I pull up to the barn and cut the engine. Past the barns, the massive two-story stone and stucco mansion stands at the end of its own curved drive, separated from the working ranch by landscaped beds already lush with Texas wildflowers and ornamental grasses that sway in the evening breeze. The house's porch lights glow welcomingly against the warm stone.
My back aches from twelve hours behind the wheel, and my eyes burn from watching the road. I roll my neck, feeling the vertebrae pop, and let out a long breath. No more driving back and forth from Kentucky. No more splitting my time between two states, two operations, or two lives. This is home now.
I climb out of the truck and draw my first deep breath of Hill Country air as a Texan. The weight I've been carrying since I handed over the keys to our family farm finally lifts from my shoulders.
The Hayden name meant something in Kentucky for over a hundred and fifty years, and I'm the one who decided it was time to take it somewhere new. I thought that decision would haunt me, but standing here with Texas dust on my boots and my horses waiting impatiently to step onto this red dirt, it all feels very right.
Two stable hands approach the trailer with calm efficiency, while another is already opening gates with the practiced movements of men who know their business. I recognize none of them, which somehow doesn't bother me at all. This operation has grown well beyond depending solely on me showing up to manage everything myself.
I watch as they unload the horses, and I smile as the thoroughbreds step onto Texas soil without hesitation. I've overseen the transport of our herd in ten separate shipments over the past two months, hauling most of the breeding stock first, then the juveniles, and now this final group of my personal favorites that I wanted to handle myself.
I watch as Colby, my favorite stallion, greets and nudges his mares with the proprietary air of a stud who knows his worth. None of them seem confused or stressed by the change.
"You're back," a voice calls from behind me, the drawl as thick as Hill Country honey.
I spot Wade Faulkner leaning against a fencepost, his hat tipped back and sun-browned face set in its usual scowl, though his eyes track the horses. He doesn't move from his post, just watches with the quiet confidence of a man who'd spot trouble before it started.
"This is the last of them," I answer, moving to join him. "It looks like they're just as happy as I am that the trip's over."
Wade’s eyes narrow on Colby as he moves toward his mares. "That bay's favoring his left front."
I follow his gaze and watch my stallion take another step. Sure enough, there's the slightest hesitation. "Damn. Must've shifted wrong in the trailer."
"It’s probably nothing serious. Some wrapping and a few days of rest should do the trick." Wade pushes off from the fence. "Did you have any trouble?"
"Not at all," I reply. "The trip was easy enough, and we made decent time. The only excitement I had was stopping to help a lady change a flat tire."
Wade snorts. "Well, it’s about damn time you got here. For my peace, if anything. Your sister and that grandmother of yours have been down here pestering me all day, checking on whenyou'd roll in. A man can't get a lick of work done with all that hovering."
My eyebrows lift. "I didn't expect Rachel to be here."
"She said something about important news." Wade's stony face gives nothing away, but there's a knowing quality in his eyes that makes my gut tighten.
I scowl, glancing toward the house where lights blaze from nearly every window. I hate surprises, especially after all the turmoil of the last few months. "Did she say what it's about?"
Wade grunts and scratches his jaw. "Nope." He gestures toward the barn with one weathered hand. "Do you have a minute before you head in? I can show you what we've done to the training facilities."
We walk together from one building to the next, reviewing the changes. Wade knows this land better than anyone—where the water sources run, where the best grazing is, which contractors are reliable and which ones will take your money and deliver half of what they promised.
"How's Gran settling in?" I ask as we walk.
Wade huffs out a breath. "That woman has had contractors crawling over this place like ants on a picnic. She even had blueprints spread across my desk, color samples for the barn, and three different landscapers bidding on the wildflower beds." He shakes his head with what might be admiration. "I’ve never seen anyone coordinate that many moving parts without losing their mind. She had the house renovated, the barns painted, and new fencing installed before a jackrabbit could blink."
"That sounds like her," I say, grinning.
"She upgraded my cabin without asking, gave me and all the ranch hands raises that were more than generous." He pauses at the tack room door and gestures inside. "Then she redesigned this entire space, threw out half my equipment, and had it replaced with gear I didn't even know existed. When I told herI'd been doing things my way for twenty years, she smiled real sweet and said, 'Then it's time for an upgrade, Mr. Faulkner.'"
I bite back a laugh at the image.
"She also informed me I've been storing feed all wrong, which was a hell of a thing to hear at my age."
"Was she right?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
Wade's face softens in a way that makes me glance at him more closely. "She sure was. She's smart as a whip." He clears his throat. "And she brought down fresh cinnamon rolls yesterday morning, still warm from the oven. Said a man can't work on an empty stomach."
I smile. Gran's won the new crew over completely.
"You should head up to the house before she decides to come down here again," Wade remarks as we complete the circuit back toward the barn. "That woman will be madder than a wet hen if she finds out you stopped to inspect fences first. Then we'll have no peace."
