Chapter 27
I’m awake before the sun crests the horizon, lying in bed and gazing at the ceiling while the house still sleeps around me.
There’s a particular kind of quiet that exists in these minutes.
The rare silence before boots hit the floor, coffee brews, and cattle start bawling for feed.
It’s the only time the ranch doesn’t feel like it’s asking something of me.
I roll onto my side and glance at the window. For the first morning in a while, frost doesn’t cling to the edges of the glass. Winter in Montana doesn’t arrive gently. It settles in fast, a crisp, biting iciness that sinks deep into your bones.
Spring arrives with less of a bang and more subtlety. It slips in quietly, softening the edges of winter one morning at a time. The ground turns slick with thaw, breathing up the scent of damp earth. The creek runs louder, and birds return to the cattails as if someone flipped a switch.
I dress in layers, not forgoing my thermals and jacket that always smells faintly of hay. Spring may be coming, but the cold still lingers. I pull my hair into a braid as I walk toward the front door, my fingers working by memory.
When I step onto the porch, the air is sharp enough to wake me fully, though it lacks winter’s cruelty. The grass is wet with melting frost instead of being locked in it, and the ground gives slightly beneath my boots as I cross over to the barn. Snow still clings to the mountains.
Horses shift in the stalls, greeting me as I enter, their ears flicking toward the sound of the door.
Daisy lets out a soft huff when she sees me, her breath clouding the air.
“And good morning to you, too.” I drag my palm along her neck, feeling the warmth of her beneath my palm.
Her twitch beneath my touch. She’s solid and steady, and I envy that sometimes.
As I run my hands over her, my thoughts wander.
I’ve thought about last night more than I’d ever admit to anyone.
The Dew Drop was exactly what it always is—loud, crowded, familiar.
Knox spent the night tangled up with Jess.
I smiled and small-talked with boys I’m not interested in, while pretending not to notice how often my gaze drifted to the door.
I knew he wouldn’t come. Yet, part of me hoped he might change his mind.
I head out as the barn doors creak open behind me, letting in a sliver of pale morning light.
I don’t have to turn to know it’s one of my brothers.
I can tell by the weight of the footsteps and the faint drag of one foot, the result of an injury that put a tragic end to what was going to be a remarkable bull riding career.
“Morning,” Deacon says, his voice low and already fully awake.
“Morning.”
He steps into the stall beside Daisy’s, starting on his own horse without further comment.
Deacon, like Dad, is the kind of man who doesn’t waste words.
While Knox is the opposite, all noise and reckless charm.
Between the two of them, I’ve grown up in a constant tug-of-war between restraint and chaos.
Dad comes in a minute later, boots heavy against the packed dirt, coffee Thermos in hand. He gives me a nod, the closest thing to affection he offers in the mornings. Knox and Easton trail in behind him, still half asleep, hats low over their eyes.
“Morning,” Easton drawls, his sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular forearms dusted with dark hair.
“Morning,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral.
He moves like he’s trying not to take up too much space, which is ironic, considering how much of it he naturally commands.
He heads toward the stall where Ranger waits, his dark head lifting in recognition.
Easton runs a hand down the horse’s nose first, easy and unhurried, before reaching for the saddle.
I watch him longer than I should from the corner of my eye.
“We’ll push the south herd out to the far pasture before the heat sets in,” Dad announces. “Storm’s coming in tonight. They’ll need to be on higher ground.”
We fall into rhythm automatically, saddling up our horses.
Leather creaks and metal clinks as tack comes off hooks worn smooth from years of use.
I grab Daisy’s saddle and swing it onto her back.
She shifts under the weight, ears flicking toward me, but settles when I run a hand down her neck.
After tightening everything, I check it again to be certain.
Dad steps past me, grabbing his gloves. “Mount up. We don’t got all day.
” Deacon and Knox waste no time following after him.
The three of them are past the paddock by the time I lead Daisy into the morning light.
She snorts and tosses her head, restless with the promise of movement as I climb onto her saddle.
“Let’s go.” I click my tongue, but she balks. Her hooves couldn’t be more planted to the ground unless they were encased in concrete. I shift in the saddle and squeeze lightly with my heels. “Daisy.” She flicks an ear at me, clearly hearing me just fine and still not moving.
I glance over my shoulder at Easton. He lingers near the barn doors, adjusting something on Ranger’s bridle, not in any hurry. Of course. I turn my attention back to my stubborn horse and try again, firmer this time. She shifts her weight but still refuses to step forward.
“You don’t have to wait,” I call over my shoulder to Easton.
“I’m not,” he replies easily as he swings onto Ranger in one smooth motion before guiding him forward at an unhurried pace. The second Ranger draws even with us, Daisy steps off, like she’s been waiting for a green light.
I stare down at her and huff, “Really, Daisy?”
Easton’s mouth tips at the corner. “Maybe she just needed a minute.”
A minute? No, sir. This stubborn mare was waiting.
The thought slips in before I can stop it.
Waiting for you. She keeps pace with Ranger easily, their strides falling into rhythm without effort.
We ride out at a leisurely clip, dust kicking up softly beneath their hooves.
Ahead of us, the fields roll out in wide stretches of gold and green.
We ride in silence, the steady thud of hooves and the creak of leather filling the space between us. I keep my eyes forward, fighting against every urge I have to turn and look at him.
“You recovered from your wild night out?” Easton breaks the quiet, his tone casual like he’s making small talk.
Because he is, Teagan.
The brim of his hat casts his eyes into shadow when I glance over at him. “You mean sitting at the bar and drinking a beer while my brother made questionable life choices on the dance floor with one of my friends?”
“Sounds questionable,” he asks, faintly amused.
“It’s going to be a toss-up between Fatal Attraction and giving my dad grandkids by next Christmas.” He huffs a quiet laugh. It’s low and brief, but it changes his whole face, softening it. “You should’ve come,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
The words hang between us as the herd comes into view, scattered across the pasture in slow, grazing clusters. Dad and my brothers are already working the edges, guiding them toward the rise that leads to higher ground.
Easton doesn’t answer right away. His hand rests loose on the reins, thumb absently brushing along the worn leather, like he’s thinking about something other than the question.
“Bars aren’t really my thing these days,” he shares finally and very matter-of-factly.
There’s more to that statement. I can feel it, but he doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push.
“Suit yourself.” I sigh, turning my head so he doesn’t see the flicker of disappointment I can’t quite hide.
Daisy flicks her ears forward as we near the herd, her energy sharpening. Ranger matches her stride without needing to be asked, the two of them moving like they’ve done this a hundred times before.
We fall quiet again, and this time, I’m grateful for the silence. I steer Daisy away from him, riding over to where Knox is trying to wrangle in a defiant young calf.
“Trouble in paradise?” Knox teases softly as I reach him.
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I’ve told you, it’s nothing.” Because that’s all it is.
Knox turns his attention back to the calf with a snort. “You’re a horrible liar, Teag.”
I shift in the saddle and glance up, across the herd, without meaning to.
Easton sits tall on Ranger at the far edge of the pasture, his posture loose but purposeful, guiding a pair of strays back toward the others.
He lifts his head—as though he can feel my stare—and his eyes find mine across the distance.
My pulse kicks suddenly as he holds my gaze. The moment stretches, neither of us looking away. The pasture narrows, and the noise fades until it feels like there’s nothing but the suspended space between us.
“Ah, fuck—” Knox curses beside me, shattering the spell. I whip my attention toward him just in time to see the calf bolt from the edge of the herd, kicking up dust as it makes a break for open pasture.
“I got it,” I mutter, already turning Daisy sharply. This time, she responds instantly, lunging forward into a quick lope as we cut the calf off before it can get too far. As I angle wide to push it into the herd, I risk another glance over my shoulder.
Easton is already back at work, guiding another stray in with steady precision, his focus fixed where it should be. Like nothing happened. Like there wasn’t a moment at all.
I face forward again, jaw tightening slightly.
It’s nothing.