If I win, what happens to them?
If I invalidate the leases, if I prove Anthony was incompetent, if I kick them out... where do they go?
Boone has been there since he was a teenager. He has no other home. He has no family. Knox uses the ranch as his retreat from the circuit, the only place he feels like himself. Rhett left a pack that destroyed him and built a new life here.
If I sell the ranch, they’re homeless. If I keep it and evict them, they’re homeless.
I picture Boone standing in the rain, demanding I get back inside because it’s too cold. I picture Rhett boiling water on a wood stove because I was having a panic attack about being dirty. I picture Knox running into the dark to find my dog.
They’re annoying. They’re stubborn. They’re infuriating.
But they’re also... good men. In a world where Jack Dalton exists, where my grandfather could be so cruel, where my fiancé could betray me with my best friend... these men are solid. They’re real.
“Cost is on me,” I say suddenly.
The truck goes quiet.
“What?” Boone asks, looking at me in the mirror again.
“The generators,” I say. “And the food last night. And the fuel for the trucks. You’ve been paying for everything on the ranch. Maintaining it. Feeding the cattle. That’s my responsibility. I should reimburse you.”
Knox turns around in his seat to look at me. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to,” I say. “But I want to. It’s my ranch. Those are my expenses.”
Boone’s eyes are dark in the mirror. I can’t read his expression. He looks back at the road.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he says.
“Okay,” I say.
I lean my head against the cold glass. The conversation dies down. Knox and Boone start talking again about the generators—the wattage, the fuel consumption, the transfer switch. They use terms I don’t understand, discussing it with the same intensity they discuss bull riding.
Their voices wash over me, a low hum of masculine energy.
I stare at the back of Boone’s head. At the way his hand grips the steering wheel. I think about the bruised knuckles on Rhett’s hand that I noticed earlier.
I’m the lawyer. I’m the owner and the one with the power. So why do I feel like the one who is losing?
Maybe because I don’t want to win if the cost is their home.
I close my eyes. The legal briefs in my head are messy, the arguments tangled. The law doesn’t offer a clear path. It just offers a battlefield, and I’m not sure I want to fight anymore.
The truck hits a pothole, jarring me. I open my eyes. We’re turning onto the dirt road that leads to Meadowlark. The ranch is ahead of us, the roofs of the cabins peeking through the trees.
It looks like a home. Not a property. A home.
And I’m the intruder who is trying to tear it down.
The thought sits heavy in my chest as we pull up to the house. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I know that whatever decision I make, it won’t be just about the law.
It will be about them.
We climb out of the truck. The heavy thud of the generators hitting the muddy ground vibrates through the soles of my boots. Knox wipes his hands on his jeans, leaving dark smears of grease and dirt.
Boone’s already unhooking the chains from the truck bed, his movements efficient and brisk. The rain has held off for the driveback, but the sky is a bruised purple, swollen with the promise of more to come.
Rhett walks over from the woodpile, stripping off his work gloves. He looks tired, his shoulders slumped slightly, but he offers a tight nod.
