Jace – The Cowboy Way (McCallister Ranch #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Ranch Chaos and One Hell of a Surprise

Jace

The steer breaks hard left before I can cut him off, hooves tearing up dust as he slams through a weak spot in the line like he’s been waiting all morning to make a run for it.

I lean into the saddle and drive my heels in, pushing my horse forward as the rest of the herd shifts with that low, restless rumble that means chaos is about to take over if we don’t get control back fast.

“Jace, head him off,” My brother Wade calls, his voice sharp and already edged with irritation as he swings wide to keep the rest from following. I pull out my rope. Swing it up high and throw it.

“I’ve got him,” I shoot back, though the damn animal has more fight in him than I expected.

The fence line ahead dips where the ground’s soft from last week’s rain, and I can already see where the posts have started to lean. Figures. One weak spot and the whole system starts unraveling, same as always.

I angle my horse, cutting across the steer’s path, and he snorts, tossing his head like he’s deciding whether to charge me or bolt again.

For a second, it’s just the two of us, dust hanging thick in the air, the sound of the herd fading behind me while everything narrows down to instinct and timing.

“Easy,” I mutter, more to myself than him, shifting my weight and guiding my horse in closer.

The steer jukes right at the last second, but I’m ready for it, swinging him back toward the herd with a quick, controlled push that finally breaks his momentum. He slows, grudging and pissed off, but he slows, and that’s all I need.

By the time I turn him back in, My other brother Luke’s already there, calm as ever, easing the pressure on the herd so they settle instead of scatter.

“Fence is worse than it looked,” Luke says, his tone steady, like we aren’t one wrong move away from chasing cattle across half the county.

“No kidding,” I reply, dragging my hat down tighter against the sun as I circle back.

Brooks, my other brother, rides up a second later, his eyes already scanning the line, calculating, always three steps ahead of the rest of us. “We’ll need to reset those posts and reinforce the corner before we move the rest through. If that gives again, we’re gonna lose more than one.”

Wade huffs out a breath, wiping his forearm across his brow. “I’ll grab the tools. Jace, you stay on that side. Last thing we need is another one breaking loose.”

I nod, shifting my horse into position, watching the herd as they settle back into a slow, uneasy rhythm. The noise dies down to the usual sounds, hooves shifting, low calls, the creak of leather and saddle as we all fall back into place like we’ve been doing this our whole lives.

Because we have.

This ranch, this land, this constant push and pull of keeping everything running, it’s always been ours.

I glance out toward the far edge of the property where the Miller land stretches wide and open.

I can picture it without trying. A house set back just enough from the road. Something solid. Something that doesn’t feel temporary.

Something mine.

It’s a strange kind of weight, that thought, settling in where I’m used to nothing sticking for long.

But lately, that itch feels different.

Less like freedom. More like running.

“You planning on daydreaming all afternoon or you gonna help fix this mess?” Wade’s voice cuts through my thoughts, dragging me back.

I let out a quiet breath and shake my head. “Yeah, I’m right here.”

I slide off my horse, boots hitting the ground as I move toward the sagging fence line, grabbing a post and testing it. It shifts too easy, the wood loose in the dirt, and I already know Brooks is right. This isn’t a quick fix.

Nothing worth doing ever is.

We work in rhythm after that, no wasted motion, no extra words. Wade brings the tools, Luke steadies the line, Brooks directs where the new supports need to go, and I drive the post back into place with controlled force, each strike grounding in a way I don’t question.

This is what we do.

This is who we are.

And maybe for the first time, I’m starting to wonder if I’m done pretending I’m anything else.

The sound hits before I see it, low and out of place against the usual quiet stretch of the ranch. An engine. Tires crunching over gravel where nobody should be coming in unannounced.

I straighten slowly, resting the hammer against my thigh as I turn my head toward the road.

A truck’s pulling onto the property, dust trailing behind it as it rolls closer, steady and deliberate like whoever’s driving knows exactly where they’re headed.

Something about it doesn’t sit right.

I can feel it before I can explain it, that subtle shift under my skin, like the air’s gone tight without warning.

And just like that, the easy rhythm of the morning is gone.

I keep my eyes on that truck longer than I should, watching the way it rolls slow like it’s taking in every inch of the place, before I force myself to look away and get back to work. Whatever that is can wait a minute. This fence can’t.

I drive the post deeper, the impact traveling up my arms with each hit, steady and controlled, grounding in a way that keeps my thoughts from drifting too far ahead. Brooks moves in beside me, crouching to check the line, his fingers pressing into the dirt like he’s measuring more than just depth.

“Since we have expanded onto the Miller land, we’ll need to reinforce this whole stretch,” he says, almost like he’s reading the land instead of me. “No sense half doing it.”

I nod, but my attention drifts past him again, out to that open stretch that doesn’t carry the same weight as the rest of this place. It feels different out there. Like it hasn’t decided what it is yet.

I sink the post another inch and set the hammer down, grabbing the wire to pull it tight. The metal bites into my gloves as I work it into place, but my focus slips, caught on a thought that’s been circling for days now and won’t let go.

A house out there.

Not the main place where everything’s loud and full of history that doesn’t always feel like mine, and not the bunkhouse where I’ve spent more nights than I can count.

Something separate. Something I build myself.

I don’t realize I’ve gone still until Luke steps up beside me, steady as always, his presence quiet but solid.

“You good?” he asks, low enough it doesn’t carry.

I let out a breath, rubbing a hand along the back of my neck before I look back out toward Miller land. “You ever think about building out there?”

It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, and it lands heavier than I expect.

Luke doesn’t answer right away. He just follows my line of sight, taking in the same stretch of open ground before he looks back at me.

“For you?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I shift my weight, picking the hammer back up just so I’ve got something to do with my hands. “Something that’s mine. Not part of the main place. Just… something I don’t walk away from.”

The words feel rough coming out, but I don’t take them back.

Luke studies me for a second, calm as ever. “Sounds like you’re trying to figure out where you plant your roots. Maybe even slowing down on the rodeo.”

I give a quiet huff, driving the hammer down once, then again, the impact steadying something inside me. “Thinking about it and doing it aren’t the same thing.”

“No,” he agrees easily. “But it’s a start. And yeah, I think slowing down on the rodeo. At least for now while I build it.”

I lean into the fence, testing the line, making sure it holds. It does. Solid. Strong. Exactly how it should be.

Exactly how I’ve never been.

“I don’t exactly have a track record,” I say finally, keeping my voice low.

“Track records can change,” Brooks cuts in from behind us, straightening up and brushing dirt from his hands. “We’re not kids anymore, Jace. Ranch is growing whether we like it or not. Miller lands part of that.”

Wade walks back up then, a bundle of tools in one hand and that familiar edge still riding his expression. “And if we’re taking it on, we’re doing it right. No cutting corners.” His gaze flicks to me. “That includes whatever you’re thinking about building out there.”

I meet his stare, holding it for a beat before I nod. “I’m not looking to cut corners.”

That’s the truth, even if it feels unfamiliar.

I don’t just want a house. I want a place that proves I can finish something. That I can stay.

I reach for the hammer again, giving the post one last firm strike before stepping back to look at the line we’ve reset. It holds steady, no give, no weak spots left to exploit.

For a second, I imagine that same kind of strength stretched out across Miller land.

“Jace,” Wade calls, pulling me out of it again, his tone sharper this time.

I turn, following his line of sight back toward the road.

That truck hasn’t stopped at the gate.

It’s coming straight for us.

Dust rolls in thick behind it as the truck keeps coming without slowing, steady and direct, like whoever’s behind the wheel doesn’t care how things are usually done out here.

Wade straightens beside me, his posture shifting just enough that I can tell he’s clocking it too. “You expecting someone?” he asks, though his tone already says he knows the answer.

I shake my head, my gaze still fixed on the approaching vehicle. “No.”

Brooks steps up on my other side, wiping his hands on his jeans as he watches it close the distance. “Maybe someone from town?”

“Not driving like that,” Luke mutters, calm but alert, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The herd starts to shift again, uneasy with the noise and movement, and I move automatically, stepping back into position to keep them from spooking. My body goes through the motions, but my focus is split now, caught between the cattle and that truck that’s getting closer by the second.

It finally slows as it nears the working pens, dust settling around it in a slow drift that hangs in the air. The engine cuts, leaving behind a sudden kind of quiet that feels louder than the noise did.