Page 39 of Branded

She stands at the railing in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, feet bare on the weathered wood, blonde hair loose down her back. Coffee mug in her hands, and her entire focus on the ranch operation spread below us in the early morning light.

Cowboys are already moving through the corrals. Horses saddled, cattle sorted, the constant motion of a working ranch coming to life.

I grab my own coffee and move to her side. She doesn’t acknowledge me; she just keeps watching the work below with an intensity that makes me think she is comparing it to her own family’s operation.

“You’re up early,” I say.

“Habit.” Her voice is quiet, almost reverent. “On our ranch, I’d be finishing the first round of feeding by now.”

“Do you miss it?”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t think so, until this morning.”

The honesty surprises me.

“You want to see it?” I gesture to the operation below. “The working ranch, not the gilded cage Mom will show you when she gets back later today.”

That gets her attention. She turns to face me, and in the morning light, I can see the circles under her eyes. She hasn’t slept well.

“She’ll lead you through the main house offices, introduce you to the household staff, show you the formal gardens and the guest facilities.” I take a sip of coffee. “But that’s not the ranch. That’s the show of being a Drake. I thought you might want to see the actual work first.”

“I would love to.” No hesitation. Her whole body shifts toward me, eager in a way I haven’t seen before.

“Then go get boots on. We ride out in twenty minutes.”

The eagerness in her expression shifts to something else. Surprise, maybe. Or suspicion. “Riding?”

“You still know how to ride a horse, don’t you? Or has California made you soft?”

Her chin lifts with that stubborn pride I’m starting to recognize. “I can ride.”

“Yes, you can,” I say with a smirk, and she swats my chest and laughs lightly. “The best way to see this place is on horseback, the same way my great-great-grandfather saw it.” I drain my coffee. “Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty. This won’t be a trail ride for tourists.”

Twenty minutes later, we walk down to the main barn together. Lennox found her boots that look like they’ve seen better days, and she’s braided her hair back in a practical plait that says she knows what she’s doing around animals.

The barn is a scene of organized chaos at this hour. Cowboys moving through their routines, horses being prepped for the day’s work. A few of the hands look up when we enter, tipping their hats respectfully.

“Sebastian.” The barn manager, Pete, who has been with the ranch since my grandfather’s time, nods in greeting. “Didn’t expect to see you this early.”

“Thought I’d show my wife the operation. We’ll need two horses saddled. Cisco for me, and…” I look at Lennox. “What’s your preference? Something gentle or something with spirit?”

“Spirit,” she says immediately.

Pete’s weathered face creases in a smile. “We’ve got a new mare. Five-year-old quarter horse, smart as hell, but likes to test her rider. Her name’s Duchess.”

“Perfect.”

While Pete goes to get the horses, Lennox wanders down the barn aisle, looking into stalls, reading the name plates, occasionally reaching out to stroke a velvet nose that appears over a door. She moves with the confidence of someone who’s spent years around horses.

“Your wife knows her way around horses?” Pete asks quietly when he returns, leading Cisco.

“Grew up on a ranch in Montana. Twenty thousand head.”

Pete’s eyebrows rise. “The Briggs operation? Out of Sweetwater? That’s the only one I know of that big.”

“That’s the one.”

“Well, hell. No wonder she wanted spirit.” He heads back for the mare. “A girl like that probably rode before she could walk.” His light chuckle filters through the barn, and I appreciate him wanting to keep her safe.