Chapter 22-Micah
“Fucking piece of shit.”
The words echo around the cryogenics building as I glare at the control panel that's been ruining my morning.
One damn circuit.
One.
That's all that's standing between us and several million dollars' worth of champion genetics staying safely frozen.
Jersey Iron Ranch doesn't just sell semen straws.
We sell decades of selective breeding.
Champion bloodlines.
The future of cattle operations all over the country.
When the cryogenic system throws a tantrum, everybody drops what they're doing.
Especially me.
I tighten the last connection, secure the housing panel, and flip the breaker.
The compressors hum.
Pressure normalizes.
The digital display flashes green.
Temperature begins its steady climb back to where it belongs.
I watch it another thirty seconds just to be sure.
Then finally...
“There you go.”
I slap the side of the unit.
“Behave.”
Beside me, Alex lets out a breath.
“Well... that sucked.”
I slowly turn my head.
Glare.
He immediately takes a strategic step backward.
“I was agreeing with you,” he says.
“Uh-huh.”
“It really did suck.”
“It sucked because somebody ignored the maintenance schedule.”
“I didn't—”
“You.”
I point at him.
“Did.”
“I forgot once.”
“You forgot.”
“Just once,” he murmurs like a petulant child.
I stare.
He has the decency to look sheepish.
“You're lucky I like you.”
“I knew you cared.”
“I didn't say that.”
He grins anyway.
Idiot.
I swear.
I scrub my hands clean at the utility sink, the scent of industrial soap barely masking the lingering smell of liquid nitrogen, machine grease, and frozen bull jizz.
My glamorous life.
The back door swings open.
Sawyer walks in first.
Benji right behind him.
Both of them are entirely too cheerful.
Which immediately makes me suspicious.
“Well?” Sawyer asks.
“You get it sorted?”
I dry my hands on a rag.
“Fuck you.”
He nods thoughtfully.
“So that's a yes.”
Benji snickers.
“Oh, he's grumpy.”
I throw the rag at him.
He catches it.
“I would've thought getting laid would've put a smile on that sour face of yours, Fiero.”
“Fuck you too, Benji.”
“No thanks.”
He shudders dramatically.
“I'm a happily married man.”
He puffs out his chest.
“In fact...”
A smug grin spreads across his face.
“I'm in the mood to find my wife.”
Sawyer groans.
“Here we go.”
Benji ignores him.
“Who's currently making sandwiches in your kitchen with Bit...”
“What? Whose kitchen?” Sawyer asks.
Benji pauses for effect.
“His kitchen. With Sloane.”
It’s my turn to shout.
“What?”
He blinks.
“You heard me.”
“The girls are in my cabin?”
“Yep.”
“With Sloane?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Bit, too?”
Benji nods.
“Yep. And Esme.”
Oh my fuck.
Pure panic detonates in my chest.
I love those women.
I really do.
But together?
They're like caffeinated tornadoes with absolutely no respect for a man's privacy.
Bit especially.
That woman could get classified military intelligence out of a brick wall.
She's relentless.
And they’re alone with my Princess saying God knows what?
Christ.
Sloane barely knows them.
What if they're embarrassing her?
What if they're asking about last night?
What if Bit starts telling stories?
What if Esme decides to play matchmaker?
What if—
“I have to go.”
Benji bursts out laughing.
Sawyer folds his arms.
“You serious?”
“They're alone together.”
“So?” Sawyer asks, scratching his head.
Moron.
“So?”
I look between the two of them like they've lost their minds.
“Do you know what Bit is like?”
Sawyer moves on to scratch his beard.
“That’s fair.”
“I need to rescue my Princess,” I murmur.
Benji doubles over laughing.
“Rescue? Princess?”
“Yes. And shut up!”
“From breakfast?”
“From being interrogated by your wives!”
“They're just talking.”
“You don't know that. And we all know Bit.”
“He has a point,” Benji mumbles.
I point triumphantly.
“Exactly.”
Sawyer shakes his head.
“You've got it bad for this little bartender, don’t you?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Micah.”
“You called her Princess in front of us.”
“That slipped.”
“You changed the filters in her van.”
“We went over this. She needed new filters,” I mutter, and no, I don’t know why I’m bothering to explain myself to these two fuckheads.
“You installed cameras around her bar.”
“Just shut up.”
Sawyer raises one eyebrow.
Benji snorts.
“I rest my case.”
I decide the conversation is over.
I grab my truck keys off the workbench.
“I don’t care what you do, but I'm leaving.”
Benji points toward the cattle pens.
“What about us? We want breakfast, too.”
I don't even break stride.
“Fucking walk.”
Alex laughs loud enough to echo through the building.
“He's definitely in love.”
I stop.
Turn around.
Point at Alex.
“One more word, and you’re not gonna be able to talk right for a week.”
He zips his lips theatrically.
Smart kid.
I head outside.
The morning sun has already burned away the last of the mist hanging over the ranch.
Champion bulls graze lazily in distant paddocks.
Tall pines and oaks dot the property line, their needles and leaves are glittering beneath the blue sky and the burning sun.
This place is truly one of a kind.
We built it from nothing.
Sawyer.
Benji.
And me.
Three former soldiers who came home carrying more ghosts than plans.
Now we've got a thriving ranch.
With good people living and working it.
We’re building families here.
Something worth protecting.
And yeah, the kid is right, I am in love with Sloane.
When I close my eyes, I can see it all—our future. And it’s right here. On Jersey Iron Ranch.
But first, I need her to say yes.
That’s gonna take some patience and time—and not whatever the heck inquisition Bit and Esme are putting her through right now.
I climb into my truck and fire up the engine.
Three minutes.
That's what it takes to get from the cryo building to my cabin.
Longest three minutes of my damn life.
Because my imagination won't shut up.
Bit's probably asking Sloane intimate details about last night..
Esme's probably explaining how hopeless I am with feelings.
Hell, maybe they're already planning a wedding.
I wish.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
No.
That's ridiculous.
Probably.
Then again...
It is Bit. And Esme. So, who knows?
I crest the hill.
My cabin comes into view.
Two vehicles sit outside.
Esme's SUV.
Bit's pickup.
I case the layout, note any and all discrepancies, then I park my truck and hop out.
Through the kitchen window? I see movement.
Sloane.
She's laughing.
Really laughing.
Head tipped back.
Coffee mug in one hand.
Surrounded by women who already look like they've known her for years.
And right then? Something warm settles in my chest.
Maybe...
Maybe she doesn't need rescuing after all.
Maybe she already found exactly what she's been missing.
A place to belong.
The thought hits me harder than I expect.
For months, I've watched her carry the weight of the world on those pretty shoulders.
Working herself to the bone.
Smiling for customers while everything else in her life slowly came apart.
Now she's in my cabin.
Laughing.
Not the polite bartender laugh she gives strangers.
The real one.
The one that reaches her eyes.
The sound drifts through the open kitchen window, and I'll be damned if it isn't the best thing I've heard all day.
A slow smile tugs at my mouth.
Hell.
Maybe they're good for her.
Maybe I am too.
I watch through the kitchen window as Bit says something that has all three women doubled over laughing.
Esme nearly spills her coffee.
Sloane throws her head back, one hand over her heart, laughing so hard she has to grab the counter for balance.
God.
She's so beautiful when she laughs.
Not the polite bartender smile she gives customers.
Not the one she probably forced for Patrick while carrying the weight of his mistakes.
This one is real.
Carefree.
Free.
Yeah, maybe this is exactly what she's needed all along.
People who show up. People who expect nothing from her except herself. Who don't make her earn their affection.
She belongs with them. With us. With me.
Yeah, she belongs here. She’s my girl. My Princess.
And I’m gonna prove it to her.
The thought settles deep in my chest, bringing with it something I haven't felt in a long damn time.
Purpose.
Hope.
Pride.
Not the kind that comes from landing another cybersecurity contract or delivering half a million dollars' worth of champion genetics without incident.
This is different.
This is about building something that matters.
Not just a ranch.
A life.
One that’s built on love, patience, understanding, honesty, and commitment.
I helped build Jersey Iron from the ground up with Sawyer and Benji.
Every fence line.
Every barn.
Every paddock.
Every damned cryogenic tank.
We came home from the military carrying enough ghosts to fill a cemetery, and instead of letting them bury us, we built something worth waking up for.
Ranching in New Jersey isn't exactly what people think of when they picture cattle country.
They think highways.
Traffic.
The Turnpike.
The damn Jersey Shore.
And let them.
We'll keep raising some of the finest seed bulls in the country while they're busy making jokes.
Jersey Iron Ranch is already changing minds.
Soon enough it'll change the industry.
And standing there watching Sloane laugh with the women who have become family to me, I realize I don't just want her to visit this place.
I want her to belong here.
I want this ranch to become home for her the way it quietly became home for me.
Not just because I'm asking—begging if I have to.
But because she chooses it.
Because she chooses me.
And if I have anything to say about it, she'll never wonder where she belongs again.
I already know I’ve got Benji’s and Sawyer’s support. The second she says yes, they’ll welcome her with open arms—metaphorically of course.
That thought is still buzzing inside my brain when the low rumble of engines drifts across the morning air.
I don't have to turn around to know who it is.
Speak of the devils.
Sawyer's black pickup rolls into the drive first.
He climbs out with the stiff stretch of a man who's spent too many years carrying a rucksack heavier than common sense.