“A vacation,” I repeat flatly. “A vacation is lounging on a beach, drinking mojitos, not relocating to Bell River to work on a ranch with a bunch of men I met less than an hour ago. You’re lucky these people don’t look like serial killers.”
Terrance laughs, completely unbothered. “Your father would never have let that happen. He knew Samuel Hollis well enough, and Samuel stuck his neck out for his nephew. You’re in good hands.”
That only makes my stomach twist.
And what else is tucked away in my father’s mental file drawer labeledThings Sloane Doesn’t Need to Know Yet?
I roll my eyes and start pacing. “At least give me some advice. I can’t sell because of the six-month contingency, but why can’t I leave?”
“Because that’s what Samuel asked for,” Terrance says. “He wanted to know that the people involved were serious about the ranch. Gage’s life revolves around that land, but there are things Samuel didn’t tell your father—or us lawyers.
The important thing is this: you need to stay put and be smart.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress squeaking softly beneath me.
So Samuel Hollis was hiding things. From everyone. That means there has to be records somewhere—notes, logs, something he didn’t trust anyone else to interpret.
If I stay, I might be able to find them. If I leave… I don’t even want to think about what that costs.
I rub the back of my neck. “Terrance, just answer me this. If I leave before the six months are up—would Gage lose the ranch entirely?”
The silence stretches. Long enough that my chest tightens.
“Yes,” he finally says. “There is a risk that Hollis Ranch could be forfeited if the inheritance conditions aren’t fully met.”
I drop my head into my hand and groan. “This is an utter nightmare.”
But it also answers everything.
I may not like Gage Hollis—okay, I actively dislike him—but I’m not cruel enough to be the reason someone loses everything his family built. Especially when he never asked for me to be part of this mess in the first place.
So, playing nice it is.
Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can get him to meet me halfway and not treat me like an enemy force. Step one: prove I’m not some delicate Austin ornament he can bully into submission. Step two: pull my weight. Step three: survive the next six months without committing ranch-related homicide.
Starting tomorrow.
Who knows.
Maybe it won’t be a disaster.
three
Gage
Red is already raising hell when I swing my boots onto the floor. The rooster’s crow cuts through the dark like a warning, sharp and unforgiving, and I welcome it. Mornings don’t wait for comfort around here. Neither do I.
If Sloane Carter thinks she’s easing into ranch life at her own pace, she’s dead wrong.
I pull on my jeans and head downstairs without bothering to check the time. Ranch life doesn’t run on clocks—it runs on discipline, habit, and consistency, whether you feel like it or not.
The house is quiet when I hit the kitchen. Too quiet. Not surprising.
I start a pot of coffee, black and strong, and take the stairs two at a time. Silence on a ranch at this hour usually means one of two things: trouble or someone who hasn’t learned the rules. I stop outside Sloane’s door and knock once, firm.
Nothing.
I open the door and peek inside. The bundle under the covers and the dark hair spilling over the pillow confirm it. I cross the room and tap her shoulder. She groans, swatting at me like I’m a bad dream she doesn’t want to wake up from.
