Chapter 8
EIGHT
DYLAN
CHASE: Sure am. Sweet potato pecan pie with chili chocolate drizzle wacky enough for you?
JAKE: Gross!
DYLAN: I’m busy.
JAKE: If you’re throwing another pity party, Dyl, maybe invite us next time!
CHASE: Before you buy a fleet of antique tractors?
JAKE: Or a herd of llamas. Ranch diversification, right?
DYLAN: Dicks!
JAKE: Yeah, but you’re gonna miss us next week.
DYLAN: Not even a little bit.
The sound of laughter drifts through the open window of my bedroom and I can’t stop myself from glancing out to where Izzy and Madison are striding out from the barn, deep in conversation.
Guilt gnaws at my insides. They’re already halfway through the morning feed.
Madison laughs at something Izzy says, the little girl’s face lighting up like waking early on a Saturday to work the ranch is the best thing in the world.
I watch them slip through the gate of the first paddock and force myself to look at the horses. Their coats gleam in the morning sunlight. They look like they belong—Izzy, Mad, the horses. They all belong on this ranch in a way I don’t anymore.
I head to my weights corner, grab a dumbbell, and launch into a shoulder set.
This room has always been my safe zone. The place I came when I was a kid and struggling with the grief of losing my dad and not wanting to show it.
The refuge I needed when I was recovering from my injury.
Now, though? It feels like I’m hiding. Like I’m a coward, and everyone knows it.
Get your ass out of bed and get your head straight.
These are living creatures, not footballs.
Even Chase—the guy who only remembers appointments when Mama calls him twice—asked me what my plan was. I drop the dumbbell on the rack. I set up the damn feed account, didn’t I? Doesn’t that count for something? But Izzy’s voice echoes in my head like a barb: Bare minimum is still asking too much.
Shit, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this. But this mess is mine and hiding sure as hell isn’t getting me anywhere.
I yank on jeans and a clean tee, lace up the work boots I haven’t worn in months, grab a cup of coffee and stalk into the morning sun.
Madison is still in the paddock with the foals.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was deep in conversation, holding a team meeting, like she’s the coach and they’re the players.
So it’s just Izzy who greets me by the barn. “Hey, you found some appropriate work boots,” Izzy calls, nodding at my boots, reminding us both of my barefoot, sorry-assed state the day she arrived here and the sneakers I’ve been wearing every day since.
“Shame you couldn’t find any manners,” I bite back before I can stop myself. All my resolve to help disappears under her harsh glare.
She raises one eyebrow before she replies, “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing on my ranch, you mean?”
“A ranch you haven’t shown up to for over a week, you mean?”
I stop myself from vocalizing the expletives running through my head. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Well, you’re late.” She gestures toward the paddocks. “Feeding’s done. Water’s topped. Moonlight’s checked.”
Suddenly, my pulse is racing. Who the hell does this woman think she is? Izzy’s glare is ice cold, but when our eyes lock, something flitters through the back of my mind, something that feels a lot more dangerous than anger.
“If you’re looking to help,” she continues, “you can start by getting the stalls up and running. The horses are fine outside for now, but they’ll need cover if it rains and the barn is in no state to hold them.
And Moonlight’s gonna need somewhere to foal.
She’s due on the twentieth of August. Less than five weeks. ”
“Got it,” I mutter, heading for the barn without another word.
My boots hit the ground, every step feeling heavier than the last, like they’re encased in cement. I thought I’d be packing for training camp today like Jake and Chase, relishing the buzz of a new season. Not here, not doing this.
Hours later, I’m slumped on a stool in the shade of the barn door, a bridle in my lap and sweat dripping down my back. Every joint, every muscle aches like I’ve run four quarters straight, no timeouts, and no crowd to cheer me on.
My hands throb with blisters from the repairs to the stalls earlier. Why didn’t I search out a pair of work gloves? I’m sure Dad’s old ones are still in the boot room somewhere. Something tells me he’d be laughing his head off at my pathetic attempts at ranching today.
At least the stalls inside the barn are halfway to being fixed and Moonlight will have a safe place to foal.
A few more days and they’ll be safe to house the horses when we need to.
The work is nothing flashy—pulling out the rotten slats of wood that divide the stalls, adding new slats, replacing nails, sanding down splinters.
It should’ve been done a week ago. I know better than anyone how fast storms roll off the mountains.
If we’d hit bad weather last week, the horses would’ve had nowhere to go, and that’s on me.
I’m here now, I remind myself, even if I don’t want to be.
My thoughts pull back to this morning and Izzy’s biting question.
What are you doing here?
The truth is, I don’t know. My time would be better spent calling Dad’s old friends, putting the word out I’m looking for a buyer, and yet I’m hammering wood and polishing bridles.
I curse under my breath and scrub a hand over my face.
I glance toward the far paddock, where Izzy and Madison are grooming one of the stallions.
I’ve kept my distance from the horses today.
Even just looking at them stirs something raw in me.
They remind me of Dad—of how much this ranch meant to him. They remind me of my failure.
Looking at Izzy does the same damn thing.
She belongs out here, and she knows I don’t.
She sees all the ways I’ve fucked up and it’s a kick in the guts I can’t outrun.
And then there’s her smart mouth, always ready with a comeback, always so sure of herself.
Sharp-tongued and whip-smart, and that only makes it worse—makes me feel worse.
But there’s something softer about Izzy when she’s with Madison.
The sharp edges of her sarcasm and judgment have smoothed out today.
Her face lights up, her cheeks catching the golden light of the setting sun.
For a second, she looks… approachable. More than approachable.
I think of our fight yesterday, how I stepped in to give her a piece of my mind, and instead caught the scent of her perfume—a fresh sea breeze and something sweet.
Subtle in a way that had me wanting to move closer.
I shake the thought away, remembering the woman who’s spent all day telling me how I’m doing everything wrong.
Movement on the porch catches my attention and Mama appears, hollering across the ranch like she used to when she wanted to call us in as kids. “Wash up! Dinner’s ready in twenty!”
Izzy leans down, saying something to Madison, who nods before they both start walking back toward their trailer.
I heave a sigh. Of course Mama invited them to dinner.
The realization comes with another tug of guilt.
Izzy’s new here and working for me. It’s a dick move that I didn’t do it myself.
But tonight’s dinner isn’t about Izzy or the ranch.
It’s a goodbye dinner for Jake and Chase.
Tomorrow they leave for their week-long training camp in Flagstaff ahead of their three pre-season games next month.
I want to be happy for my brothers, but this dinner is a reminder of everything I’ve lost. Even as I start up the polish again, I know I’ll suck it up for Mama and for Jake and Chase.
I showed up today on the ranch. I can show up for them tonight even if it feels like I’m being sucker-punched again and again.
The blisters on my hands throb as I carry the polished bridles into the barn. I’m halfway through hanging them on the hooks in the newly organized tack room when I feel a presence behind me. Little feet, little eyes.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Madison says, voice matter-of-fact.
“Excuse me?” I raise my brows at this miniature version of Izzy. Although this version is half my height and a lot nicer.
“The straps shouldn’t twist like that.” She steps closer, taking a bridle from me and showing me how to hang it. “See? It keeps them neat. It’ll make it easier to slip over their heads.”
“Thanks,” I reply, rehanging the bridles. “Your mom wasn’t kidding about you knowing your way around a ranch.”
She beams at the compliment. “Mom says she likes horses better than people.”
“That sounds about right.”
“Except me. I’m her favorite human.” Madison grins as she skips out of the barn.
“So I guess that means I’m her second favorite, right?” I joke, following her out, knowing I’m bottom of Izzy’s list.
Madison laughs and shakes her head. “Mom says you don’t know the difference between a mustang and a mare.” Suddenly Madison’s body is attacked by a fit of giggles.
Her laughter is almost enough to break through my mood. Almost.
“She said you think a mustang is a car,” she gasps out.
With that, she skips toward the trailer, and I crack a smile despite myself.
But it fades fast, and five minutes later, I’m kicking off my boots and padding into a kitchen that smells of roast chicken, herbs, and Mama’s gravy.
She’s at the stove, humming softly to herself, wearing her usual oversized red Stormhawks jersey.
Harper is setting the table, laughing with Mama over something I don’t catch.
Buck jumps out of his bed in the corner to greet me, pushing his head into my hands, tail thumping as I stroke him.
“Hey, Buck.” I crouch and run my hands over his yellow fur.
“It’s good to see you, too.” Buck might be Jake’s dog, but he spent plenty of nights keeping me company when the Stormhawks were playing and I was stuck at home with an ice pack on my knee. “You staying here next week?”
Harper replies for him. “You don’t mind? I can keep him with me in the city, but we both know he’d rather be here.”
I scratch Buck’s ear and he tilts his head, leaning into my touch. “Be good to have the company.”
“So… you been working today?” Harper asks with a little hesitation. I don’t miss the way Mama pauses her stirring from across the kitchen to listen.
I nod. “Had to show up sometime,” I say, heading for the door before another question comes my way.
In the shower, I let the hot water beat down on my aching body, cleaning off the dirt and sweat of the day and wishing it was as easy to wash away the failure that feels like it’s clinging to my skin.
I shove my head under the spray of water and my thoughts pull back to Izzy, to the fire in her eyes this morning during our fight.
How the tension felt like it could snap at any moment.
My thoughts drag to the kiss in The Hay Barn.
The press of her body against mine. Her tongue exploring my mouth.
Her hands on my body. Heat coils low in my gut, and suddenly my dick is hardening.
I grab it in my hand, letting images of Izzy play through my head.
My release comes fast, leaving me breathing heavily against the shower wall as the water beats down on me. What was that about?
I turn off the shower, dry fast, and throw on fresh jeans and a clean tee, willing thoughts of Izzy away as I head downstairs.
But when I walk into the kitchen, she’s the first thing I see.
She and Madison are standing at the counter with Mama, who’s showing Madison how to stir a pot of gravy.
Madison is wearing a pink tee with a horse on the front, but it’s Izzy my eyes are drawn to.
She’s wearing a simple black sundress that stops mid-thigh, showing her tanned legs and sandaled feet.
Her hair is loose like the first time I saw her, falling in waves down her back.
Something about the look, after seeing her in work boots and denim for the past week, catches me off guard.
She sees me staring and there’s the same spark of defiance and challenge in her expression she’s had since we met, like maybe she knows exactly what I was thinking about in the shower. I glance away, adding perv to the growing list of reasons I’m failing at life right now.
At least this look is better than the one where she knows I’m in way over my head with this ranch. That one makes me want to walk right out the back door, climb in my truck, and drive the hell out of here for good.