How can I ask her to stay when I still haven’t decided if I’m keeping these horses? Still don’t know what I’m doing, period. With these horses, with my life, my future.
And that’s the real problem. Because a part of me I’m not ready to face does know. That part of me sees that the more time I spend working this ranch, the more I want this life. The rhythm of it, the purpose. Football is fast, furious, and electric. It’s about winning the game, winning the division, winning the playoffs. Ranch life is different. Every fence mended, every horse caredfor, every foal born—it’s more tangible. More real than anything I’ve ever known, and it terrifies me. Because if I admit I want this life, then I have to risk failing at it. There’s no team at my back. It’s just me. If I screw this up, there’s no next season. No second chance.
But if I let this go without trying, then I’m not just walking away from ranching. I’m walking away from the only thing aside from football I’ve felt connected to. These whispers of realization are hard to keep hold of, hard to face up to. So, like a coward, I’ve been ignoring them. Burying myself in the ranch work and Fury, making sure I’m too tired to think by the time I fall into bed every night.
Beside me, Izzy reties her hair into a ponytail, a few strands escaping around her face as she stares out across the ranch.
“What now?” I ask, my voice rough with fatigue but laced with something I can’t name and don’t want to end.
“Now we try and catch an hour of sleep before the day begins.”
She steps to leave, but I can’t let her go. I reach out, and when my hand grabs hers, the touch causes a tingle of electricity to race up my arm.
“Hey,” I say, tugging her gently toward me. “You were amazing in there.”
For a moment, Izzy looks like she might argue, but instead, she lets me pull her into a hug. My arms wrap around her, holding her close. Izzy’s body is tense in my arms, like she’s not used to being held, but then she relaxes, a shuddering sob breaking free that has me tightening my hold.
“Sorry,” she whispers, pulling back and looking up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m just tired. Tonight was a lot.”
I brush my thumb over the soft skin of her cheek. “Don’t be sorry. If I wasn’t more tired than I’ve ever been in my life, I’d be crying my eyes out.”
She huffs a laugh. “You were good in there,” she says, pulling a face.
I don’t fight the smile spreading across my face. “And how hard is it for you to admit that?”
She laughs again, this time lighter. “Very.”
“Well, flattery will get you everywhere,” I tease. “But seriously, you saved two lives tonight.”
“Wesaved two lives.”
“Nope. It was all you. I was just along for the ride.”
She laughs again and the sound undoes something in me. This woman in my arms drives me crazy. She pushes me to be better. And maybe that isn’t the worst thing, because when the green of her eyes locks onto mine, filled with fierce determination, all I want to do is be a better man. And that’s when I realize—my frustration isn’t with Izzy; it never has been. It’s with myself. Because I haven’t been that man.
Izzy’s face is inches from mine, her body warm in my arms. I feel something slip, like a wall is coming down between us or inside me—the hell if I know.
I move slowly, giving her the chance to pull back. Instead, her fingers slide up the back of my neck, drawing me closer. The world narrows. The ranch, the sky breaking open above us, everything fades until it’s just us. All I see is her—lips parted, lashes low, her breath mingling with mine in the fragile space between us.
She tilts her chin, and I swear I feel the pull in my bones. The one I’ve felt like I’ve been fighting since the moment we met. I draw her closer until our lips are a breath apart—just one heartbeat away…
And then the noise of an engine cuts through the moment. Izzy moves out of my arms, her laugh shaky as we both turn to see a red truck speeding up the dirt track.
“That’s Camila,” she says. “The vet.”
Whatever that moment was between us, it’s gone, but it’s left behind an ache that burns inside me.
I focus my attention on Camila as she climbs out of the truck. She’s in her fifties with short dark hair, and, like Izzy, she moves with confidence, her presence commanding. From the dark circles around her eyes, I’m guessing her night was as long as ours.
“Camila, this is Dylan—the new rancher,” Izzy says.
The new rancher.Damn if my lips don’t pull into a smile I’ve got no control over.
I shake Camila’s hand. “Good to meet you.”
“Well done on your first foaling,” she says.
I nod toward Izzy. “I can’t take any credit. It was all Izzy.”
