Chapter Twenty-Five
Axle
The July sun beats down on the ranch yard, turning the dust golden and warming the back of my neck beneath my hat.
Sweat slides down my spine.
My horse shifts beneath me, muscles bunching as another Black Angus calf tries to break from the herd.
“Not today, buddy.”
I guide my gelding sideways and cut the calf off before it can squeeze through a gap in the fencing.
The animal bawls in protest.
Beside me, Royce swings his horse wide, pushing another cluster toward the chute.
Dad works the opposite side, his movements smooth and practiced, like always.
The three of us move around the herd in perfect rhythm, and the cattle flow exactly where we want them.
Behind the chute, Cabe and Micah are waiting.
Each calf gets funneled through. Micah swipes alcohol across an ear, and Cabe punches in a tag.
Grandpa Earl stands nearby with the tagging tool and disinfectant, overseeing the operation with the stern expression of a man who still believes nobody can do anything correctly except him.
“Next one!” Micah yells.
A calf shoots through.
He grabs it, and Cabe tags it.
The calf explodes forward.
The process repeats. Again and again.
We’ve been at this shit for hours.
It’s hard work—the kind of work a man can hang his hat on at night and be proud of.
Dad rides alongside me as another calf moves through. His eyes drift over the operation, and the satisfaction on his face is impossible to miss.
“You know,” he says, “it’s good, having all my boys home.”
I snort. “Don’t get used to it.”
Royce laughs from the opposite side.
Dad grins. “Trust me, I know better than that.”
I guide another calf toward the chute.
“You two will be back on the circuit before you know it. Fall’s coming fast.”
The smile never leaves his face. His gaze sweeps over Royce. Then me. Then Cabe and Micah.
“I’m just enjoying it while it lasts.”
Something in his voice settles heavily in my chest because I know exactly what he means. The older I get, the more I understand that these moments become rarer. Everybody’s growing up—building lives, chasing careers, falling in love, moving away.
The ranch stays the same, but the people don’t. And your time with your loved ones is precious.
Dad understands that better than anybody.
A few minutes later, the sound of hoofbeats catches my attention.
I glance toward the round pen. Charli is riding one of the ranch’s boarded horses. Even from here, I can tell she’s putting the gelding through his paces.
The horse responds beautifully. No surprise there. Charli could probably train a grizzly if somebody put a saddle on it.
Eventually, she dismounts and heads in our direction.
She leans against the fence and watches us work. Offering plenty of criticism, but no help.
“I know you can cut a calf better than that, Royce Trust. Don’t let that baby show you up.”
Royce tips his hat. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome.”
Dad chuckles.
A few minutes later, Delmar’s truck comes down the drive and stops by the pen. Jovie steps out of the passenger door.
Damn.
The thought arrives before I can stop it.
She’s wearing a white sundress.
Simple.
Nothing fancy.
But the fabric looks incredible against her sun-kissed skin.
The Wyoming sunshine has painted her golden over the last few weeks, and her legs seem about three miles long. Tanned. Bare. The dress catches in the breeze as she crosses the yard toward Charli, and I look away quickly. Because that thought shouldn’t have happened.
When I glance back, she’s laughing at something Charli said.
The sound drifts across the yard.
I force my attention on the cattle.
A calf bolts, and I turn my horse.
Work. Focus on work.
I circle the calf around and lead it to the chute just as Cabe notices Jovie. And the second he sees her, his face changes. Nothing dramatic, just a small smile—something that says she’s important.
He walks over to the fence while Micah handles the next calf.
Jovie shifts closer, and they start talking.
They look good together.
Natural.
The familiar tightness returns to my chest. The one I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist. The one I absolutely refuse to examine too closely.
Thankfully, Grandpa Earl saves me.
His voice booms across the yard, “That’s the last one!”
The final tagged calf disappears into the pasture.
Grandpa holds up the tagging tool triumphantly. “Good job, boys. Now let’s go eat!”
The reaction is instant. Micah practically sprints. Royce, Cabe, and Jovie follow. Within seconds, everybody is moving toward food.
Everybody except me.
I slide from my horse slowly and loosen my gelding’s cinch. Pat his neck and lead him toward the barn.
The quiet feels good until I hear footsteps crunch beside me.
“Did you see the new roping dummy?” Charli asks.
I blink. “What?”
“The roping dummy.” She keeps pace beside me. “The one that got delivered to the academy yesterday.”
“Oh, right. I did.”
She launches into an explanation about improved mechanics, a different mounting system, and the training benefits.
I try listening. I really do. But halfway through her explanation, my attention drifts toward the ranch house.
The wraparound porch is crowded now.
Uncle Albert and Matty sit at the large table. Grandma Evelyn and Momma are carrying out platters loaded with sandwiches and pitchers of iced tea.
Enough food to feed a small army. Or one large ranch family.
Jovie and Cabe are seated side by side. Talking and laughing with Harleigh and Porter.
My eyes linger longer than they should.
Long enough that I completely miss whatever Charli just said.
“Axle?”
“Hmm?”
She stops walking, but I don’t until I realize she’s no longer beside me.
I turn, and she’s staring at me. One eyebrow raised.
“What?”
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I scrunch my nose.
The question catches me completely off guard.
“Of course I am.”
She folds her arms. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Then repeat what I just said.”
“Something about”—I gesture vaguely—“roping.”
Charli’s eyes narrow, and she plants both hands on her hips.
The expression is one I’ve seen countless times. Usually right before she loses her shit on somebody.
Unfortunately, that somebody appears to be me.
“Axle Trust.”
I sigh.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
I stare at her. “I’m trying to put my horse up and go home.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” she snaps.
“I have no clue what the hell you’re on about.”
She doesn’t respond right away.
Instead, she glances past me. Toward the porch. Then back to me.
Great.
Charli clocked it.
Of course she did. The woman notices everything.
“You need to be very careful,” she says.
I laugh once, but it isn’t funny. “About what?”
She just stares.
I glance over my shoulder.
Jovie chooses that exact moment to jerk her gaze away from me and look down at her plate.
Fuck.
When I turn back, Charli is watching me closely.
“I’m not doing a damn thing.”
“You sure about that? Because it looks like you’re playing with fire.”
“Positive.”
She nods once. “Good. Because that’s one match that can’t be extinguished once you strike it. And it’ll burn a lot of people.”
I exhale slowly. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
I look toward the porch again. Toward Cabe, toward Jovie, and their twenty years of history.
“You know me, Charli. I’m not the kind of man who plays with somebody else’s matches.”
Her expression shifts.
Then she glances toward the porch again and lifts her chin.
I follow her gaze.
Jovie’s looking this direction again. The second our eyes meet, she looks away.
Again.
“She may not be anybody else’s match, but you have to know for sure.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, she is.”
“Is she?”
“Come on, Charli.”
I don’t even understand why we’re having this conversation. Cabe loves her. Everybody knows it.
Maybe they’re not together. Maybe they never will be. But that doesn’t erase everything between them.
Charli studies me quietly. “And if she wasn’t?”
I bark out a laugh. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
Because it doesn’t. Because I leave in a few months. Because my life is rodeos and highways and motel rooms. Because I’m twenty-nine years old and still living out of duffel bags half the year. Because I’ve never had a serious relationship. Never wanted one.
Take your pick.
All of them are true.
“I’m a selfish, busted-up cowboy who doesn’t do relationships.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please.”
“No, seriously.” I point toward myself. “I’m nobody’s match.”
That earns me a look. The kind Charli reserves for particularly stupid statements.
“My home is rotating motel rooms.”
“Motels aren’t homes, Ax.”
“Exactly. And no woman wants that for more than a night.”
There have been women. Plenty of women. Rodeo circuit. After-parties. Weekend flings. Nothing that lasted. Nothing that mattered. Nothing that required effort.
I drag a hand across the back of my neck. “I wouldn’t even know how to be more than a good time for someone.”
Charli stares at me for several seconds.
Then a smile slowly appears.
“What?”
“Someone said something similar to me once.”
I already know what she’s gonna say next.
“I’m not Bryce.”
“No, you’re not. But you two are cut from the same cloth.”
I snort.
“That man was a disaster before I came along.” She grins. “But look at him now.”
Bryce Raintree used to be the definition of restless.
Now he’s settled. Happy. And planning a wedding.
Life is weird.
Charli’s expression softens.
“And for the record?”
I wait.
“You do have a home. The road is where you work.”
I open my mouth.
She cuts me off, “The rodeos are where you work. The motels are where you sleep.”
Then she points toward the ranch house. The barn. The pasture. The mountains. Everything around us.
“This is your home.” Charli smiles. “We are your home. And when you’re all done chasing the thrill, it and all of us will still be here.”
I look toward the porch. Toward my family. Toward laughter drifting through the summer air.
Toward a white sundress glowing in the sunlight.
Charli follows my gaze and adds quietly, “And whoever you bring back with you.”
“I thought you were trying to talk me out of something stupid, not into it.”
Charli laughs. “Oh, I am. The warning still stands. But I know how warnings go in a cowboy’s ear and out the other. Whatever you do, just make sure it’s worth the consequences.”
On that note, she turns and starts toward the house.