Chapter 13
SEBASTIAN
I see her through the kitchen window, standing on the back porch.
We’ve been here a week, and she’s stayed close to the house.
My parents were called to Chicago unexpectedly.
They don’t go often, but whenever my mother needs to make an appearance, they do.
I’m glad Lennox has been able to relax without my mother’s prying eye for the week. It’s given her time to settle in.
She stands at the railing in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, feet bare on the weathered wood, blonde hair loose down her back. Coffee mug in her hands, and her entire focus on the ranch operation spread below us in the early morning light.
Cowboys are already moving through the corrals. Horses saddled, cattle sorted, the constant motion of a working ranch coming to life.
I grab my own coffee and move to her side. She doesn’t acknowledge me; she just keeps watching the work below with an intensity that makes me think she is comparing it to her own family’s operation.
“You’re up early,” I say.
“Habit.” Her voice is quiet, almost reverent. “On our ranch, I’d be finishing the first round of feeding by now.”
“Do you miss it?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t think so, until this morning.”
The honesty surprises me.
“You want to see it?” I gesture to the operation below. “The working ranch, not the gilded cage Mom will show you when she gets back later today.”
That gets her attention. She turns to face me, and in the morning light, I can see the circles under her eyes. She hasn’t slept well.
“She’ll lead you through the main house offices, introduce you to the household staff, show you the formal gardens and the guest facilities.” I take a sip of coffee. “But that’s not the ranch. That’s the show of being a Drake. I thought you might want to see the actual work first.”
“I would love to.” No hesitation. Her whole body shifts toward me, eager in a way I haven’t seen before.
“Then go get boots on. We ride out in twenty minutes.”
The eagerness in her expression shifts to something else. Surprise, maybe. Or suspicion. “Riding?”
“You still know how to ride a horse, don’t you? Or has California made you soft?”
Her chin lifts with that stubborn pride I’m starting to recognize. “I can ride.”
“Yes, you can,” I say with a smirk, and she swats my chest and laughs lightly. “The best way to see this place is on horseback, the same way my great-great-grandfather saw it.” I drain my coffee. “Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty. This won’t be a trail ride for tourists.”
Twenty minutes later, we walk down to the main barn together. Lennox found her boots that look like they’ve seen better days, and she’s braided her hair back in a practical plait that says she knows what she’s doing around animals.
The barn is a scene of organized chaos at this hour. Cowboys moving through their routines, horses being prepped for the day’s work. A few of the hands look up when we enter, tipping their hats respectfully.
“Sebastian.” The barn manager, Pete, who has been with the ranch since my grandfather’s time, nods in greeting. “Didn’t expect to see you this early.”
“Thought I’d show my wife the operation. We’ll need two horses saddled. Cisco for me, and…” I look at Lennox. “What’s your preference? Something gentle or something with spirit?”
“Spirit,” she says immediately.
Pete’s weathered face creases in a smile. “We’ve got a new mare. Five-year-old quarter horse, smart as hell, but likes to test her rider. Her name’s Duchess.”
“Perfect.”
While Pete goes to get the horses, Lennox wanders down the barn aisle, looking into stalls, reading the name plates, occasionally reaching out to stroke a velvet nose that appears over a door. She moves with the confidence of someone who’s spent years around horses.
“Your wife knows her way around horses?” Pete asks quietly when he returns, leading Cisco.
“Grew up on a ranch in Montana. Twenty thousand head.”
Pete’s eyebrows rise. “The Briggs operation? Out of Sweetwater? That’s the only one I know of that big.”
“That’s the one.”
“Well, hell. No wonder she wanted spirit.” He heads back for the mare. “A girl like that probably rode before she could walk.” His light chuckle filters through the barn, and I appreciate him wanting to keep her safe.
When Pete brings out Duchess, I watch Lennox’s entire demeanor change.
The mare is beautiful, deep chestnut with a white blaze, strong hindquarters, intelligent eyes that size up Lennox immediately.
The kind of horse that will either respect you or make your life hell, depending on how you approach her.
Lennox doesn’t hesitate. She moves to Duchess’s shoulder, lets the mare smell her, and speaks quietly in a tone I can’t quite hear.
Then she runs her hand down the mare’s neck, checking her over with practiced efficiency.
Legs, hooves, girth, bridle. Making sure everything fits correctly before she’ll even consider mounting.
“She’ll do,” Lennox says finally, taking the reins from Pete.
“Need a hand up?” I ask.
She shoots me a look that could melt steel, grabs the saddle horn and swings up in one fluid motion. She settles into the saddle like she was born there, adjusts her stirrups with quick efficiency and gathers the reins with confident hands.
Duchess shifts beneath her, testing. Lennox just sits deeper, with quiet pressure that tells the horse she knows exactly what she’s doing, and the mare settles.
“Damn,” Pete mutters appreciatively. “She’s good.”
“Yeah,” I agree, swinging up onto Cisco. “She is.”
We ride out of the barn into the morning sun, and I watch Lennox visibly relax for the first time since I bought her. On horseback, moving through ranch land, she looks like she belongs.
“Where to?” she asks.
“Everywhere.” I turn Cisco toward the main pasture. “I want you to see the whole operation. The breeding program, the cattle facilities, the land. All of it.”
We ride in comfortable silence for a while, just the sound of hooves on dirt and the morning sounds of the ranch around us.
Lennox sits her horse well, moving with Duchess instead of against her, already establishing the partnership that makes good riders different from people who just know how to stay in the saddle.
“How many acres total?” she asks as we crest a rise that shows the full scope of Devil’s Ridge Ranch.
“Four hundred and fifty thousand. About half of that is in active rotation for cattle, the rest is in conservation easements or lease agreements.” I point toward the east. “Oil fields are that direction.”
“It’s smart, you know, to keep the revenue streams independent.”
“Dad’s idea. He didn’t want the ranch dependent on oil prices, and he didn’t want the oil operations held back by ranching concerns.” We ride down toward the main cattle facilities. “It’s worked well. Even when oil crashes, the ranch stays profitable. When cattle markets tank, oil keeps us afloat.”
“Diversification. My father talks about it often but never quite commits.” She stands slightly in her stirrups, getting a better view of the facilities ahead. “We’re too dependent on cattle prices. One bad year and we feel it for five.”
“That’s most family operations. They stick with what they know instead of expanding into what might protect them.”
We ride through the main cattle operation—massive corrals, state-of-the-art handling facilities, breeding barns that look more like hospitals than agricultural buildings. Lennox takes it all in with a keen eye.
“Your breeding program,” she remarks, watching a group of high-quality bulls in a separate pasture. “All Red Angus?”
“Mostly. Some Hereford lines for specific traits. We’ve been working on heat tolerance and feed efficiency for the last decade.
” I point to a particularly impressive bull.
“That’s Maverick. Best breeding animal we’ve produced in twenty years.
” Nathaniel might run the day-to-day of this place, but we’re both on top of genetics and breeding of the animals.
It takes some off his plate and keeps me with one foot still firmly planted in Texas.
“I can see why. His build’s perfect.” She studies Maverick with appreciation. “We’ve been working on similar programs in Montana, but for cold tolerance instead. Different challenges, same goal.”
“Which is?”
“Cattle that can thrive, not just survive, in extreme conditions.” She looks at me, and for the first time, I see genuine engagement. “Ranching isn’t just about tradition any more. It’s about adapting, improving, staying ahead of climate changes and market demands.”
We ride in silence for a while longer, making our way toward the northern pastures where younger cattle graze. The sun climbs higher, warming the Texas morning, and I find myself watching Lennox more than the scenery.
She’s beautiful on horseback. Confident, capable, entirely in her element. This is who she was before she got to California, and nothing like the guest relations employee that caught my eye.
Seeing her here, on my family’s land, understanding the operation with the same instincts I’ve developed over decades, it’s different. Better.
She isn’t just beautiful, strong or stubborn. She’s an equal in the only world where my legacy would truly last. The realization is unsettling.
We reach a wooded area near the northern border of the property—oaks and mesquite provide shade in a mostly open landscape. A creek runs through here, barely more than a trickle this time of year, but enough to keep the vegetation alive.
“Let’s stop,” I say, dismounting near a large oak. “Horses could use a break.”
Lennox swings down gracefully, leading Duchess to the creek to drink. I do the same with Cisco, then loosen both cinches so the horses can relax. When I look up, Lennox is leaning against the oak, watching the creek.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“That this is the most at peace I’ve felt since I left Montana.” She doesn’t look at me. “On a horse, seeing the ranch. This feels right in a way nothing else has.”
“Even though it’s Texas instead of Montana?”
“Even though.” She finally turns to face me. “I know it was my choice to do what I did. But this”—she gestures to the land around us—“this makes it all seem right.”
I cross to her, closing the distance until I stand close enough to touch. “You belong here, Lennox. You understand this world, you speak this language.”
I brace one hand against the oak above her head, reaching up and tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, the quiet of the world around us giving me a moment to truly look at her.
“Were you trying to impress me when you were assessing Maverick’s conformation?
Talking about breeding programs and climate adaptation?
Or was that you, actually engaging with something that matters to you? ”
“It was real,” she admits. “But that doesn’t change what we are. What this is.”
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be only one thing.” I cup her face with my free hand, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Maybe you can hate the circumstances and still find something real here?”
“Is that what you want? Something real?”
“I don’t know.” The honesty surprises me. “I wanted to possess you. Break you down and rebuild you into what I need. But now…”
“Now what?”
Instead of answering, I kiss her.
Not rough or demanding like the other times. This is slower, exploratory, learning the shape of her mouth instead of just taking it. She tenses briefly, but then her hands come up to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, and she’s kissing me back.
When I pull back, her eyes are wide. “What was that all about?” she asks.
“Just getting to know my wife.” I kiss her again, softer this time. “The real one, not the performer.”
“I’m not sure I know the difference any more.”
“Then why don’t we figure it out together?” I move from her mouth to her jaw, her neck, finding the bite mark and kissing it gently instead. “You’re mine for two years, Lennox. We can spend this time at war, or we can find something else. Something that won’t feel like a prison sentence.”
“And what will that look like?”
“I don’t know yet.” I pull back to look at her. “But maybe it starts here. With horses, ranch land and conversations about cattle breeding. By figuring out the things we both care about instead of just what I can take from you.”
She studies my face for a long moment, and I can see the wheels turning. Trying to decide if this is another manipulation or if I mean it.
“I need time,” she says finally.
“We’ve got seven hundred and twenty-seven days.” I step back, giving her space. “We should head back. Mom will be wondering where we are, and I’d rather not deal with her interrogating us.”
Lennox pushes off the oak, and she slips her hand into mine as we head back to the horses. “Thank you,” she says. “For showing me the ranch. For letting me see the real thing, for allowing me to see you.” She turns away from me and tightens the cinch before swinging up onto Duchess’s back.
The softness of her tone as she thanks me makes something inside me leap. “You’re welcome,” I say, not pushing the moment as I swing up onto Cisco. “And Lennox, you ride well. Better than I expected.”
“Better than you?” She raises an eyebrow, challenge in her voice.
“We’ll see about that.” I urge Cisco into a trot. “Race you back to the main house.”
Her laugh is genuine, and she kicks Duchess into motion without hesitation. “You’re on.” She races past me, leaning over the neck of her horse low, riding like the wind. I catch up easily; Cisco and I are a team.
We gallop side by side, two people on good horses racing toward a place that isn’t quite home yet, trying to find something real in the middle of a transaction that started with a two-million-dollar price tag.
And for the first time since the auction, I wonder if maybe, just maybe, I got more than I paid for.