Curvy Girl and the Stubborn Cowboy (Blackwater Falls: Cowboys #1)

Chapter 1 - Wade

The fence post snaps clean in half under my sledgehammer, rotten wood splintering. I swear under my breath and toss the useless pieces aside, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my work glove. The Montana sun beats down mercilessly, and I've been at this since dawn.

Three hours. Fifteen fence posts. Every single one eaten through by time and neglect. I can't afford to replace them properly. Can't afford much of anything these days.

"Looks like hell out here," Colt calls from behind me, his boots crunching through the dry grass. "How many more sections are shot?"

I don't turn around. "All of them. The entire east pasture needs new fencing before we can rotate the herd next month."

"Damn it." He comes to stand beside me, hands on his hips, surveying the sagging fence line that stretches toward the mountains. "What's that going to run us?"

"More than we have." I grab another post from the pile in my truck bed, this one scavenged from the old barn we tore down last winter. It'll hold for now. Everything around here is held together with wire and hope these days. "Tucker's working on the numbers. We might be able to swing it if we—"

"If we what, Wade?" Colt's voice hardens. "We're already running on fumes. The bank's breathing down our necks. When are we going to face the fact that—"

"Don't." I drive the post into the ground, the impact jarring up my arms. "Don't say it."

"Somebody needs to." But he backs off, like he always does.

We all dance around it. The truth that's been hanging over Promise Ranch like a storm cloud for the past two years.

Since Frank died and left us this place we all love more than breathing, along with debts we didn't know existed and a market that doesn't give a damn about small family ranches anymore.

The promise I made to Frank sits like a stone in my chest. *Take care of this place, Wade. You boys are the only family I've got. Don't let some developer turn it into condos or one of those dude ranch tourist traps. Keep it real. Keep it alive.*

I'm failing him. Every day, a little more.

"Rhett called a meeting for tonight," Colt says, pulling out his phone and squinting at the screen. "Says it's important. He's got something he wants to run by all of us."

My jaw tightens. Garrett "Rhett" Palmer handles our books, and when he calls a meeting, it's never good news. Last time, it was about the loan payment we barely scraped together. The time before that, about cutting back on staff we didn't have money to pay anyway.

"What time?"

"Seven. Main house."

I nod, setting another post. Colt lingers for a moment, and I can feel him wanting to say more, but he just claps my shoulder once and heads back toward the stables. His brother Boone will need help with the afternoon feeding.

The sun climbs higher. I work through lunch, through the ache building in my shoulders, through the voice in my head that sounds too much like my father: *You'll never amount to anything, boy. You're nothing but a burden.*

Except I did amount to something. Frank saw it when no one else did. Found me at sixteen, angry and working two jobs to help my mom make rent and offered me a place here. A purpose. A family in him and the five other lost boys he collected over the years.

And now I'm watching everything he built crumble, and I don't know how to stop it.

By the time I finish the fence section, it's nearly six. I'm covered in dirt and sweat, my hands raw despite the gloves. The truck's engine protests when I turn the key. Another thing that needs fixing, another expense we can't afford, but it catches on the second try.

The drive back to the main ranch compound takes fifteen minutes, following the dirt road that winds through our property.

*Our* property. Two thousand acres of Montana grassland and forest, backed up against the Bitterroot Mountains.

Cattle country. Good, honest land that Frank's family worked for three generations before developers started circling like vultures, before the market crashed and took half the local ranches with it.

We survived that. Barely. But we're bleeding out slow now, and I don't know how much longer we can hold on.

The main house comes into view: a sprawling log structure that Frank built with his own hands thirty years ago.

The barn and stables sit to the east, the bunkhouse and equipment sheds to the west. It's beautiful in that rugged, practical way that Montana does better than anywhere else.

No pretense. No polish. Just solid and real.

Mason's truck is already parked out front, along with Tucker's SUV and Boone's beat-up Chevy. I pull in beside them and kill the engine, taking a moment to steel myself for whatever news Rhett has to share.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Mom.

*Dinner Sunday? Haven't seen you in two weeks. Love you.*

Guilt adds itself to the weight I'm already carrying. I text back quickly: *I'll be there. Sorry. Busy with the ranch.*

Always busy with the ranch. It's all I have. All I am.

The house smells like coffee when I walk in, my boots heavy on the hardwood floors. Voices drift from Frank's old office. Our meeting room now, and I follow them, stopping at the doorway.

They're all here. Tucker sits in Frank's chair behind the desk, looking tired in that way single parents always do.

His daughter Emma is with her grandparents tonight, which means this meeting really is serious.

Mason leans against the bookshelf, arms crossed, his military bearing still evident even in ranch clothes.

Boone occupies the worn leather armchair by the window, quiet as always, while Colt paces near the fireplace like a caged animal.

And Rhett stands at the desk, laptop open.

"There he is," Rhett says when he sees me. "Thought we might have to send a search party."

"East fence." I grab the extra chair by the door and drag it closer. "It's worse than we thought. We're going to need—"

"About six thousand dollars' worth of materials and a miracle," Rhett finishes. "Yeah, Tucker told me. That's actually related to why I called everyone together."

I don't like his tone. It's too careful. Too measured. The voice he uses when he's about to suggest something he knows I'll hate.

"Just say it," Mason says, saving me the trouble.

Rhett looks at each of us in turn, then settles on me. "I found an investor. Someone willing to put serious capital into the ranch, enough to cover our immediate debts and fund the repairs and improvements we need."

The room goes silent. I feel every muscle in my body tense.

"What's the catch?" I ask, my voice flat.

"She wants to be actively involved. Hands-on. Learn the business, have input on decisions, that kind of thing." He pauses. "She's coming tomorrow to tour the property and meet everyone. If we all agree, she'll draw up terms for a partnership investment."

"Partnership." The word tastes like ash. "You mean she wants to buy in. Own part of Promise Ranch."

"Not own," Rhett says quickly. "Invest. We'd maintain controlling interest. The six of us would still make all final decisions. But yes, she'd have a stake in the ranch's success. Her money, our expertise."

"Absolutely not." I'm on my feet before I realize I'm moving. "Frank left this place to us. The six of us. We're not bringing in some outsider who—"

"Wade." Tucker's voice cuts through my anger with the same calm he uses on Emma during a tantrum. "Frank left us a ranch that's drowning in debt. He didn't know how bad things had gotten. Hell, we didn't fully know until he was gone and we got a look at all the books."

"So, we work harder. We find another way."

"We've been finding another way for two years," Mason says, not unkindly. "We're out of ways, brother."

"Who is she?" Boone asks, speaking for the first time. "This investor?"

Rhett pulls up something on his laptop. "Sierra Vaughn. Twenty-six, from California originally, been living in Seattle. Recently inherited a significant sum and is looking for investment opportunities. Specifically interested in agricultural businesses with turnaround potential."

"A kid." I shake my head. "A rich kid playing with daddy's money who thinks she can—"

"Eight point four million dollars," Rhett interrupts.

"That's what she inherited. And she's serious about this, Wade.

I've been emailing with her for a week. She's done her research.

She knows our situation, knows the ranch is struggling, and she still wants in.

That tells me she's not looking for a sure thing. She's looking for a challenge."

Eight million dollars. The number sits in the air like something obscene.

"Why?" I demand. "Nobody with that kind of money invests in a failing cattle ranch in the middle of Montana unless they're stupid or they have an agenda. Which is it?"

"Maybe she believes in what we're doing here," Boone suggests quietly. "Some people still value that."

"Or maybe she's another developer in disguise." Colt finally stops pacing. "Wants to get in, gain our trust, then push us out and turn this place into a resort or subdivide it for vacation homes."

"I thought of that," Rhett says. "Her emails don't read that way. She seems genuine. Talks about honoring her father's memory, proving herself, making a real difference."

"Everyone seems genuine until they're not." I return to my chair, sitting down hard. "What do we actually know about her besides the money?"

Rhett scrolls through his laptop. "Business degree from University of Washington.

No practical experience, but she's smart.

From what I can gather, her family didn't react well to the inheritance.

There was some kind of conflict about it.

She's looking to invest to prove something, probably to them. "

"So, she has something to prove and no experience." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "That's who you want to trust with Frank's legacy?"