And I won’t trap her with words I’m not ready to earn.
She turns then, slow and deliberate, shifting just enough that her knee presses between mine. Her hand comes up, cupping my jaw, her thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
The kiss she gives me isn’t rushed.
It’s deep. Intentional. And loaded.
I let myself feel it—just for a moment—before I pull back first, resting my forehead against hers, my breath uneven.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“For what?” she asks softly.
“For giving me the chance to show you who I am,” I say. “And for protecting this place… even when I didn’t make it easy.”
She smiles, small and warm. “Anytime.”
We sit there longer than we should, watching the sun dip low enough to set the field on fire with gold. I don’t touch her again. I don’t need to.
This moment matters because it’s unfinished.
When we pull back into the ranch, voices carry from the yard before I even cut the engine. Hank. Jesse. Mason. Arguing.
Sloane stiffens beside me, sensing it the same second I do
Something’s wrong.
We hop out of the truck, and the tension hits before anyone speaks.
Hank and Jesse are standing shoulder to shoulder near the barn, both of them stiff, faces hard. Mason hovers a few feet away, hands jammed into his pockets, gaze fixed on the dirt like it might swallow him whole.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask.
Sloane steps up beside me without hesitation, her presence steady even as Hank and Jesse turn their attention fully on Mason.
“Well,” Mason starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “I went out to the bar tonight. Brought a girl back to my cabin. We were… you know.”
He glances at Sloane, clearly uncomfortable.
I don’t bother reacting. Trust me—she knows.
“…anyway,” he continues, voice dropping, “Hank and Jesse were out checking the fence line. I forgot to lock the ranch gate and—”
“And someone took advantage,” Hank cuts in, stepping forward. “Stole half the damn equipment while numb-nuts was getting his rocks off.”
My stomach drops.
“Are you sure?” I ask, already moving.
I don’t wait for an answer. I head straight for the cattle barn, boots crunching over gravel, pulse thudding in myears. The closer I get, the worse it looks. The lock on the door hangs broken, metal twisted like it was pried open with purpose.
Inside, the space feels wrong. Empty. The pump system is gone. Just… gone.
I stand there for a second, staring at the bare concrete where thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment used to sit. Rage coils tight in my chest, hot and fast, threatening to explode.
“That’s not all,” Jesse says from behind me. “The ultrasound unit’s missing. And the machine we use to test bacteria in the milk.”
I turn slowly, my jaw clenched so hard it aches. “Anything else?”
