2. Beau
TWO
BEAU
Most people talk too much.
Zahara Johnson never did.
That’s the first thing I remember about her is the way Zahara walked through Briar County High like she didn’t owe a damn soul an explanation.
Like the world could move out of her way or get stepped over.
Smart as hell, too. Those sharp brown eyes missed nothing, not a lie, not a slight, not a single detail.
Her spine was straight as a fence post, her chin always a little lifted, not out of arrogance, but because she refused to shrink for anybody.
Back then, her curls were always loose, shiny, bouncing around her shoulders like they had opinions of their own.
She was pretty, no, she was beautiful, but somehow the woman standing in front of me now is something else entirely.
Time carved strength into her, put a storm in her gaze, a new kind of confidence in the way she moves.
We were friends once. Close enough to share one kiss behind the bleachers during senior year, a kiss I still think about more often than I should. That was as far as it went. Life pulled us in different directions, and she slipped right through my fingers.
In my opinion, and hell, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, she’s the one who got away. And seeing her now, I’m starting to realize I never really got over that.
She left this town like a wildfire, fast and without looking back.
So seeing her SUV kicking up dust on the road beside Vance Ranch today…
Yeah.
It hit harder than I’ll admit out loud.
The horse beneath me, Duke, shifts restlessly as I watch her stand in her yard, shoulders squared, chin up, pretending she isn’t shaking from the move she didn’t want to make.
Same Zahara.
And not the same at all.
Older now. Stronger. Tired in a way no one should be. That kind of tired you earn by surviving things you don’t talk about.
Her boy is tall. Quiet. Watchful like her.
I shouldn’t stare.
But hell if I can make myself look away.
Her land borders ours. Forty acres of good soil, good water, and something deeper under the ground, something the town has whispered about for years. Jerry Smith never let anybody near his land, not even fence inspectors. The man died suddenly, and no one asked enough questions.
But Mercer… he started sniffing around weeks after.
A man like Dale Mercer doesn’t sniff unless there’s money buried somewhere.
I rein Duke away before she catches me watching again, though she already saw me once. She looked at me like she was deciding whether I was a warning or a threat.
Maybe I’m both.
Vance Ranch hasn’t been on stable ground since our father died three years ago. Taxes overdue. Mortgage payments behind. Equipment older than it should be. I stayed. My brothers scattered. Someone had to keep the ranch alive. Might as well be the one who’s always been here.
Six months ago, the bank handed me a choice:
Save the ranch.
Or watch it die.
Jerry Smith’s property was the only thing that could buy us time. We offered to buy it from his executor back when we thought the land was going to the county. There was a conditional option contract if the owner ever accepted.
And I signed it.
I didn’t know the owner would be her.
I didn’t know the woman who once walked away from this place would be the one standing between my family and foreclosure.
Life’s funny like that.
But not the good kind of funny.
I bring Duke back toward the barns as the sun dips. The ranch is quiet this time of day, just the sound of cattle in the paddock, the creak of gates settling, the wind slipping through the cottonwoods.
Logan’s truck sits near the equipment shed. My younger brother leans against it with a beer in hand, boots crossed at the ankle. His hat is tipped back, eyes tracking me with that too-perceptive stare.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” he says.
I swing down from the saddle. “I saw Zahara Johnson.”
Logan’s eyebrows lift. “Now that’s a name we haven’t heard in a decade.”
“She inherited Jerry Smith’s place.”
“No shit.” He whistles low. “She’s gonna sell it?”
“Probably. Eventually.”
“And until then?”
Until then Mercer is going to try to scare her off.
Until then my contract sits in a drawer like a loaded gun.
Until then I’m stuck between two oaths, one to my blood, one to a woman who never trusted this town enough to stay.
I drag a hand through my hair.
“It’s complicated.”
Logan smirks. “You always did have a soft spot for her.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did,” he says, grinning. “You were just too grumpy to know it.”
I glare at him. It only makes him grin wider.
“Mind your business.”
“Oh, I intend to,” he replies, pushing off his truck. “Especially since Mercer’s been sniffing around our fence line all week.”
My jaw snaps tight. “What?”
Logan’s face turns serious. “Saw tracks. Heavy ones. Near her land too.”
I knew it.
He crosses his arms. “You plan on telling her?”
“She won’t believe me.”
“Doesn’t mean you let her walk blind.”
He’s right.
Damn him for being right.
“Just keep your eyes open,” I grunt. “Mercer’s getting desperate.”
Logan’s mouth twists. “We all are.”
He leaves me standing in the yard with that bitter truth.
I unsaddle Duke and brush him down, each stroke grounding me. This horse has been with me longer than most people. Animals don’t lie. Don’t betray. Don’t hide motives behind handshakes.
When he’s settled, I head inside the house. It’s quiet, too quiet. Mom used to joke that the silence here could slice through bone. She was right.
The kitchen light flickers as I grab a glass of water. Bills stack on the counter. I glance at them, jaw clenched, then turn away.
Tomorrow.
Tonight I need to think.
Zahara is back.
And shit’s about to get complicated.
At dawn, I walk the fence line between Vance Ranch and her property. Old habit. My father checked every morning, said the land told its story best before the sun got too high.
That’s when I spot it.
A cut in the wire.
Not clean.
Attempts.
Like someone started and got interrupted.
My pulse tightens. Mercer’s men are getting sloppy.
I crouch, rubbing dirt between my fingers. Tire tracks. Fresh. Probably after she arrived. They lead from the road, circle the fence, then double back.
Someone was watching her.
I swear under my breath.
I should’ve told her. Should’ve warned her straight up instead of playing polite.
Bootsteps crunch behind me.
I don’t look up. “You shouldn’t sneak around fence lines alone.”
Her voice cuts in, low and sharp.
“You shouldn’t sneak onto my land without permission.”
I straighten slowly.
She stands a few feet away, wearing a fitted denim jacket over jeans, arms crossed. Hair pulled back. Face cool. Eyes blazing.
Even angry, she’s beautiful.
Especially angry.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” I say evenly. “Checking my side.”
“And watching mine?”
I hold her gaze. “Someone cut your fence.”
“I noticed.”
“Then you know it’s not animals.”
She glances at the damaged post. “You think I can’t figure that out?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I think you need help whether you like it or not.”
She steps closer, too close for my comfort, too close for my self-control.
“I don’t need a protector, Beau.”
“The hell you don’t.”
Her jaw tightens. “I survived a divorce from a manipulative attorney who tried to take my son from me. I can handle fence cutters.”
“This isn’t about fences.”
“Then what is it?”
“You inherited land men have been trying to buy for years. Mercer’s one of them.”
Her breath stills.
Just for a second.
But I catch it.
She masks it well.
“And you?” she asks softly. “Are you one of them?”
I drop my gaze. Only for a moment.
It’s enough.
She inhales sharply.
“You’re hiding something.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“You’re trying to decide if I’m your enemy.”
Her words hit too close.
I take a slow step toward her.
“No,” I murmur. “I know exactly what you are.”
“And what’s that?”
“Trouble.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“Trouble for anyone who thinks you’re easy to push. Trouble for a town that doesn’t like change. Trouble for men who underestimate you.”
Her lips part, surprise flickering before she crushes it.
“And you?” she challenges. “Am I trouble for you too, Beau Vance?”
More than she knows.
But I don’t answer.
I turn back to the fence. “I’ll fix this.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m doing it anyway.”
She huffs, annoyed, but not stopping me.
I kneel, tightening the wire. When I glance up, she’s staring down at me with a mix of irritation and… something warmer. Something neither of us has the right to feel.
Her gaze meets mine.
The tension is sharp enough to cut steel wire.
“You should stay inside at night,” I tell her.
She crosses her arms again. “I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.”
She swallows. A small movement. Barely there.
“Why?”
“Because someone doesn’t want you here.”
“And you do?”
I hesitate.
Too long.
Her eyes widen just slightly, like she caught the stutter under my steadiness.
I stand.
Close.
Closer than I should be.
Her breath brushes my chest.
“We’re not on the same side,” she whispers.
“Maybe not,” I answer. “But I’m not your enemy.”
She looks away first. That’s the only reason I step back.
The sun lifts over the trees, casting long shadows across the land. Her land. Mine. Lines drawn in dust and history.
I tug my hat low.
“Keep your doors locked,” I tell her. “And if you see anything strange?—”
“I won’t call you,” she snaps.
“But you should.”
I don’t wait for her reply. I swing into Duke’s saddle and head toward the ranch.
But after a dozen yards, I look back.
She’s still watching me.
Arms crossed.
Chin up.
But her eyes…
Her eyes follow me like a question.
And just like that, I know two things for sure:
One—
Dale Mercer is already making his move.
Two—
Zahara is going to be the hardest line I’ve ever had to walk.
Because protecting her might mean betraying her.
And protecting her might be the only thing I can’t stop myself from doing.