
My stomach knots. What the hell is going on?
“—It’s fragile, all right?” he continues, pacing now. “I have to cover my own ass here, or I can kiss this place goodbye. You get me?”
I don’t believe this.
He’s trying to protect the ranch without me. Again.
My stomach tightens, the familiar ache setting in. Whatever he’s dealing with, it’s big—and he didn’t bring me into it. I thought we were past this. I thought things were finally shifting in the right direction.
Is this why he wanted me out of the way today? So he could figure out how to buy me out without ever telling me?
Hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it.
My pulse thuds in my ears as a single, unbearable thought starts to form—and I don’t let myself finish it. If he’s planning an exit without me, I need to hear it now.
I push the door open.
His eyes widen, caught mid-thought, mid-panic.
Yeah. I caught you.
“Let me call you back,” he says quickly, ending the call as his gaze flicks over my face, assessing, bracing.
“I found something in the will,” he adds before I can speak. “If you sell your shares—the ones I told you to take—the land becomes even more vulnerable. It puts it into eminent domain.”
