“I felt guilty about the head start, so I eased up to let you guys win.” Jack said with a nonchalant shrug, trying to downplay the fierce competitor lurking beneath his relaxed demeanor.
Riley chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly, I didn’t have much confidence in my racing ability. At one point I was almost thrown completely off my horse! After that, I just slowed down and enjoyed watching the fun.”
Everyone was sweating, faces bright, grins locked in place. For a moment, the world was distilled down to this—a gang of battered, jubilant idiots, a few good horses, and the man Ethan couldn’t believe he’d been lucky enough to find.
They all dismounted and flopped down in the grass for a breather. Cole sprawled next to Ethan and lay back, arms behind his head, eyes shut against the sun. For the first time since the trip began, he looked at peace.
Ethan leaned over and kissed him, right there, surrounded by wildflowers and friends and the kind of sky that made you think anything was possible.
Cole kissed back, fierce and gentle all at once, and then said, “You know, I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“About everything. I used to think you had to suffer for happiness. That it had to cost you something.” He opened his eyes. “But this… you… It’s just perfect. Pure happiness. I didn’t know it could be like this.”
Ethan touched Cole’s face. “Me either.”
The others were watching. Harper was grinning, Riley looked misty, and even Jack cracked a smile.
Harper cleared her throat. “So what now, lovebirds?”
Cole rolled over and looked at the group. “Now we ride the last stretch and then it’s all over.”
They mounted up for the last time, a contented hush settling over the group as they took the final mile of trail. The sun was high and the air was sweet with possibility. In the near distance, the roofs of the ranch appeared, a sign of endings and beginnings all at once.
As they rode, Cole and Ethan stayed close—sometimes just riding, sometimes holding hands, sometimes saying nothing at all.
And when the ranch gates came into view, glittering and impossibly far away, Ethan looked at the man he’d once been terrified to want, and realized he didn’t regret a single second.
This was what it meant to live on the edge. And he never wanted to go back.
Chapter 23 - Ethan
The last mile stretched forever.
They crested the ridge together—Cole leading, then Ethan, then the rest, Harper and Riley riding side by side, Jack trailing as the self-appointed rearguard. They topped the final ridge and the view punched the breath from Ethan’s lungs—the valley glimmered, impossibly green and gold, the whole of Walker’s Edge Ranch spread below in orderly chaos—paddocks and barns and out-buildings sprawled. Cattle dotted the pastures. The familiar sprawl of barns, hay sheds, and the main house glimmered with civilization’s promise—clean beds, showers, the luxuries of modern life.
Civilization’s first signals were subtle—the faint buzz of a generator, the distant clatter of a wheelbarrow, the sharp tang of woodsmoke curling up from the ranch’s main lodge.
They rode single file down the last switchbacks, the air thick with the resinous stink of ponderosa and the dying heat of late afternoon sun, hooves striking sparks from the gravel.
By the time they came level with the first stretch of split-rail fence, the front yard was alive with movement. Wranglersmaterialized from the sheds and barns, some with arms folded, others pretending to sweep or haul feed while openly gawking. A knot of groundskeepers and kitchen staff clustered near the lodge doors, faces upturned, sunlit and expectant. The bunkhouse porch was crowded with every off-duty hand in a hundred-mile radius. Even the horses in the nearest paddock watched, ears pricked, as if aware of the gravity of this homecoming.
Someone in the mess tent started a slow clap, then, as if it caught the wind, it surged into a full cheer. It was contagious. Soon the entire yard erupted—yelling, whistling, laughter bouncing off the timber siding. Even the dogs joined in, barking and baying in a canine chorus.
Ethan found himself grinning so wide it hurt. His thighs ached, his face was sunburned, he reeked of days-old sweat and maybe just a whiff of Cole’s own scent, but he was happier than he’d ever been. He could taste the sweat and dust and, beneath it all, something electric—the knowledge that he’d survived. More than survived—he’d come back changed, and soon, the whole world would know it.
Cole led them straight to the main barn. He dismounted in a single, fluid movement and was at Ethan’s side before he’d even swung his own leg free. For a second, they were close—too close for the onlookers, probably, but neither man cared. Cole put his hand on Ethan’s lower back, grounding him, and then, with zero warning, whispered “welcome home” against Ethan’s ear.
Ethan went hot. Hearing Cole say that made him feel primal, his heart fluttered, butterflies swirled in his stomach. He wanted to drop to his knees right then and there for Cole. The growing urge to submit—to be the most submissive man in the world for Cole while in the bedroom, grew stronger and stronger as time went by.
Cole kept his hand there as they stripped the tack. A couple of the hands—old timers with leathery faces—watched from the barn doors, exchanging looks but saying nothing. The only tell was the way one of them elbowed the other when Cole leaned in and kissed the side of Ethan’s neck, quick and casual, like he’d been waiting a lifetime to make it normal.
Ethan reached for the bridle, hands shaking a little now that the adrenaline had nowhere to go. He felt Cole’s presence at his side, the warmth of him, the scent of leather and sweat and woodsmoke that had already imprinted itself as a kind of home.
“You okay?” Cole asked, voice lower now, like it was just the two of them.
“Yeah. The best I have ever been actually.”
