The original deed to the ranch.
Not a copy. Not a reprint. The real thing—aged paper, ink softened by time, the ranch name written at the top in that old looping script I’ve seen a hundred times in the country records—tucked behind glass in an intricate frame.
“How did you get this?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Abigail smiles. “I had a little helper.”
I look at Lawson. He doesn’t deny it. Just lifts his coffee mug and winks.
My grip on the frame tightens without me meaning to. Shaking my head, I say, “This place…” I start, then stop and try again. “This place exists because of all of you.”
Abigail rests her hand along the back of my neck, her thumb moving in soft circles, urging me to look at her. “That’s true,” she says gently. “But it’s because of you, too. I want this to remind you of that. That you’re not forgotten about. That everyone in this room values you more than you know.”
Something cracks.
It’s not loud or dramatic. Just a slow, deep shift in my chest, I was in no way prepared for.
I’ve spent my whole life being the responsible one. The steady one. The one who handles the paperwork, the negotiations, the contracts. All the things that go unnoticed unless something goes wrong.
I’ve never needed praise.
I’ve never even asked for it.
I knew what I needed to do and what was expected of me.
But this?
This feels like being seen.
“This should be in the office,” I say finally, because if I say anything else, my voice might give me away. It might hint at those three words that are on the tip of my tongue.
She smiles. “Put it wherever you’d like. It’s yours.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Alright,” Lawson says, clapping his hand against his thigh. “It’s our turn.”
The four of us exchange a look before Jasper stands and reaches out his hand. “You gotta come with us.”
Confusion flickers across Abigail’s face as we lead her outside in nothing but our pajamas, coats, and boots. Griffin lifts his head as we enter the barn, and then she sees it.
The saddle.
Rich leather with red stitching, the same shade as her hair. Perfectly fitted. Just for her.
Her hands come up to her mouth. “Oh,” she breathes.
Lawson steps closer as she runs her hands along it. “It’s yours.”
Jasper grins. “Custom fit. For you. For him.”
Beau tilts his head. “Figured it was time you stopped borrowing one of ours.”
“I—” Her eyes shine as her voice breaks. “This is too much.”
“No,” Lawson says gently.
