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“This?” I raised an eyebrow, my skepticism clear. “You think this is the answer?”

Tawnie’s grin grew wider as she bit her bottom lip and nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah. This will get the people excited. Women will want him, and men will want to be him.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned. My God, she was right. Using Colton as the rugged, handsome CEO who cared for his people? It was genius. And it wasn’t entirely a stretch—despite his infuriating personality, the respect his workers had for him was evident. The way he’d taken Tawnie under his wing spoke volumes, and I had a sneaking suspicion there were other stories like hers hiding in plain sight.

Maybe leveraging Colton himself was the key. The man, the reluctant cowboy. He wouldn’t like it, which made the idea even more appealing.

TAWNIE AND I made it to the barn without too much trouble, though my choice of heels was proving to be a mistake. Now, I stood in the middle of a massive red barn with concrete floors strewn with hay. The air smelled like manure—no surprise there.

Around us, workers buzzed with purpose, preparing horses and tidying up the space for guests scheduled for a guided tour. On the way here, I’d learned that Stone Ranch prided itself on being an all-inclusive experience. No hidden fees, no extra costs for excursions, and even the meals were covered.

“Stet!” Tawnie called out, her voice carrying over the busy atmosphere.

A young man down the aisle, bent over and picking up a dropped set of reins, looked up at the sound of his name. Flashing a boyish grin, he tossed the reins over the gate of a stall and jogged toward us. He was every bit the typical cute cowboy—worn hat, plain T-shirt still mostly clean, and jeans that looked like they’d seen their fair share of work.

Stet came to a stop in front of us, hands on hips, his smile bright and full of youth. “What can I do for you, Miss Tawnie?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his formal greeting. The way Tawnie’s cheeks turned a soft shade of blush pink told me she didn’t mind one bit.

“This is Miss Stewartt,” Tawnie said, gesturing to me. “She’s here to help Mr. Stone.”

Stet’s gaze shifted to me, and without missing a beat, he removed his hat, taking my hand and bowing slightly.

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” he said, his voice tinged with genuine warmth.

“The pleasure’s mine, Stet,” I replied with a smile. “It’s great to be here. Montana is beautiful.”

“Ain’t it, though?” he said, his grin widening. “I’ve only been here a couple of years, but this place feels more like home than anywhere else ever did.”

Tawnie cleared her throat, pulling the conversation back on track. “Miss Stewartt is here to ask some questions about working on the ranch. She’s hoping to—” she glanced at me apologetically, as if she’d overstepped.

I waved her on. “No, go ahead.”

Tawnie smiled and turned back to Stet. “She wants to do a segment about the workers at Stone Ranch—why they like working here, what brought them to the ranch, and where they see themselves in the future.”

Stet’s grin grew wider, and he nodded enthusiastically, like he was eager to help.

“You mentioned nowhere else has felt like home,” I said, curiosity lacing my tone. “Where are you from originally?”

“Texas, ma’am,” Stet replied, his southern drawl thick with charm.

“And what brought you all the way here?”

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice quieter. “Well, my home life wasn’t great. My pa was a drunk, and my mama…she took it out on me. I decided to drop out of high school and start traveling the country. Lived in a lot of places between then and now, but Lucky Lake, Montana, won me over.”

I nodded, pulling my phone out of my bag to jot down some notes. “I hope you don’t mind me taking some notes,” I said. “If there’s anything you don’t want to share, just let me know.”

Stet smiled, slipping his hands into his front pockets. The overhead light caught the gleam of his oversized belt buckle, a detail that matched his aesthetic perfectly.

“How did you end up at Stone Ranch?” I asked.

“Well,” he began, his smile widening, “I met Mr. Stone at a motel in Rusty Creek, Wyoming. I was working maintenance there, fixing leaks, replacing light bulbs, you name it. We got to talking one day, and I told him how much I loved roping and riding. Been at it since I was a kid. Back in Texas, some of my friends even called me the Horse Whisperer.”

I chuckled softly, his nickname adding to the undeniable sweetness of his demeanor. There was something about Stet’s warm, honest energy that thawed the edges of my defenses, making me feel an unfamiliar sense of comfort.

“So, Mr. Stone asked me about where I was from,” Stet continued, his gaze momentarily dropping. “My accent kinda gave me away. I told him a little about my folks, about the life I’d left behind in Texas. I was running, you know? Just trying to get away from the hurt. Anyway, the next morning, he was gone, but he’d left his number and a hefty tip with the motel clerk. Told me to call him if I ever wanted something better.”

My chest tightened, a lump forming in my throat as I fought back the sting of tears. I wasn’t a crier—crying wasn’t my thing—but Stet’s story, raw and genuine, hit me harder than I’d expected.