Where’sLincandJas?”Beau asks as he stands behind Abigail.
Abigail.
I was ready for her to arrive, I really was. I was prepared to have a woman on my ranch, a woman I didn’t know, a woman who’s running from things she should never have to run from. I was prepared to help Joe with this. I was ready to do the right thing.
But now, as she stands here, on the land I work day in and day out, in the place that’s my home, I realize how ill prepared I really was.
“Law?”
“Hmm? What’s that?” My eyes snap from Abigail to the smug smirk of my best friend.
“Where’s Lincoln and Jasper?” he repeats, his grin only growing.
I scrub a hand across my jaw before answering. “Jas found a few heifers with some deep lacerations on their hindquarterswhen he was checking the fenceline earlier. Lawson’s helping him stitch them up.”
Beau’s brows pinch in concern before his jaw clenches. “How many?”
“Four.”
I can tell he’s likely thinking the same thing the rest of us are before he even says it. “There’s nothing out there that should have cut them like that.”
“I know.”
Our eyes meet, the kind of silent conversation we’ve gotten good at over the years. We both know who’s behind it. Same people as always. But now isn’t the time. Abigail’s here to find somewhere safe to start over. The last thing she needs is to be scared within her first five minutes of being here.
“I thought you said Jasper was a bull rider? What, is he a vet too?” she asks, glancing back at Beau.
He lets out a short laugh as she turns back around to face me. “Not a vet. But our actual vet is over two hours away, and the longer those cattle sit out there with wounds of that size, the more likely they are to get an infection. This is just one of those things we have to take care of ourselves. Isn’t the first time and won’t be the last. Plus, we’d rather have to throw a couple stitches in them than shoot ‘em.”
Her expression doesn’t change. Not even a flicker at the mention of something that might make most people flinch. But why would it? Abigail’s seen worse. Of that much I am sure.
Instead, she tilts her head slightly, curiosity softening her features. “But that’s what you do to them eventually anyway, right? Slaughter them for food?”
There’s no judgment behind her words, only curiosity.
“You’re right,” I say. “We do slaughter them for food. But that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a full life before that.” I take a slow step toward her, watching her closely as I continue.“From the second they’re born, we do everything we can to make sure every animal on this ranch lives a good life. It’s what they deserve.”
Her body goes still as I draw near. Her shoulders tighten and her breath catches in her chest. I pause, keeping my voice even, calm. “You see, we have a deal, those animals and us,” I tell her quietly. “They give us their lives, and it’s our duty to make sure those lives are worth living. They deserve comfort and respect for as long as we can give it. They trust us, and it’s up to us to earn that trust. To keep it. To give them more than grass under their feet and a fence around them.”
“We owe them freedom,” I finish. “Right up until their very last breath.”
She exhales the breath she’d been holding, slow and shaky, her hazel eyes darting between my own like she’s trying to decide if I mean what I just said. There’s something else there, though. Something heavy in the way she looks at me. Something tired. Guarded. Her fingers twist at the cuffs of her flannel, a small, nervous movement, and for a second, I find myself hating it. She’s nervous.I’mmaking her nervous. While I usually don’t mind having that effect on people—I prefer it actually, it keeps things… simple—I don’t want her to be. At least not right now.
I want her to feel at peace here. With me. With this place.
So instead of letting the silence stretch, I take a small step back, giving her room once again. “How about we do the tour tomorrow and just get you settled for the night?” I ask, my voice softer than I’m used to. “I think it’s safe to assume you’ve had enoughnewfor one day, yeah?”
A soft smile pulls at her lips, faint but real, as she tucks a strand of amber hair behind her ear. I have to fight not to stare at the way the setting sun paints her porcelain cheekbones in gold, or how her freckles look like they were brushed onto her skin one by one.
“That would be great, actually,” she says.
I step to the side and gesture toward the front door. “We’ve got a room ready in the main house, but, um…” My voice falters. Suddenly, I’m the one feeling uneasy, the weight of what I’m not saying pressing down on my chest.
Beau steps in, saving me from myself. “We didn’t know if you’d be comfortable staying in a house with four men you don’t know,” he says gently. “So we got the guesthouse ready for you. Just in case you’d feel better there.”
He nods toward the small black house sitting just beyond the barn. Close enough that we can keep an eye out for her but far enough that she can have some space.
Abigail’s gaze follows his, and I watch the tension melt from her shoulders the moment she spots it. Before she even speaks, I already know what her answer is. “The guesthouse would actually be amazing. If that’s okay? I don’t—I don’t want to offend you by not—”
