How many late nights.
How many quiet sacrifices.
How many days I spend wishing I was out therelivingwith everyone else, but instead I have to be here.
The ranchneedssomeone who understands the legal weight of every handshakeandevery acre. Someone to help keep the wolves at bay. And not just the ones that live beneath the trees. It’s the developers, the inspectors, the competitors, and whoever else wants to sink their teeth where they shouldn’t be. It’s those wolves who are the real danger.
And most days… most days I don’t mind being that shield.
Most days, it feels like purpose.
Other days, though… other days, it feels like chains.
But I know what I signed up for. I know the risks and the rewards. It’s why I became a lawyer. Not so I could sit inside some courtroom and argue with some jackass in a suit until I was blue in the face. No. I did it for this place. For this land. For my family. Forme.
My eyes flick to the empty desk across from mine, Jasper’s. He uses it mostly for storing junk mail and protein bars, the occasional phone call with reporters, or when Imake himsit down to go over rodeo tour scheduling or sponsorship contracts.But none of that will happen today because I know he was up early checking the fenceline because of the injured cattle from yesterday, even though we all know it wasn’t the fucking fenceline.
I wonder if he met her yet…
Abigail.
I exhale slowly, leaning back in my chair. I haven’t met her yet. Haven’t seen her up close. But the mere idea of a woman living on the ranch again twists something sharp inside of me. Not because she’s done anything wrong or because I doubt why she’s here, but because the last woman who lived under this roof, besides my mother, tore my life in half. And most days, I’m not entirely convinced I’ve stitched myself back together. A piece of me has felt like it’s been missing since the day I signed those divorce papers. Actually, scratch that. It’s been missing since the night Jasper dragged me out of that arena in Billings and told me what had happened. What he saw.
I’d never hit rock bottom so damn fast.
Still, from what Lawson has told me, she needs safety. A place to land. And God knows this ranch has more than enough space for her to find her footing.
So, I’ll be civil. Polite. I’ll keep my distance.
I’ll put up walls.
Walls are what I’m good at.
Never let people see what you don’t want them to. It’s part of what makes me so good at my job.
A burst of laughter floats through the cracked window. It’s bright, warm, and completely out of place in the otherwise quiet loft. That must be her.
Despite everything I just said, curiosity wins out, and I push from my desk and step closer to the row of windows. The yard below comes into view. It’s a familiar sight, the fencing, the small round pen for horses, Jasper helping Beau run more cattlethrough the shoot. I must have been so lost in thought that I didn’t hear him and Dezzy return. But what’s not familiar is Lawson leaning against the rail with his hat pushed back… andher.
She’s even prettier than Beau described after I got home last night. Sunlight catches in her amber hair, lighting it like a fire burning on the darkest night. She’s wearing a pair of jeans, a flannel, and a pair of Converse shoes that are going to be ruined in a matter of days if we don’t get her some boots. She reaches out and touches the mare that’s grazing in the corral as if she’s been doing it her whole life. She laughs again as Delilah nudges at her pockets.
My fingers curl around the window frame as a slow, heavy breath drags out of me.
Fuck.
She’s stunning. Painfully so.
And that scares me more than I’ll ever admit out loud, because the last thing I need is another reason for my heart to remember it even exists.
I watch as Lawson says something else, and Abigail lifts her face toward him, smiling up at him like he’s not the most intimidating bastard on the entire ranch. And when she does, Lawson softens even more.
And then he smiles.
My big brother is actually smiling.
Not his usual half-grunt of amusement or a gruff smirk.
A genuine, real smile.
