10. Denton
DENTON
We wake at the crack of dawn and follow the smell of fresh biscuits coming from the main house.
Biscuits and gravy, crispy bacon, and scrambled eggs are out buffet style.
We all grab a plate and dig in. If we keep eating like this, I‘ll be a few inches thicker by the time this week is over. Jo’s cooking beats the hell out of the sad gas station sandwiches and energy drinks we usually live on.
I hoped the coffee I drank this morning would perk me up, but now I just feel anxious and jittery.
Even with a full stomach and night of rest, I can’t shake the nerves creeping in.
I’m stoked for the cattle drive. I’ve been on the road so long I’m ready to be one with nature.
No more bright lights and dark hangovers.
My body needs a reset and I think this is exactly what will do it.
But Sorrel has me all twisted up. I can’t get a read on her.
I thought we had a spark at the rodeo, that easy kind of connection that doesn’t come around often…
But maybe I imagined it. Or maybe the punch I took gave me a mild case of romantic dementia, who knows?
Either way, it’s time to cowboy up. I’m not gonna be just some tourist playing dress-up.
I want to prove to her, and maybe to myself, that I’m not just the shallow country music star she thinks I am.
I’ll make her see that if it’s the last thing I do.
Denton Reed is no quitter. I wouldn't be where I am today if I were.
I couldn’t wait to get in the saddle. Sutton gave us a good berating for twenty minutes on safety and horsemanship. I was surprised she didn’t knock Johnny upside the head when he pretended to get on his horse backward.
Sorrel paired me with a young mare named Whiskey.
She’s a cute palomino quarter horse on the taller side, but to my surprise she’s mean as hell.
Every time I ask her to move forward, she pins her ears and swishes her tail.
One of the ranch hands promised me she was the best ranch horse they have, but I’m not sure I believe him.
The saddle creaks under me like it’s trying to warn me—quit now while you can.
I’ve rode horses before—broncs when I did rodeo, and putted around on my sister's old horse Tank. But this? This is a whole different experience. It feels like I’m driving a Ferrari, and I’m not sure which buttons are safe or which one might send me into launch mode. Lord help me.
The Montana sun isn’t even high yet, but my thighs already hate me, and I’m starting to think my cowboy hat is more for show than shade.
Up ahead, Sorrel sits her horse like she’d been born in that saddle.
Quiet, focused, and heart-stoppingly beautiful.
She pays me zero attention, focusing on the task at hand.
I’m not used to that. I’m used to women looking at me like I’m the damn prize.
But Sorrel? She doesn’t bat an eye when I smile at her.
Just keeps riding and ignoring me like I’m another tourist trying not to fall off.
“You cowboy’s good back there?” Ryder calls back with a smirk.
I throw on a grin. “Hanging in there. Saddle’s just gettin’ to know me is all.”
Everyone chuckles, and I let it roll off me.
Humor has always been my go-to—it’s like armor.
But I can’t stop the flicker of irritation in my gut.
Not at Ryder. At myself. Because I don’t like being the rookie.
I don’t like not knowing the rules. I built a whole career on looking like I have it all together, and out here… I’m all hat and no cattle. Literally.
Johnny rides up next to Sorrel and starts talking her ear off. That boy is a rambler, but maybe he can soften her up for me a little. Put in a few good words.
I keep catching myself watching them—trying to figure her out like a locked door.
I don’t know if I should knock or kick it in.
She has a wall up, that much I can tell.
It feels as sharp as barbed wire. And part of me knows I should leave it alone.
She made it clear this isn’t anything. I have to stop believing all the stories in my head that I call a love song. Real life doesn’t work like that.
The cattle are already moving. Black Angus cows and their calves are winding through the rolling hills. All around I can hear the sound of saddles squeaking, hooves on dirt, and the low bellow of a calf calling for its mama.
The sharp whistle from a ranch hand brings me out of my daze.
Sorrel starts calling out directions to the hands.
She breaks into a trot, her long braid swinging behind her as she rides, catching the sunshine.
She’s so stunning. This isn’t some hobby for her.
It blows my mind that this is her life. Hard-earned, gritty, and unshakably real. Talk about actually living.
I kick my horse into a trot and catch up with Johnny and Parker, who are trying their best not to look like a couple of city boys flopping around on the back of their horses.
They’re definitely country boys, not cowboys.
Grady trots up next to the rest of us. He looks like his ass feels the same way mine does.
The saddle is riding him, and he’s hurting.
“Man, I don't know how the hell people do this for a living,” Grady says.
I smirk looking over at him. “Don’t worry. Your ass will have enough calluses by the end of the week.”
“I’d prefer my rear end to stay as soft as a baby’s bottom. The ladies like it better that way.”
“No girl cares about the way your ass feels, Grady,” Parker cuts in.
“How the hell would you know?”
“Your bunk’s under mine. I know exactly how many women you’ve brought on the bus.”
“The both of you have gotten more action from your left hands than any women,” says Johnny.
“Yeah, yeah, we all know you're the ladies’ man, Johnny, no need to brag,” Grady replies.
I just laugh and shake my head. Johnny has his shirt unbuttoned down to his belly button and jeans tucked into his boots. I have no idea how he pulls so many beautiful women. He is a ladies’ man no doubt.
I see him making eyes over at Sutton and I nudge Parker to give him a smack.
“Ouch! What was that for?”
“Don’t look at Sorrel's sister that way. She's a married woman,” I tell him.
“Fine,” he sighs. “What else am I supposed to look at then?”
I gesture to the land around us, but my eye catches on Sorrel. It’s fucking impossible not to get lost in her beauty, but I force my gaze away and take in the scene before me.
The Saxxon Ranch stretches out in every direction like a picture on a postcard. It’s hard to believe places like this really exist when you’ve been living in a concrete jungle for so long.
The mountains loom in the distance, quiet sentinels keeping watch over the valley. Wildflowers dance in the breeze along the fence line, and the smell of damp earth and grass fills the air. This place isn’t just beautiful. It’s alive.
There’s something so freeing about it all.
Out here, you can’t fake it. The land doesn’t care who you are or what stage you played on last. Either you ride or you don't. Either you work or you get out of the way.
And I want to work. I want to be a part of this.
If only for a little while—and maybe, just maybe, earn another look from the woman riding ahead of me like she owns the whole damn world.