"The cattle rotation pattern in the east pasture suggests—"
"Beckett." She says my name like she's setting something down carefully on a table. "The ranch has been running smoothly for four years. Mr. Callahan trusted me to keep it that way before he retired and sold the place, and it'll keep running smoothly.
What it doesn't need is a new owner optimizing things he read about in books before he's seen the actual operation."
I look up from my phone.
She meets my eyes. Hers are sharp and brown and completely unimpressed, and there's something behind the sharpness thatI can't read yet. Something that isn't quite hostility. More like wariness. Like she's already decided what I am and she's waiting for me to prove it.
"I'm not trying to override your work," I say carefully.
"Good."
"I'm trying to understand the operation."
"Also good." She tilts her head slightly. "You can understand it by watching and asking questions. Not by coming in with a list of fixes before you've had dirt under your fingernails."
She walks away toward the barn before I can answer.
I stand on the porch of my new ranch house, in my ruined khakis, listening to Maisie shriek with delight somewhere near the horse barn, watching the woman who apparently runs this place disappear around the corner like she owns it.
She doesn't own it. I do.
The thought lands sharper than I intended, followed almost immediately by a flicker of guilt I can't entirely explain.
Because nothing about Laney Jenkins feels possessive or entitled. If anything, she looks like someone trying to protect a place she genuinely loves.
Which, I think, is going to be a very complicated fact for both of us.
I look down at my phone. Delete the optimization notes.
Somewhere behind me, Rowdy trots past carrying what appears to be one of the expensive loafers I'd kicked off near the moving truck twenty minutes ago after stepping ankle-deep into mud.
Clearly the ranch is winning the first round of this relationship.
Then I pull up the ranch management book I've been rereading and think: Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll prove I belong here.
From inside the barn, Rowdy barks twice, followed by a loud crash, followed by Maisie's giggling.
Tonight, I'll just try to survive.
"ROWDY!"
Something metallic crashes inside the barn hard enough to echo across the property.
Maisie dissolves into louder laughter.
Remy yells, "If that dog stole another boot, I'm not helping!"
A second later, Rowdy comes sprinting around the side of the barn carrying the matching loafer in his mouth like he's completed a successful scavenger hunt. I head that way to retrieve my loafers.
Laney closes her eyes briefly like this is somehow my fault.
"Welcome to Texas, Money Bags," she mutters.
And for the first time in months, despite the exhaustion, the ruined clothes, and the absolute chaos unfolding around me, I feel something dangerously close to alive.
Chapter two
