On Thursday evening, Owen announced a cattle drive. "Got to move the herd from the winter pasture up to the high country for summer grazing. Two days, overnight camp. All hands needed."
My heart jumped. I hadn't been on a cattle drive since I was seventeen.
"You up for it, city girl?" Clay challenged, grinning.
Despite my apprehension, I smirked. ”Try to keep up, cowboy."
Friday morning came dark and early, 4 AM, with stars still bright in the sky. We saddled up in the pre-dawn darkness, headlamps creating circles of light, horses stamping and eager. The whole family was going, and for the first time since I got here, I began to feel like I truly belonged.
Wyatt led my horse over—the golden palomino I’d been riding since my first week back. Honey’s coat gleamed in the late light, that warm, burnished gold that made her look half-sunshine, half-memory.
“She’s good for distance,” Wyatt said, running a hand down her neck, his voice low and rough around the edges. He crouched to check the cinch, his fingers sure and efficient, the brush of his knuckles against leather somehow making my pulse skip. “Steady temperament. Won’t spook if things get western.”
I raised a brow. “Define western.”
He glanced up at me from under the brim of his hat, one corner of his mouth curving into that lazy, dangerous smirk I’d almost forgotten—the one that had once been my undoing.
“Unpredictable,” he said. “Chaotic. Real.”
The words hung between us, slow and deliberate, his gaze holding mine just a beat too long.
Like us,I thought, but didn’t say.
Honey flicked her tail, impatient, and Wyatt stepped back, his expression settling into something softer—but that smirk lingered, faint as a secret.
The herd was three hundred head, Black Angus mostly, with some Herefords mixed in. As the sun rose, painting the world in shades of pink and gold, we moved them out. The sound was incredible—hundreds of hooves on dirt, the occasional bellow, the creak of leather, the calls of the cowboys keeping them in line.
I rode flank with Wyatt, keeping the stragglers from wandering. The work was hard, constant vigilance, dust in everything, but God, I'd missed it. The simplicity of it. The purpose. The way everything else fell away except the task at hand.
"Looking good out there, Dallas," Jimmy called, grinning under his weathered hat.
By noon, we were ten miles from the ranch, the landscape changing from flatland to hills, mesquite giving way to oak and cedar. We stopped at a creek to water the cattle, everyone dismounting to stretch legs and grab lunch from the chuck wagon Hunter had driven out.
"You're doing good," Wyatt said quietly, standing beside me as we watched the cattle drink. "Like you never left."
"Some things you don't forget."
"No," he agreed, and I knew we weren't talking about cattle drives.
As the sun set, we made camp in a valley between two hills, the cattle settling for the night. The chuck wagon became the center of our temporary world, coffee pot always going, beans and cornbread for dinner. We sat around the fire as darkness fell, passing a bottle of whiskey, telling stories.
“Remember that time Ivy roped that bull at sixteen?” Clay said, grinning into his beer, his voice carrying easily across thecrackle of the fire. “Damn thing dragged her halfway across the pasture before she’d let go.”
The group erupted in laughter, a few of the hands shaking their heads.
“Stubborn,” Wyatt said, and though his tone was easy, there was warmth in it—a kind of fondness that made something flutter deep in my chest. His gaze found mine across the firelight, steady and familiar, like we were the only two people in the world. “Always was stubborn.”
“Determined,” I corrected, arching a brow.
That earned me a small, crooked smile—the one that tilted more to one side, the one that always looked a little like temptation.
“That too,” he said softly, voice low enough that the words were for me alone.
The air between us hummed. The firelight painted his face in gold and shadow, catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. He looked relaxed, but his eyes—those dark, knowing eyes—gave him away.
The temperature dropped fast once the sun slipped behind the hills, that high-country chill creeping in from the edges of the night. The stars came out clear and close, like you could reach up and touch them. Bedrolls were spread out around the fire, rough shapes in the flickering light, but there weren’t enough for everyone.
"Ivy can share with Maggie," Owen said, but Maggie was already curled up with her back to Clay for warmth.
