Chapter 19
NINETEEN
DYLAN
I’m dragged from sleep by hands shaking me, bright light in my eyes.
For a moment, I think it’s Jake or Chase, needing my help with some dumb stunt they’ve pulled—sneaking a girl into the ranch they now need me to help sneak back out before Mama gets wind.
But the hands are small and cold, and I’m not a teenage boy anymore, hauling my brothers out of trouble.
My eyes snap open and it’s Izzy I see. Even as I’m registering the urgency flashing in her eyes, my first thought is how much I want to reach for her.
“Moonlight’s having her foal,” Izzy says, breathless. Scared. “You need to get up.”
It takes my head a second to catch up as I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I thought she wasn’t due for another week.”
“Yeah, good point, I’ll just go explain that to her.” Her sarcasm cuts through the last of my sleep.
I’m already scrambling for my clothes as she keeps talking, voice laced with panic. “I wouldn’t have woken you, but the vet’s stuck dealing with a colic case. She’s not going to make it in time.”
“Wouldn’t have woken me?” I reply, irritation flaring. I tug my tee over my head. “These are my horses, Izzy. You wake me for this kind of thing!”
“Well I am, aren’t I? Can we just go?” She spins on her heels and heads for the stairs, her boots pounding each step like a countdown ticking in my head.
I grab my socks, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s kickoff in the playoffs and I’m about to take the field.
Moonlight is having her foal and I have no idea what I’m doing.
The thought hits hard as I shove my feet into my boots and run after Izzy.
The barn comes into view, its light spilling into darkness.
My chest tightens as I sprint toward the barn.
But nothing can prepare me for what I find inside.
I slow as I approach the stall, not wanting to spook Moonlight. She’s lying on the hay, gray coat darkened with sweat. Izzy is kneeling in the damp hay, murmuring softly to the mare.
Reality smacks into me. This isn’t a playoff game, a last-minute drive with the weight of my team’s season on my shoulders.
This is about the lives of two horses. Moonlight is here because of a drunken decision I made in a bar.
And now her life and the life of her foal are in my hands.
Panic surges as images of my dad flood my mind.
The way he always seemed to know what to do when a horse was sick.
But even he couldn’t save every horse. I remember the foal that didn’t make it, the quiet grief in his eyes as he walked into the kitchen and gave the smallest shake of his head in answer to a look Mama gave him. He was a skilled rancher.
What chance do I have?
Moonlight whinnies, the sound piercing in the quiet barn. Her body trembles and her eyes look wild with fear.
“Dylan.” The urgency in Izzy’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
My eyes shoot to her face. Her expression is expectant. She believes I can help, and somehow her faith in me is harder to swallow than all the times she’s told me to get out the way. I shake my head, taking a step back. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”
Izzy doesn’t break eye contact, her voice unwavering.
“Every rancher has a first time they do anything, Dylan. Tonight is your first night birthing a foal. And we’re going to save them both.
But for that to happen, I need to reposition the foal.
It’s stuck. I’ve never done this before either.
But I need you to keep her calm. Hold her head; keep her steady so she doesn’t make this harder for herself or me. ”
I nod, gritting my teeth. I might be way out of my depth here, but right now, I have to help Izzy. “OK. Tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”
“You won’t,” she says simply, like it’s a fact.
I step into the stall, sinking to my knees beside Moonlight’s head. I reach a cautious hand to her neck, stroking gently. “Easy, girl. We’ve got you.”
Izzy pulls on a pair of long gloves, rolling them up to her elbows. “She’s going to want to stand when I start turning the foal. We need her to stay down, no matter what.”
I nod, my throat dry. My hands grip Moonlight’s halter firmly.
Izzy kneels at Moonlight’s rear, her hands already working with a confidence that seems unshakable. “I can feel the foal,” she says. “I need to rotate it.” She glances at me, fear in her eyes. Her mouth is a tight line of determination. “This is going to hurt her. Keep her down.”
Her hands push further into Moonlight’s body and the mare shifts beneath me, her legs moving like she wants to stand. I tighten my grip on her halter, keeping my weight on her. “You’re in the best hands, Moonlight,” I whisper.
There’s a flicker of surprise in Izzy’s eyes as she glances my way. “Flattery won’t save this foal, Sullivan. Keep holding her.”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Dammit,” Izzy hisses a second later. “I can’t get the foal to turn. It just won’t—” Izzy’s face creases with concentration. She shakes her head. “Come on.”
“Breathe, Iz. You can do this.” The words neither of us say hang in the muggy air between us. There’s no choice. There’s no vet. No one but us. If Izzy can’t do it, we lose the foal and maybe Moonlight too.
Then, finally, Izzy shifts and her shoulders sag in relief. “Got it,” she whispers. “Get ready.”
Her hands emerge, quickly followed by a nose and a slick head.
The foal slides free in a rush, bundling into the straw.
For a heartbeat, everything stills. Izzy’s breathing is fast as she crouches over Moonlight, checking the mare with practiced hands.
But my eyes are locked on the foal. Its coat is silvery gray with a black mane and tail.
But it’s not moving. Not breathing. Panic chokes me.
I move fast. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember how my dad worked a newborn foal, and I grab a handful of clean straw and rub it over the foal’s body.
“Come on, little guy.” My voice comes in a rushed whisper. “Breathe.” An instinct I didn’t think I had takes over. I push my fingers into the foal’s mouth, clearing a thick globule of mucus. Nothing happens.
Come on!
Please!
I keep rubbing the foal with the hay, a little harder now.
“Dylan…” Izzy whispers, the emotion breaking in her voice just as the foal jerks, its body twitching as it sucks in its first breath. Relief floods through me, a wave so strong my arms tremble.
“He’s OK,” I rasp through the lump of emotion blocking my throat.
Izzy’s mouth curves into a tired smile. “Good work, rancher.”
And damn if those words don’t feel like the best compliment I’ve ever had.
It takes another hour for us to settle Moonlight and her foal.
Izzy delivers the placenta while I replenish the hay and water, adding fresh straw to the stall, making sure both mom and foal are as comfortable as possible.
By the time we step out of the barn, the first streaks of dawn are painting the sky in brushstrokes of pink, replacing the pitch black with a dusky gray.
The fences are no longer just lines in the gloom—they’re clear now, solid.
Like the shape of something real is finally coming into view.
My gaze falls on Izzy. Watching her tonight—focused, fierce, unfaltering—it was magnetic.
She saved Moonlight and her foal with her bare hands.
She never flinched. And all I could think the whole time I watched her work was how badly I want her to stay.
The truth is, I can’t imagine this place without her—without that fire in her voice, that grit in her step.
I’ll be leaving whether you keep the horses or not.
How can I ask her to stay when I still haven’t decided if I’m keeping these horses? Still don’t know what I’m doing, period. With these horses, with my life, my future.
And that’s the real problem. Because a part of me I’m not ready to face does know.
That part of me sees that the more time I spend working this ranch, the more I want this life.
The rhythm of it, the purpose. Football is fast, furious, and electric.
It’s about winning the game, winning the division, winning the playoffs.
Ranch life is different. Every fence mended, every horse cared for, every foal born—it’s more tangible.
More real than anything I’ve ever known, and it terrifies me.
Because if I admit I want this life, then I have to risk failing at it.
There’s no team at my back. It’s just me.
If I screw this up, there’s no next season. No second chance.
But if I let this go without trying, then I’m not just walking away from ranching.
I’m walking away from the only thing aside from football I’ve felt connected to.
These whispers of realization are hard to keep hold of, hard to face up to.
So, like a coward, I’ve been ignoring them.
Burying myself in the ranch work and Fury, making sure I’m too tired to think by the time I fall into bed every night.
Beside me, Izzy reties her hair into a ponytail, a few strands escaping around her face as she stares out across the ranch.
“What now?” I ask, my voice rough with fatigue but laced with something I can’t name and don’t want to end.
“Now we try and catch an hour of sleep before the day begins.”
She steps to leave, but I can’t let her go. I reach out, and when my hand grabs hers, the touch causes a tingle of electricity to race up my arm.
“Hey,” I say, tugging her gently toward me. “You were amazing in there.”
For a moment, Izzy looks like she might argue, but instead, she lets me pull her into a hug. My arms wrap around her, holding her close. Izzy’s body is tense in my arms, like she’s not used to being held, but then she relaxes, a shuddering sob breaking free that has me tightening my hold.
“Sorry,” she whispers, pulling back and looking up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m just tired. Tonight was a lot.”
I brush my thumb over the soft skin of her cheek. “Don’t be sorry. If I wasn’t more tired than I’ve ever been in my life, I’d be crying my eyes out.”
She huffs a laugh. “You were good in there,” she says, pulling a face.
I don’t fight the smile spreading across my face. “And how hard is it for you to admit that?”
She laughs again, this time lighter. “Very.”
“Well, flattery will get you everywhere,” I tease. “But seriously, you saved two lives tonight.”
“We saved two lives.”
“Nope. It was all you. I was just along for the ride.”
She laughs again and the sound undoes something in me.
This woman in my arms drives me crazy. She pushes me to be better.
And maybe that isn’t the worst thing, because when the green of her eyes locks onto mine, filled with fierce determination, all I want to do is be a better man.
And that’s when I realize—my frustration isn’t with Izzy; it never has been.
It’s with myself. Because I haven’t been that man.
Izzy’s face is inches from mine, her body warm in my arms. I feel something slip, like a wall is coming down between us or inside me—the hell if I know.
I move slowly, giving her the chance to pull back.
Instead, her fingers slide up the back of my neck, drawing me closer.
The world narrows. The ranch, the sky breaking open above us, everything fades until it’s just us.
All I see is her—lips parted, lashes low, her breath mingling with mine in the fragile space between us.
She tilts her chin, and I swear I feel the pull in my bones. The one I’ve felt like I’ve been fighting since the moment we met. I draw her closer until our lips are a breath apart—just one heartbeat away…
And then the noise of an engine cuts through the moment. Izzy moves out of my arms, her laugh shaky as we both turn to see a red truck speeding up the dirt track.
“That’s Camila,” she says. “The vet.”
Whatever that moment was between us, it’s gone, but it’s left behind an ache that burns inside me.
I focus my attention on Camila as she climbs out of the truck. She’s in her fifties with short dark hair, and, like Izzy, she moves with confidence, her presence commanding. From the dark circles around her eyes, I’m guessing her night was as long as ours.
“Camila, this is Dylan—the new rancher,” Izzy says.
The new rancher. Damn if my lips don’t pull into a smile I’ve got no control over.
I shake Camila’s hand. “Good to meet you.”
“Well done on your first foaling,” she says.
I nod toward Izzy. “I can’t take any credit. It was all Izzy.”
“Well, I’m here now.” Camila smiles. “Might as well give them both a quick check.”
“Anyone want a coffee?” I ask.
I receive two enthusiastic nods that leave me grinning as I stride toward the ranch house.
I glance back over my shoulder, watching Izzy as she leads Camila into the barn.
Even now, exhausted and covered in sweat and hay, I can’t drag my eyes away.
I know I’ve been a jerk. I’ve disappeared, been indecisive.
And Izzy has called me out on it more than once.
I know she wants to leave at the end of next week.
She’s made that clear. There are other ranches that can offer her a lot more stability than I’ve shown her.
I can’t blame her for wanting that. I won’t ask her to stay, but if she would only choose the ranch. Choose me…
In the kitchen, the coffee machine is already humming and the air is filled with the scent of roasted coffee beans.
Mama is by the counter, already dressed in overalls.
She turns to greet me, face a patchwork of worry, reminding me that before she was Mama, before she was a sports agent with a life of meetings and schedules, she was a rancher’s wife.
She knows better than most how close we came to heartbreak tonight. “Moonlight’s foal?”
“They’re both OK.” My voice cracks. I cough, trying to get hold of my emotions.
Mama sighs with relief. “Thank goodness for that. I’ll take these first coffees out to the barn. You take a minute.” She pours two cups, sets them on a tray, then pats my shoulder as she passes. Her voice is quieter when she adds, “Your dad would’ve been so proud of you, Dylan.”
And then I’m alone in the kitchen, sweat and dirt still clinging to my skin, a lump in my throat and moisture in my eyes. I think of my dad and the way he’d walk out of the back door to the ranch every morning, always ready for whatever the day would bring.
I think of Moonlight and her foal. Of Izzy’s confidence easing my own panic. That moment on the driveway when it felt as though we finally stopped fighting the pull—a tether drawing us closer.
When I stare out the window at the dawn breaking over the paddocks, I feel proud, too. But more than that—I finally feel like I belong.