Go figure. Fate had a wicked sense of humor arranging run-ins with the hottest cowboy in town two days in a row. Slade Kincaid wasn’t just a complication. He was positioned at the center of everything my new job required me to question: land, legacy, and authority.
I’d be better prepared to come face to face with him at the meeting tomorrow than I was when I met him earlier. No matter how much being around the rough and tumble rancher seemed to send my hormones into overdrive, I’d hold myself in check. He was only a man… a very good-looking man… but I’d enough bad experiences with the opposite sex over the past few years.
I was in my “me” era and focused on building my reputation and setting my career up for success. A cowboy with a chip on his shoulder couldn’t distract me, no matter how my body responded to his touch. Being attracted to him was inconvenient but trusting him would be dangerous.
I set my bag down and spread the copied maps across my desk, circling the ridge in red ink. Whatever was buried up there wasn’t going to stay buried, not if I had anything to say about it. Getting to the bottom of the marker was part of my job, whether Mayor Nelson was on board yet or not.
Pressing him for more information could wait. What couldn’t was the unease settling in my chest. Slade Kincaid wasn’t just part of the problem I’d uncovered. He was the part I didn’t quite know how to handle yet.
CHAPTER 3
SLADE
I hadn’t planned on being on the agenda at the rodeo committee meeting. Even though I’d talked my brother and sister into offering up some of our ranch’s acreage for the rodeo site, my buddy Dawson was supposed to be spearheading the project.
He was steady in a way I’d never managed to be. Dawson trained broncs for a living, but he approached everything with quiet assessment, careful pressure, and patience that paid off. If anyone should’ve been standing up in front of a room full of ranchers and town officials pitching the future of Mustang Mountain’s official rodeo, it was Dawson Griffith.
But he was out of town on a last-minute horse lead and had asked me to fill in until he got back. Since we’d come up with the plan together, I’d said yes before my better judgment could catch up. Now I sat in the town hall meeting room fifteen minutes early, sweat beading at my brow, with my hands shoved deep into my coat pockets, wishing I’d said no.
The room smelled like burnt coffee and floor cleaner, the kind of neutral, stale scent that clung to buildings where decisions got made whether people liked them or not. The folding tables were arranged in a loose square, scuffed and mismatched, with chairs pulled close enough that no one had any personal space.
I took a seat near the middle and opened Dawson’s folder in front of me. His notes and numbers stared back like a test I hadn’t studied for enough, no matter how many times I’d paced my kitchen the night before rehearsing his points out loud.
As everyone took their seats, someone made a crack about winter lasting forever. Somebody else complained about parking on Main Street. Low voices and soft laughs rose above the sound of the ancient coffee pot spitting out its bitter brew.
Then the door opened again. A subtle shift in the room made me look up. Morgan Carter walked in, dressed in a navy skirt that clung to her hips and a crisp white blouse that accentuated the generous swell of her chest. Fuck me. The sight of her looking competent and sexy as hell made me want to toss my jacket over her shoulders to prevent the other guys in the room from getting to look at her. And they looked at her alright. I shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did anyway.
She didn’t pause in the doorway or scan the room to get a sense of who was there before entering. She stepped inside like she belonged there with folders tucked under her arm and her thick, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. I looked hard but didn’t see a single trace of the woman who’d nearly wiped out on the ridge the day before.
She looked composed, grounded, and in total control. And that pissed me off. Not because she didn’t belong there, but because she looked like she’d never once doubted that she did. Like she could bend rooms full of people like this around her little finger without a fight. I’d spent years trying to earn that kind of footing, and here she was claiming it without any hesitation. Wanting her was bad enough. Realizing I trusted her judgment without meaning to was another kind of trouble altogether.
I watched her take a seat across from me and unroll a map with practiced ease. The way she smoothed the paper flat made me think she’d done this a thousand times before. Yesterday, she’d been fighting the wind on my ridge, her boots sliding, her cheeks red from the cold. Now she looked like she could run this meeting in her sleep. It made me wonder how many versions of Morgan Carter existed and which one I was actually dealing with. Or worse, which one she wanted me to see.
Mayor Nelson cleared his throat and called the meeting to order. We ran through the basics of the rodeo proposal including specs and rough timelines. There was a lot of talking in circles, the way people did when they wanted progress but were afraid of committing to it.
Eventually, Orville leaned back in his chair and nodded toward me. “Slade, since Dawson couldn’t make it, why don’t you give us an update on where things stand?”
Everyone in the room shifted their attention my way. I stood slowly, rolling my shoulders like I was loosening up for a ride. It was an old habit, but it bought me a few extra seconds to get my thoughts in order. I wasn’t here to lead. My goal was to relay information.
“The Kincaids are willing to make land available for the arena at no charge for the first year,” I said. “The goal is to create something sustainable and not cut corners in the process.”
A low murmur of approval moved through the room, and just like that, the weight on my shoulders eased a fraction. I sat back down, relieved to be done.
Morgan didn’t waste a second before clearing her throat and drawing everyone’s attention her way.
“I appreciate the willingness to offer your land,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “But before anything moves forward, we need to address site suitability. We’ll need access roads, drainage, a plan for emergency services. Large-scale events change how land functions.”
Her tone was professional, but her comments still made my jaw clench.
“That land’s been used for cattle and horses for decades,” I said, turning toward her. And it had been used by my family… by my grandfather… by people who’d protected it with their lives. I felt like I was defending more than acreage. Like I was defending whether any of that still mattered.
“I know,” she replied. “That doesn’t automatically make it appropriate for public gatherings.”
“If you have another suggestion, I’m sure everyone would love to hear it.” I held her gaze and reminded myself those beautiful blue eyes belonged to a woman who was quickly positioning herself like an enemy. “This rodeo matters to the town. People want it.”
“And they deserve something that won’t collapse under its own weight,” she said. “My job isn’t to stop progress. It’s to make sure it lasts.”
A ripple of sound moved through the room. Chairs shifted and one of the old cowboys cleared his throat. I leaned forward, my palms braced against the table while heat crept up my neck.
