Owen looked at me with sharpened interest. "You know something about that?"
"Some." I'd helped build two breeding programs from scratch, back in my drifting days. The work suited me—patient, methodical, focused on results you couldn't rush. "My family ran horses alongside cattle in Montana. I know what it takes to start something like that. What it costs. What it earns."
"Huh." Owen was quiet for a moment, studying me the way I imagined he studied livestock—assessing value, potential, risk. "Talk to Maggie when you see her tomorrow sometime. She'shad a horse breeding program plan drawn up since we started planning for expansion."
"Sure. Anytime."
We moved on to other topics, but I filed that conversation away, too. A horse breeding program was exactly the kind of project that could anchor a man to a place. Give him roots. Give him a reason to stop running.
Whether that mattered depended on a lot of factors. Most of them had sharp green eyes and a stubborn set to her jaw.
By the time the sun started to set, the rodeo was winding down and I'd made my introductions to most of the key players. The Blackwoods were good people—loud and complicated and clearly devoted to each other despite whatever internal conflicts were simmering. The kind of family I'd had once. The kind I'd been running from ever since I lost it.
Sully had made friends with the ranch dogs—or at least established a working truce. He'd settled near my feet as I stood by the paddock fence, watching the last of the day's light paint the hills gold and red.
Maggie hadn't spoken to me since the introduction.
She'd kept her distance all day—professional, courteous, absolutely determined to pretend there was nothing between us except employer and employee. I didn't push. Didn't seek her out. Didn't do anything that could be read as pressure or expectation.
I just watched.
And I thought about Wild Creek.
I'd thought about her more than I expected in the week since that night. The woman who'd walked into a bar like she was daring someone to see her. Who'd laughed at my stupid tractor story. Who'd taken me back to her motel room and fallen apart in my arms like she'd forgotten she was allowed to want things.
Then she'd left before dawn, no note, no number, no nothing.
I hadn't been offended. I understood the impulse to keep things clean. No complications. No entanglements. We were supposed to be ships passing in the night.
Except now we were docked in the same harbor, and the woman who'd looked at me like I was everything she needed was pretending I was a stranger.
I understood why. I even respected it. Didn’t mean I liked it. Not one damn bit.
Maggie Blackwood was scared. Scared of wanting things, of needing people, of whatever had happened in that motel room that cracked her open enough to let me see underneath.
I wasn't scared of any of that. I'd lost everything once—family, home, purpose. I'd survived it. And somewhere along the way, I'd learned that the only thing worse than losing something you loved was never letting yourself love it in the first place.
I wasn't going to push her. She'd set the pace. But I wasn't going to disappear, either.
"Come on, Sul," I said, straightening up. "Let's find our bunk."
The dog rose and fell into step beside me. Brad's last gift. My only constant.
We walked toward the bunkhouse as the stars started to emerge, and for the first time in four years, I let myself imagine what it might feel like to stop moving.
Maybe this was the place.
Only one way to find out.
4
Maggie
I gave myself a pep talk in the mirror at five a.m.
"You are a professional," I told my reflection. "You run operations for one of the most successful ranches in the county. You manage men, money, livestock, and chaos like it's a sport. You do not get rattled."
My reflection looked rested. Glowy, even. Which felt suspicious.
