Chapter 32
SEBASTIAN
The alarm on my phone goes off at five thirty. I roll out of bed and pull on jeans, a thermal shirt, a flannel over that and the boots I wore yesterday. Ranch work clothes, nothing fancy. The kind of outfit that says I know what I’m doing, even if Warren’s about to test that assumption.
I head downstairs to find the kitchen already lit, coffee brewing, and Warren at the table drinking from a mug that says World’s Best Dad in faded letters.
“Morning,” I say.
“Drake.” He gestures to the coffee pot. “Help yourself. You’ll need it.”
I pour a cup and lean against the counter. “What’s the plan for today?”
“Morning chores start at six. Feeding, checking water lines, moving some cattle to fresh pasture. Cole’s got you for that.
Around nine, Cage takes over, mending fence line, fixing gates, general maintenance.
I’ve got you after lunch for the hard stuff.
” Warren’s smile is grim. “We’ll see how much California has softened you. ”
“I’m ready.”
“We’ll see.” He stands, draining his coffee. “Fair warning, my kids have been working on this ranch since they could walk. They know every inch of it, know how things are done here. You keep up, you earn respect.”
The back door opens, and Cole appears, dressed for work, his expression neutral. “Is he ready?”
“Says he is,” Warren replies. “Take him through the full rotation. Don’t go easy just because he’s family.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Cole looks at me. “You got gloves?”
“In my truck.”
“Get them. You’re gonna need them.”
I grab my work gloves from the rental truck and follow Cole toward the barn. The sun is just starting to lighten the eastern sky, enough to see but not enough to feel any warmth. My breath fogs in the cold air.
“So,” Cole says as we walk. “You really married my sister after three months?”
“Yes.”
“And you expect us to believe it’s real? That you’re not just, I don’t know, using her for something?”
I think about last night. About Lennox coming to my room, desperate to forget. About the way she responded to me despite everything. About the complexity of what we are trying to build.
“It’s real,” I answer. “Maybe not in the way you’re thinking. But it’s real.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got right now.”
Cole stops at the barn entrance. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Len. But she’s my sister. And she left here strong, only to come back looking broken. So whatever you’re doing to her in Texas, fix it. Or I’ll fix you.”
“Fair enough.”
“Good. Now let’s see if you can actually work.” He pulls open the barn door. “Feeding first. Forty head in the close pasture, another sixty in the north section. Each gets specific amounts based on age and condition. You mess it up, they get sick. Got it?”
“Got it.”
For the next three hours, I work. Not directing ranch hands, reviewing reports or making executive decisions. But actual physical labor that makes my back ache and my hands cramp.
Measuring feed. Loading it onto trucks. Driving out to pastures and distributing it while cattle press around us, demanding and impatient. Moving cattle from one pasture to another with practiced efficiency that Cole makes look easy but requires constant attention.
The whole time, Cole watches. Looking for mistakes, for weakness, for signs I’m faking competence.
I don’t give him any.
I grew up doing this work. Yes, I’ve built resorts in California. Yes, I’ve spent the last decade in boardrooms as much as on horseback. But the fundamentals are still there. The muscle memory. The understanding of cattle behavior. The knowledge of how ranches actually run.
By nine, when Cage takes over, I’m sweating despite the cool temperatures, and my shoulders ache from hauling feed bags. But I keep up. Haven’t complained. Haven’t asked for a break.
Cole nods grudging approval. “You’ll do. Cage’s got you now. Try not to bleed too much on the fence wire.”
Cage is less talkative than Cole. He just hands me tools and puts me to work on a section of fence that has been damaged during the winter. Wire cutters, pliers, new wire, T-posts that need to be driven into near-frozen ground.
Hard, physical labor that has nothing to do with business decisions or profit margins. Just work that needs doing.
“You always do your own fence work in Texas?” Cage asks around ten, watching me wrestle with a stubborn post.
“When I’m there, yes. I’ve got hands who do most of it, but I like to stay sharp. Remember what the actual work feels like.”
“Len said you own resorts, too. Fancy California places.”
“I do.”
“Seems like a weird combination. Ranching and hospitality.”
“Different revenue streams. Same principles, though: understand your product, take care of your assets, build something that lasts.” I yank the post straight. “Plus, it lets me do both. Help when I’m in Texas, oversee the resorts from anywhere with internet.”
“Must be nice. Being rich enough to do whatever you want.”
“It has advantages.” I move to the next post. “But money doesn’t solve every problem.”
“Solves enough of them, though, right?” Cage’s tone is pointed. “Like debt. Like situations that force people into corners. Like buying your way out of consequences.”
He knows. Maybe not everything, but enough to understand I used money to get something—rather, someone—I wanted.
“Money solves transactional problems,” I say carefully. “It doesn’t solve human problems. It doesn’t make people trust you, respect you or want to stay with you. Those things you have to earn.”
“And have you? Earned those things with Len?”
“I’m trying to.”
“Try harder.” Cage moves down the fence line. “Because she’s my sister. And if you’re just using her, if this is just some rich guy power trip, I’ll make your life hell. Ranch connections run deep. A word from Warren Briggs about Sebastian Drake being a bastard who mistreats women travels fast.”
The threat is real. Rural communities protect their own, and one bad reputation could destroy business relationships that took generations to build.
“Understood,” I say. “And for what it’s worth, I’m not trying to use her. I’m trying to build something with her. Even if it started as something else.”
Cage studies me for a long moment. “We’ll see.”
We work until lunch, fixing the fence and gates, and a section of the corral that has rotted over winter. My hands are blistered despite gloves, my back screaming from bending and lifting, and I’m pretty sure I’ve pulled something in my shoulder.
But I keep up. Don’t complain. I show Cage I can work.
Lunch is sandwiches at the main house. Lennox is there, helping Grace in the kitchen, and when our eyes meet, I see wariness. Like she isn’t sure who I’ll be today: the man from last night or someone else entirely.
I give her a small smile, and she walks up to my side. Instinctively, I put my arm around her and pull her close. Lennox moves her hand to my chest, and all the exhaustion that was settling in leaves my body. She’s why I’m doing this.
“Is everything okay?” she asks as she looks up at me.
“It’s good,” I whisper, which does very little to change the worry in her eyes, so I lean down and kiss her. Our lips touch, and all the sound in the kitchen fades away, and for a brief moment it’s just us.
Someone clears their throat, and I pull away from her and smile. The worry in her features eases, and a pink flush appears on her cheeks, one that I’m going to need to see more often.
After lunch, Warren takes over.
“Afternoon’s the hard part,” he says, leading me back outside. “Morning’s just maintenance. Now we do the work that actually tests you.”
What follows is three hours of the most physically demanding labor I’ve done in years.
Moving equipment that is too heavy for one person, but Warren refuses to get help.
Digging out a water line that froze last winter and needs repairs now.
Hauling hay bales from the storage barn to various locations around the ranch.
Work designed to break me. To prove I’m soft, useless, unworthy of his daughter.
But I’ve been trained by Walker Drake. A man who believes in pushing until you break or you prove you’re unbreakable. This is nothing compared to the tests my own father has put me through.
So I work. Lifting when Warren tells me to. Hauling what he tells me to haul. Digging where he tells me to dig, and doing everything he instructs me to do from the window of his truck.
By three o’clock, I’m breathing hard and sweating. Warren looks at me with something that might be respect.
“You’re stronger than I expected,” he admits.
“Thank you.”
“But strength isn’t everything. You can work a ranch and still be a bastard to the people in your life.” He shifts in his seat. “Your father, Walker. I’ve heard he’s a hard man.”
“That’s putting it mildly. He built an empire by being ruthless. Taught me the same lessons. Control equals power. Ownership equals security. Never show weakness.” I pause.
“And Lennox is teaching you something different?”
“Whether she means to or not, yes.”
Warren is quiet for a long moment, looking out over his ranch. The land he’s built, the legacy he’s created.
“I’m going to tell you something,” he finally says.
“And you’re going to listen. My ex-wife, Lennox’s mother, was mean, and I took the blame.
I let the kids believe that she left because of me, because I’m a bastard.
And don’t get me wrong, I am, but I don’t want the kids hating her.
It’s one thing to hate your father; it’s a completely different beast to hate your mother.
When she left, it broke something in all of us. ”
“I’m sorry—”
“Let me finish.” Warren’s voice is rough.
“After she left, I made mistakes. Tried to control my kids’ lives because I couldn’t control losing her.
Pushed Lennox into expectations she didn’t choose.
Made plans for her future without asking what she wanted.
And she ran. All the way to California to escape me. ”
“She didn’t run from you.”
“Yes, she did. And I don’t blame her. I was treating her like my property, like something I owned instead of someone I loved.” He looks at me. “Sound familiar?”
The parallel is obvious. Impossible to miss.
“Yes, sir.”
“So here’s what I’m telling you. You’ve got a choice, Sebastian.
You can be the man who owns her, who controls her, who treats her like property for two years until she’s free.
Or you can be the man who loves her, who respects her, who builds something real with her that will last beyond the dates on that contract.
” Warren stands. “But you can’t be both.
Eventually, you’re going to have to choose.
And whatever you choose, that’s who you’ll be for the rest of your life. ”
“I’m choosing love.” The words come out before I can stop them. “I don’t know if I know how. But I’m choosing to try.”
“Good.” Warren extends his hand. “Then you’ve earned my respect. And my permission to take my daughter back to Texas. But if you hurt her, if you break her, if you make me regret this decision, there’s nowhere far enough for you to run. Are we clear?”
“Crystal clear, sir.” I shake his hand, feeling the weight of the promise. “I won’t hurt her. Not intentionally. Not any more.”
“See that you don’t.” He gestures toward the house. “Go clean up. Dinner’s at six. And tomorrow morning, you take Lennox home. But you remember what I said. You’ve got a choice to make. Make the right one.”
I walk back to the house in the fading afternoon light, my body screaming from nine hours of hard labor, my mind racing with Warren’s words.
You can’t be both. Eventually, you’re going to have to choose.
Owner or husband. Property or partner. Control or love.
The choice should be easy. But nothing about this situation is easy.
Inside, I head upstairs to shower off the day’s work. The hot water feels like heaven on abused muscles, and I stand under it until my skin is red and wrinkled.
When I emerge, I find Lennox waiting in the hallway outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey.”
“My brothers said you kept up today.”
“Your father’s testing was pretty thorough.”
“And?”
“And I think I passed. He’s letting me take you back to Texas tomorrow.” I move closer. “The question is, do you want to go?”
She looks at me for a long moment, and I see the war playing out in her eyes. Safety versus unknown. Family versus husband. Montana versus Texas.
“Yes,” she finally says. “I want to go back. I want to make this work.”
Relief floods through me. “Okay. Then we’ll leave tomorrow after breakfast.”
“Sebastian?” She catches my hand. “Last night.”
“Was what you needed. I’m not reading more into it than that.”
“Good. Because I don’t know what it means. Just that I needed it.” She pauses. “Thank you. For being what I needed instead of what you demanded.”
“You’re welcome.” I squeeze her hand. “Now let’s survive dinner with your family. Tomorrow we go home and figure out the rest.”