Deacon steps out of the shop with a clipboard tucked under his arm and a scowl already formed. “We’ve got a problem on the perimeter. Hank Carlson was driving down the road and noticed that the East fence line had taken a beating from the last windstorm. It’s probably down in more than one spot.”
Knox groans. “How bad?”
“Obviously, we can get to the section Hank called about by road by truck, but we’ll have to ride the rest.”
The east side is on the far stretch of the ranch—thousands of acres rolling into timber and rocky breaks.It’s a weeklong check if you’re not experienced, at least three nights of camp if you are.Probably four.
“I’ll take Knox,” I chirp quickly.
Deacon’s eyes cut to me, then to Easton. With irritation furrowing his brow, his gaze drags back to me. “No,” he states flatly. “Knox is staying here to help me move yearlings.”
My stomach tightens, and I swallow so hard I’m pretty sure the gulp echoes through the barn.
“You can take Easton. I don’t know what the hell happened between you two”—he gestures between us, his tone sharpening—“but I’m fucking sick and tired of you and whatever this is. Fix it or kill each other, I don’t care. But do it out there while you’re working.”
Heat floods my face at his audacity, because clearly, there is nothing between us.
With a huff, I turn on my heel and head toward the tack room. If I’m going to be trapped in the wilderness with him for days, I’ll need more than silence to armor myself.
We pack without speaking.
Bedrolls. Canvas tarp. Coffee tin. Dried beans and jerky. A skillet blackened from a hundred fires. Extra fencing wire and pliers. Medical kit. Matches sealed in a plastic bag.
The routine is familiar. Yet, the air between us feels electric and brittle.
I saddle Daisy first. She tosses her head restlessly, sensing my tension. I murmur to her and tighten the girth with a little less tenderness than usual. Easton takes his time readying Ranger, but I don’t wait for him. I swing into the saddle and nudge Daisy forward before he’s even mounted.
If I ride ahead, I don’t have to see his face.
The land opens up as we head east—rolling hills freckled with melting snow, the grass here not yet green but no longer dead. The sky stretches impossibly wide in that endless Montana blue, making you feel both infinite and insignificant. Hoofbeats drum steadily beneath me, his behind mine.
The silence between us is thick enough to choke on. We ride for hours without a word, stopping where the fence dips or leans. Not bothering to wait for him, I dismount and begin checking wire tension, replacing staples, and retightening posts where frost has shoved them crooked. We work like strangers who happen to know each other’s rhythms too well.
Easton is straightening a post ahead of me while I pull wire. I crank it hard, and my gloves slip. The metal snaps back and bites into my palm. “Damn it,” I snarl, quickly balling it into a fist in pain.
He races along the fence line before I finish swearing, tearing off his gloves and outstretching his hand for mine even as he reaches me. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” I huff, stubbornly.
“Teagan.”
I hold out my hand reluctantly. The cut isn’t deep, but it bleeds steadily. He curls my fingers into a fist and wraps his hand tightly around it before leading me over to Ranger. After fumbling to pull the medical kit from one of his saddle bags with one hand, he rifles through it to find the supplies he needs.
We don’t speak a word as he cleans and wraps my wound. He pours Bactine over my palm. His touch firm and careful, he presses a sterile pad of gauze to it.
By the time dusk settles in, the sky has shifted to streaks of lavender and orange along the horizon. We make camp near a stand of sparse timber where the land dips just enough to break the wind.
I unsaddle Daisy and rub her down, focusing on the familiarity of it as Easton builds the fire. Flames catch quickly, licking up through dry kindling before settling into a steady burn. The sound of crackling wood fills the space where words should be.
We sit on opposite sides of the flames, silence stretching between us. It feels different out here, bigger and harder to ignore. The night air bites colder than I expected. I pull my jacket tighter around me and scoot closer to the fire in hopes it will warm me.
Easton shifts across from me and clears his throat. “Teagan.” I don’t bother to look up. “You can’t just not talk to me.”
A bitter laugh rises before I can stop it. “That’s funny.”
He exhales sharply. “You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t.” I lift my head finally, meeting his unreadable gaze across the flames. “You’ve been giving me the silent treatment off and on almost you got here, Easton. I’m just catching up.”
