“I don’t exactly have a track record,” I say finally, keeping my voice low.
“Track records can change,” Brooks cuts in from behind us, straightening up and brushing dirt from his hands. “We’re not kids anymore, Jace. Ranch is growing whether we like it or not. Miller lands part of that.”
Wade walks back up then, a bundle of tools in one hand and that familiar edge still riding his expression. “And if we’re taking it on, we’re doing it right. No cutting corners.” His gaze flicks to me. “That includes whatever you’re thinking about building out there.”
I meet his stare, holding it for a beat before I nod. “I’m not looking to cut corners.”
That’s the truth, even if it feels unfamiliar.
I don’t just want a house. I want a place that proves I can finish something. That I can stay.
I reach for the hammer again, giving the post one last firm strike before stepping back to look at the line we’ve reset. It holds steady, no give, no weak spots left to exploit.
For a second, I imagine that same kind of strength stretched out across Miller land.
“Jace,” Wade calls, pulling me out of it again, his tone sharper this time.
I turn, following his line of sight back toward the road.
That truck hasn’t stopped at the gate.
It’s coming straight for us.
Dust rolls in thick behind it as the truck keeps coming without slowing, steady and direct, like whoever’s behind the wheel doesn’t care how things are usually done out here.
Wade straightens beside me, his posture shifting just enough that I can tell he’s clocking it too. “You expecting someone?” he asks, though his tone already says he knows the answer.
I shake my head, my gaze still fixed on the approaching vehicle. “No.”
Brooks steps up on my other side, wiping his hands on his jeans as he watches it close the distance. “Maybe someone from town?”
“Not driving like that,” Luke mutters, calm but alert, his eyes narrowing slightly.
The herd starts to shift again, uneasy with the noise and movement, and I move automatically, stepping back into position to keep them from spooking. My body goes through the motions, but my focus is split now, caught between the cattle and that truck that’s getting closer by the second.
It finally slows as it nears the working pens, dust settling around it in a slow drift that hangs in the air. The engine cuts, leaving behind a sudden kind of quiet that feels louder than the noise did.
The driver’s side door opens.
And for a second, I don’t see her face.
I see the hesitation.
The way she pauses before stepping out, like she’s bracing herself for something she’s not sure she’s ready for.
Then she does.
She’s not dressed for this place. Clean jeans, boots that haven’t seen much dirt, a light top that belongs somewhere easier. Brown hair in a bun. Sunglasses, and too pretty to be hanging out here in a field.
Her gaze sweeps over the ranch, taking in the cattle, the dust, the noise, and us watching her. Overwhelmed is written all over her.
And then the passenger door opens.
A little girl climbs down, careful and slow, like she’s been told to watch her step. She sticks close to the truck at first, small hand gripping the edge of the door as she looks out at everything with wide, curious eyes that don’t match the tension in the woman’s shoulders.
Something in my chest tightens before I can stop it.
The girl takes a few tentative steps forward, her gaze landing on the horses, the cattle, the open stretch of land that probably looks as big as the whole world from where she’s standing.
