The ranch came into view, and my pulse kicked up another notch. I parked near the barn, took a steadying breath, and grabbed the folder from the passenger seat. This was just business. I’d get in, share the news, and be on my way back to town before he had a chance to process anything.
I found him exactly where I expected to… working. He was near the practice pen, repairing a section of fence, his back to me as I approached. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he moved with that controlled precision that meant he was thinking too hard about something. Or trying not to think about it at all.
“Slade.”
He turned, and for a second, his expression was unguarded. Something flashed in his eyes… relief, maybe, or a quick moment of longing. Then the walls went up again and left me guessing about how he really felt.
“Morgan.” He set down the post driver and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I didn't expect to see you out here.”
“Mayor Nelson asked me to deliver the news in person.” I kept my voice level and professional. “The council approved the rodeo site last night. It’s conditional approval, pending final environmental and safety reviews, but it's official.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his tight smile giving nothing away. “That's… that's great. Really great.”
“It is.” I held out the folder. “Here are the next steps. There are site preparation timelines, permit requirements, and contact information for the contractors the county recommends.”
He took the folder but didn't open it. Just held it, his gaze fixed on mine like he was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying. “You drove all the way out here to give me paperwork?”
“Mayor Nelson thought it would be better to deliver the news in person.”
“And what do you think?”
The question felt like a trap. Or maybe an invitation. I couldn't tell anymore with him.
“I think we did what we set out to do,” I said. “The rodeo has a path forward. The land review is complete. Everything's in order.”
“Everything,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
He looked down at the folder in his hands, his jaw working back and forth. When he met my eyes again, there was something raw there. Something that made my chest ache.
“Morgan—”
“This is good news, Slade.” I cut him off before he could say whatever he was about to say. Before I had to hear him explain why the cabin had been a mistake, or temporary, or something that couldn't happen again. “You should be proud. You and Dawson built something real here. Something that's going to matter.”
“I know.” His voice was rough. “But that's not?—”
“I should get back to the office.” I took a step backward, needing distance. Needing air. “There's a lot of follow-up work to coordinate.”
He didn't move or try to stop me. He stood there holding that damn folder like it weighed a thousand pounds.
“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”
The words felt like goodbye.
“You're welcome.” I turned and walked back to my car, each step measured and deliberate. I didn't let myself look back. Didn't let myself hope he'd call out, ask me to stay, or say anything that would crack the careful composure I'd built around myself.
He didn't.
The tears I’d been holding back started falling as soon as I reached the safety of my back bumper. The folder had been delivered and the job was done. And my heart held the uncomfortable certainty that I'd just closed a door I never should have opened in the first place.
SLADE
I watched her walk away, that folder still in my hands, and Dawson's voice echoing in my head like he was yelling right into my ear with a bullhorn.
“You're already bracing for her to leave.”
“You're treating people like they're temporary just because you're scared, they might be.”
