“I’m not,” he replies easily as he swings onto Ranger in one smooth motion before guiding him forward at an unhurried pace. The second Ranger draws even with us, Daisy steps off, like she’s been waiting for a green light.
I stare down at her and huff, “Really, Daisy?”
Easton’s mouth tips at the corner. “Maybe she just needed a minute.”
A minute? No, sir. This stubborn mare was waiting.The thought slips in before I can stop it.Waiting for you.Shekeeps pace with Ranger easily, their strides falling into rhythm without effort. We ride out at a leisurely clip, dust kicking up softly beneath their hooves. Ahead of us, the fields roll out in wide stretches of gold and green.
We ride in silence, the steady thud of hooves and the creak of leather filling the space between us. I keep my eyes forward, fighting against every urge I have to turn and look at him.
“You recovered from your wild night out?” Easton breaks the quiet, his tone casual like he’s making small talk.
Because he is, Teagan.
The brim of his hat casts his eyes into shadow when I glance over at him. “You mean sitting at the bar and drinking a beer while my brother made questionable life choices on the dance floor with one of my friends?”
“Sounds questionable,” he asks, faintly amused.
“It’s going to be a toss-up between Fatal Attraction and giving my dad grandkids by next Christmas.” He huffs a quiet laugh. It’s low and brief, but it changes his whole face, softening it. “You should’ve come,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
The words hang between us as the herd comes into view, scattered across the pasture in slow, grazing clusters. Dad and my brothers are already working the edges, guiding them toward the rise that leads to higher ground.
Easton doesn’t answer right away. His hand rests loose on the reins, thumb absently brushing along the worn leather, like he’s thinking about something other than the question. “Bars aren’t really my thing these days,” he shares finallyand very matter-of-factly. There’s more to that statement. I can feel it, but he doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push.
“Suit yourself.” I sigh, turning my head so he doesn’t see the flicker of disappointment I can’t quite hide.
Daisy flicks her ears forward as we near the herd, her energy sharpening. Ranger matches her stride without needing to be asked, the two of them moving like they’ve done this a hundred times before.
We fall quiet again, and this time, I’m grateful for the silence. I steer Daisy away from him, riding over to where Knox is trying to wrangle in a defiant young calf.
“Trouble in paradise?” Knox teases softly as I reach him.
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I’ve told you, it’s nothing.”Because that’s all it is.
Knox turns his attention back to the calf with a snort. “You’re a horrible liar, Teag.”
I shift in the saddle and glance up, across the herd, without meaning to. Easton sits tall on Ranger at the far edge of the pasture, his posture loose but purposeful, guiding a pair of strays back toward the others. He lifts his head—as though he can feel my stare—and his eyes find mine across the distance.
My pulse kicks suddenly as he holds my gaze. The moment stretches, neither of us looking away. The pasture narrows, and the noise fades until it feels like there’s nothing but the suspended space between us.
“Ah, fuck—” Knox curses beside me, shattering the spell. I whip my attention toward him just in time to see the calfbolt from the edge of the herd, kicking up dust as it makes a break for open pasture.
“I got it,” I mutter, already turning Daisy sharply. This time, she responds instantly, lunging forward into a quick lope as we cut the calf off before it can get too far. As I angle wide to push it into the herd, I risk another glance over my shoulder.
Easton is already back at work, guiding another stray in with steady precision, his focus fixed where it should be. Like nothing happened. Like there wasn’t a moment at all.
I face forward again, jaw tightening slightly.
It’s nothing.
Working on the ranch has saved me in ways nothing else ever has. Not because it’s easy.Because it isn’t.It’s repetitive and physical and unforgiving in its own quiet rhythm. There is no pretending out here. Cattle don’t care who you used to be, what you’ve lost, or what you’re trying to outrun. You either guide them or you don’t.
I angle Ranger along the far edge of the herd, the leather of the saddle creaking softly beneath me with each shift of my weight. He moves easily, instinctively, his ears flicking forward and back, listening, not just to the cattle, but to me. He feels my subtle adjustments before I consciously make them. We push a pair of strays toward the center, careful not to crowd them too fast. Too much pressure and they’ll bolt. Too little and they’ll drift farther out.
It’s a balance. Everything out here is a balance.
The subtle—but unmistakable—awareness of being watched washes over me. I lift my head withoutthinking and find my biggest issue with maintaining balance observing me from across the pasture.
Teagan sits confidently in the saddle, Daisy’s pale mane stirring faintly in the breeze. She looks like she belongs there in a way that goes beyond skill. It’s in the ease of her posture, the quiet authority in how she holds herself.
