Chapter 3
ELLA
Iron Stallion is a symphony that refuses a conductor: doors slamming, a toddler’s high-pitched negotiation with the world, the metallic rat-tat-tat of nails being hammered into fence posts somewhere outside. It’s oddly comforting; the chaos is the ranch being itself.
I sit at my desk in the little study off the kitchen and pretend the world can be filtered through spreadsheets, that the numbers will steady everything, and that my breath isn’t a metronome that speeds whenever I think of Cole.
My thoughts drift back to seeing Cole and Aria yesterday and the news he shared. He’s finally free from that witch, and he looked so happy compared to the haunted look on his face at the wedding.
I never did like Calista. There, I admit it. She was always… sharp, and not the kind of sharp that’s useful. More like a blade held sideways. She had an opinion about everything, usually the nastiest one. Or maybe I was just being petty and biased because she had what I wanted.
I tuck my face into the palm of my hand and try not to play the film of what they were like together in my head.
She had him for ten years, and she took him for granted.
Which is why I’m glad they are no longer tethered to one another.
His being single now doesn’t automatically make him mine, but he’s happy, and that matters more.
A knock on my door has me lifting my head to see my dad standing there, thick head of silver hair a mess, and that damn bolo tie I hate so much a permanent fixture at his throat. “Dozing off on the job?” he asks.
I sit up, smoothing the hoodie over the part of my chest that still feels raw. “I wish. I’ve been working all morning. I just wanted to rest my eyes for a few minutes,” I explain, because telling him the truth is not an option.
Hank Morgan might be a cool dad, but even he has his limits, and I’m not about to start talking boys with him.
“I’m just teasing, sweetie. You work harder than the rest of us, keeping the ranch alive and the rest of the family fed—that’s worth a medal,” he says, smiling in a way that makes the lines around his eyes look softer.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Keep it up. I just came in to inform you that we have a family meeting during lunch. Attendance mandatory,” he decrees.
I’m about to argue, say I have too much to do, but I swallow it down. Anyone who grew up here knows that when Hank Morgan calls a meeting, you show up. It’s less ceremonial and more like the law.
I nod. “Okay, Dad, I’ll be there.”
He leaves my office, and I get back to work, pushing all Cole thoughts aside.
By the time lunch rolls around, the porch table is a riot of bodies and voices: Zane chewing over cattle rotations, Beck quietly muttering about training schedules, Quinn by his side, her posture that of a woman who’s used to making decisions that move towns.
Jace and Tessa brought their work to the table, muttering something about a security update that needs to be done.
Ava is by my side, soothing Luella to sleep, stealing bites off my plate.
Dad clears his throat in that way that makes the chatter slow into a hush. “All right, time for my announcement. This has been a long time coming, but it’s time we sit down and discuss it.”
“What’s up, pops?” Zane asks.
“I know we all love this house, but with all you boys married and blessing me with so many grandbabies, things are getting a bit tight.”
There’s a chorus of “Amen,” and, from Beck, a joke about being tired of hearing his brothers get “busy,” as if he doesn’t indulge himself. He and Quinn fuck like rabbits. How does he think baby Oliver, their one-month-old son, got here?
I laugh because family humor binds us, but there’s a weight under Dad’s words I can’t ignore. The family house is grand, full of memories, passed down multiple generations, but it’s ancient and lacks privacy.
It’s been renovated multiple times, but still, the walls are thin in some places, depriving us of personal space. Babies require their own lilac-scented corners, and married couples… well, they deserve privacy that doesn’t include an eavesdropping family member.
“So, what’s the solution?” Quinn, ever the problem solver, inquires.
“I’m going to solve the crowding problem by building each of you a house right here on the ranch. Iron Stallion needs to grow up with room for the next generation. You’ll have your own space, privacy, but the family will stay close.”
The idea fans out like a warm wind. Zane grins, already planning in his head. Quinn’s eyes light up, her urban mind already seeing layouts and permits. Ava squeals, then quiets when Luella fusses.
“Wait,” Beck says, voice half-teasing, half-suspicious, eyes tracking mine. “Why is Ella getting a house? She’s single. What will she use it for? Tea parties?”
The joke lands softly and meanly because it’s rooted in truth.
Yes, I’m single. Yes, sometimes the ache is a small animal scratching at my ribs.
For a second, something tightens in me. I expected it.
I should be thicker-skinned by now, but the sting arrives like it always does—unexpected and familiar.
Quinn slaps the back of his head. “Beck Morgan, that is very rude of you,” she scolds before I can respond. “She’ll need a space for whoever she wants to bring home, and that person will be lucky.”
I stick my tongue out at Beck and smile at my sister-in-law. “Thanks, Quinn.”
She winks at me and hits Beck again. He mutters an apology, slumping back in his seat.
Dad slides me a look that’s half admonishment and half fatherly reassurance. “When the right man comes, he’ll find room in your house and in your life.”
His certainty feels like a hand on my back. It’s the kind of faith that has nourished me my whole life. Even if it’s embarrassing, even if my chest tightens with wanting, Dad’s words are the kind of truth you tuck away and harvest on a day when you are weaker.
“That’s the plan,” I grin back.
“What about Ryder? Is he getting one? He hasn’t been home in more than ten years,” Jace reasons.
Ryder is a complicated one. He’s always a call away when we need him, but he never comes home. Only Beck has been to his house, and he says it’s a fortress hidden away in the mountains.
Dad’s booming voice cuts right across the question before it can turn into a derisive joke. “Ryder gets one, too. He’s my child just like the four of you.”
No one argues with him when he sets his hand down like that.
“Okay,” Zane says, clapping. “Now we’ve got to find a contractor. Someone who can respect our land and doesn’t design mansions with columns where we need gutters.”
A chorus of suggestions rolls out. Names, numbers, contractors we’ve used, men who respect timber. I sit there and listen, cataloging not just the logistics but the way our family folds into itself: we’ve done this before, survived storms, births, fights, and reunions, and we’ll do it again.
Then a name slips into my mind, one I’ve been trying to keep polite and off-limits. Cole. He’s good with structure, with building with intention. He’s worked on this property before, so he knows how we breathe.
And I know, with a private softness, how good this will be for him. He needs money for the buyout to avoid losing half of Dawson Construction to Calista. I know he will work himself to the bone to get that money, so maybe this way, I can be of help to him.
“Why don’t we give Cole Dawson a shot?” I suggest, my voice quiet, maybe too quiet.
Seven pairs of eyes turn toward me like the heat of a sunbeam.
“Dawson?” Zane asks, almost as if he’s testing the name to see if it fits next to ours. “The one who built the new cow dips?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“He also did a great job on the corrals,” Beck adds. “They held up in the flood season. He’s got an honest crew.”
Quinn leans forward. “He fits what we’re looking for. We need someone we can trust. He runs a company, yes, but he’s also a man who cares about getting the work done right.”
“And he’s—“ I hesitate because now I’m dangerously close to private territory. ”—good people. He’s… stable. He’s a capable man.”
Jace eyes me like he’s trying to measure my motive. “You’re suggesting him because he’s familiar? This is much more than a corral or a cow dip we’re talking about.”
“No,” I say quickly. “Not only because of that. He’s competent. He knows the land and our needs better than anyone. He’ll do a great job because he respects the ranch and us.”
Ava smiles at me with all the sisterly warmth in the world. “I’m with Ella. Cole seems like a solid choice.”
“Besides,” I add, because practicality is my armor, “he needs the work. His divorce settlement put Dawson Construction in a precarious place. If we give him the project and he does right by us, then he gets paid and we keep the work local. It’s a win-win.”
The room hums with the sound of people making calculations far faster than any spreadsheet. Dad looks at me with something like pride.
“Ell’s right,” he says, voice steady. “If we want to keep the ranch’s heartbeat in the right direction, we help the people who respect this place.”
Zane grins, clapping his hands. “All right then. We’ll consider Cole first.”
Dad nods, satisfied. “Good. I’ll give Cole a call this afternoon. Tell him to come by.”
Wait. What?
I choke on absolutely nothing. “Come by? As in… here? Today?”
The table quiets for a second, everyone turning to look at me.
Dad raises an eyebrow. “Yes, where else would he come? I want him to get this plan in motion as soon as possible.”
“Oh,” I croak, but it sounds like someone wrung that syllable straight from my lungs. “Right. Makes sense. Perfect sense. No problem at all.”
Ava leans in. “El… are you okay?”
“Me?” I squeak, then clear my throat. “I’m fine. Completely fine. Absolutely fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
Zane snorts. “You said ‘fine’ four times.”
I glare at him. “Some of us process things verbally.”
“Oh sure,” Beck says. “Verbally. And red in the face. And suddenly unable to blink.”
“I blink just fine,” I snap, then immediately over-blink like a malfunctioning Christmas light.
Dad gives me that dad-look, the one that can see right through every facade. “Ella, sweetheart, you suggested him. If you don’t want him taking the job, say so.”
“No!” I say too fast. Way too fast. “I absolutely want— I mean— I think— it would be good for the ranch. For him. For everyone.”
Dad nods slowly. “Then what’s the problem?”
The problem? The problem is that Cole Dawson is coming here.
To this house. To my space. With his broad shoulders and worn hands and gruff voice that slides under my skin too easily.
The problem is that it’s been a month since we…
collided, and I’ve been pretending I can breathe normally whenever his name echoes in my head.
The problem is that I am not normal around him, but all I manage to say is, “Nothing. No problem at all.”
Dad studies me for a beat longer but decides to let me keep my secrets. “Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll call him after lunch.”
I exhale in surrender, slumping just slightly. Maybe this really is for the best. Maybe being thrown into the same space will ease this knot instead of tightening it. Maybe helping him will help me.
I don’t want to jump the gun, but maybe sometimes, offering a man a hand brings you closer to what you want.
And what I want, God help me, is Cole Dawson.