Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Lawson
The house is still when I wake up.
Just that thin, quiet that settles in before dawn, when the world is getting its last bit of sleep before it has to rise to the challenge of a new day. And as I lay there, I quickly realize sleep is no longer my companion, no matter how hard I try.
So, I don’t fight it.
By the time I’m in the office, the sun hasn’t even thought about rising, and the only light comes from the desk lamp and the faint gray-blue glow creeping in through the window.
I’m one cup of coffee and five signatures in when my pen starts to feel just a bit too heavy.
Vendor invoices first. The feed supplier out of Billings with a late delivery credit noted in the margin in Lincoln’s handwriting.
And checks for the weekend ranch hands. Next is insurance paperwork.
Livestock coverage, equipment liability, and property.
I scan all of the paperwork automatically, muscle memory doing the work while my brain runs a parallel track that hasn’t shut off since well…
ever. But even more so since Abigail was taken.
It’s all the kind of paperwork that is necessary.
The kind that keeps the ranch alive. Lincoln flagged the pages that need my approval, neat and precise, like everything he does, but I can’t help but scan the entirety of the documents anyway.
It’s my job. Not that I don’t trust my brother.
He’s good at this. Too good, considering how much he hates it.
Which is exactly why I make it a point to review everything just as he would.
I flip another page before dragging my hand down my face.
My brother loves his job. He loves what he does for the ranch.
But he loves what Jasper, Beau, and I get to do more.
I’m not too naive to recognize that he’d rather be on horseback, checking fence lines, working animals, or hell, even mucking stalls with the rest of us.
Because, despite how incredible he is at being Lincoln Taylor, the lawyer, I know most days he just wants to be Lincoln.
And yet, he does his job. Every time.
Without complaint.
Because he has to.
I don’t tell him enough how grateful I am for what he does. I don’t tell any of them enough.
Taking a sip of coffee, I let my gaze drift across the home office. This room may be new, but this desk has seen decades of decisions made for Willow Creek Ranch. Some good. Some bad. And some that cost blood and bone and things we never talk about out loud.
It’s a responsibility the four of us share, each of our roles having a tendency to feel heavier for the person who carries them.
Lincoln shoulders most of the burden from where I’m sitting now, and I don’t know how I’d keep this place running without him.
Or Jasper.
He keeps the money flowing. Keeps our names in rooms we’d never otherwise step foot in.
He plays the long game—investments, endorsements, appearances—all while riding bulls that could kill him if they got the chance.
He’s reckless with his body, so the rest of us can be steady with our lives.
It may be a sport he loves, but it’s one that’s always come at a cost. Which is why I’m glad Abigail finally gave him a chance to take a step back.
And Beau—
My jaw tightens a fraction at the thought of him.
Beau doesn’t just fill gaps. He becomes them.
He knows what needs doing before anyone says it.
Knows the land like he’s the one who was born on it.
Not me. He knows the animals like they speak a language only he understands, and he tends to them as if they were a part of him.
He’s the kind of man who doesn’t need credit to give everything he has.
He just gives because it’s who he is.
We’re not just partners.
The four of us… We’re a system.
The perfect team.
Because somehow, against every odd stacked against us, we work.
I sign another page, then pause, pen hovering, as last night flashes back before my eyes.
The front door opening. Beau stepping inside with Abigail tucked against his chest, her bare legs draped over his arms, and his shirt hanging loose on her frame, looking more perfect on her than any expensive gown ever could.
She looked… brighter.
Not healed. Not untouched by what she’d been through. But lighter. Like something heavy had finally loosened its grip.
I hadn’t missed the flush in her cheeks, or the way her fingers curled around Beau’s arm, or the way that he held her. Not possessive or showy, but like she was a part of him.
I knew what they had done the moment I spotted them.
It was obvious.
And not once did I feel that sharp edge of jealousy that one might assume I’d feel. No. All I felt was relief spreading through my chest like a slow, steady warmth.
Because she needed that.
Beau did too.
Because she deserves to be loved when she asks for it. To be held. To be chosen without question over and over again.
Isn’t that the point of all of this anyway?
The four of us loving her.
I set the pen down and exhale slowly through my nose. “I love her,” I say into the empty room. Even though it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, the words don’t sound strange. They don’t feel dramatic or ill-timed. They just feel… right.
I never meant for this to happen.
I’d built my life around certainty. Around responsibility. The ranch, my family, the land beneath my boots. I thought that was enough. I thought it’d always be enough. It had to be.
I was content being what everyone else needed. Being steady.
Reliable.
Unshakable.
Love was messy.
Love was a liability.
But now…
Now, Abigail is threaded through every thought I have.
In such a short time, she has become the reason for it all.
Her laugh. The way she tilts her head when she’s thinking or plays with her sleeves when she’s nervous. The quiet strength she carries even when she doesn’t realize it’s there. The way she fits into this place like the Willow trees around the creek.
She’s part of it now.
She’s family.
She belongs.
I picture it without trying to.
Years from now. When the ranch is older—weathered fence posts silvered by sun and snow, the barn doors bearing new scars layered over old ones.
The land still breathing. Still alive. Still ours.
I picture mornings that start slower. Coffee cooling in our hands while the sun climbs over the mountains like it’s done a million times before.
I picture dust on boots that don’t move quite as fast anymore and laughter lines etched deep from lives actually lived.
I see wrinkled hands. Stiffer joints. Gray creeping in where dark hair once lived. But still together. Still choosing each other every single day, not because it’s easy, but because it’s right. Because we’ve already weathered the worst and come out the other side standing shoulder to shoulder.
I see Abigail there, in the fields, on the back of a horse, on the front step with a smile on her face.
I want to grow old with her.
With them.
I want us to be the men who slide a ring onto her finger and mean it with every ounce of our beings. I want to see her beam with pride when she looks down at it—not because it’s big or expensive, but because it’s a promise. Because it says she’s chosen. It says she’s home. With us.
I want her to carry our babies. I want—
The thought stills the breath inside my chest. Not just the idea of children, but of her—rounded and glowing, fierce and soft all at once.
I picture small boots by the door. Hands clutching at denim.
Little voices echoing through these halls.
I picture Beau teaching them how to feed horses, Jasper sneaking them sugar when he thinks no one’s watching, Lincoln patiently explaining the world like it makes sense if you just take the time to listen.
I bark out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, the sound sharp in the stillness.
Jesus Christ.
What would that even look like? The world doesn’t exactly make room for relationships like ours. I mean, we can’t all marry her. Can we? And if Abigail got pregnant—if she carried a piece of us into this world—
I’m having a hard time breathing.
Would each of us be the father? Would it matter whose blood it was?
Or would it simply be ours? Would love outweigh genetics?
Would it matter who the world thought the child belonged to, as long as he or she was safe, protected, and surrounded by people who would burn the world down before letting harm touch them?
The questions pile up faster than I can sort them, each one heavier than the last.
I scrub my hand over my face and push back from the desk, standing abruptly like distance might put some space between me and the way my thoughts are spiraling out of control.
I’m not sure I’m ready to answer any of it.
And yet… I know I want it.
All of it.
Even if I don’t yet understand how.
And that’s enough to leave me standing here, heart pounding, caught somewhere between fear and hope. Between the man I’ve always been and the life I suddenly can’t imagine living without.
That’s when my phone rings.
The sound is sharp and immediate.
I see Sebastian’s name on the screen and grab it before it can ring a second time.
My pulse spikes even more.
“Talk to me,” I say the moment I answer.
“Found them,” Sebastian says, voice low and clipped.
“The Coates brothers?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I move back to the desk, planting my hand flat against the wood. “Where?”
Sebastian exhales. “Not far. They didn’t go as far as I thought they did. They’re holed up about two hours out—remote, but not invisible. There’s someone else with them. I’m assuming someone tied to Keller. I’m running facial recognition on him now, but I wanted to call you right away.”
My jaw tightens. “Send me everything. Coordinates. Names. Anything you’ve got.”
“It’s already on its way.” I close my eyes for half a second. “Are you sure you don’t want us there? We can be there before noon.”
The sight of Abigail falling down the embankment flashes through my mind. “No. We’ve got this.”
This is it.
“Alright. Well, it doesn’t look like they’re planning to be there for more than a few more days.”
“They won’t get the chance to move,” I say.
“Call us if you change your mind. I’ll send over the information on the other guy once I have it.”
“Thanks, Sebastian.”
When the call ends, the office feels different. Charged. Like the air itself knows something has shifted.
Straightening, I mentally catalogue what comes next. What needs to be done. How to protect what’s ours.
Because that’s what this is now.
Not revenge.
Not business.
But protection.
And Abigail is at the center of it.
She’s at the center of everything.