Chapter Two
Austin, Texas
The morning started like any other.
Cash Montgomery had a routine. One he took pride in. One he needed. More than anyone else knew. It kept him grounded. It kept him rooted in everything his family had built.
He was up before the sun, same as every day. He had shrugged into a brown button-down shirt and trousers, splashed water across his face to wake himself up and groaned, his back already aching.
No bellyaching. There were chores to do. A lot of them.
He glanced out the window and thanked God for the day.
It was like a painting out there, God’s painting, with streaks of blue and pink spread out over the horizon as the sun crept up.
The entire house was already stirring. He heard a dull thud against the wall from the room next door, followed by a muffled curse. Luke.
Cash chuckled. Luke was always clattering around in the kitchen this early. Stepping into the hallway, Cash trailed his hand along the weathered wooden wall. The floor creaked loudly underneath his feet.
Down the hall, Luke’s voice was resounding from the kitchen. His mouth was already running faster than a bee-stung mare. Morning was his favorite time of day—and it was Cash’s least favorite. He hated mornings almost as much as his other brother, Beau.
“I need more coffee,” grumbled Beau, his voice gravelly with sleep as he traipsed passed Cash, his footsteps heavier.
He was the eldest of the three, broad-shouldered and strong as an ox.
His hair was dark, always neatly combed back.
Cash found it hard to believe that even in the early hours of the morning that Beau hated so much, he still made sure his hair was slicked back.
Cash shook his head, smiling, as he followed Beau through the doorway that led to the kitchen. The smell of biscuits and bacon hit him as soon as they opened the door. He smiled and his stomach gurgled.
“That smells amazing,” he announced as he walked into the kitchen. Luke was now sitting at the table, already shoveling food in his mouth, his wavy brown hair drooping down past his eyebrows.
Another thing Cash found hard to believe: how big his little brother was getting. He remembered when Luke was just a little thing not much bigger than his forearm. Ma had given birth to him in the very bedroom that now belonged to Cash.
Hank Calloway, their head hand, was pulling hot biscuits, his famous recipe, from the oven. And Beau was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he drank his coffee with a sour expression. “Could you eat any louder?” he muttered, shaking his head.
Luke grinned, his mouth full. “Ain’t my fault I work up an appetite.”
Cash took his seat at the head of the table and poured himself a cup of coffee before loading his plate. Breakfast was his favorite meal. A little fuel for the long day ahead.
“Fences need checking out past the south ridge,” Beau said, biting into one of Hank’s biscuits. “And that black colt needs more halter training.”
“I’ll handle the colt,” Cash replied gruffly, stuffing the biscuit into the side of his cheek.
“You sure?” Hank asked, turning from the stove, a piece of bacon in his mouth as he carried the cast-iron skillet of bacon to the table. “That colt has a mean streak a mile wide.”
Hank was a good man. He was older than Beau by thirty years or so, but he was a darn good cowboy.
He had practically raised the three brothers after their parents passed away.
He was wise and protective with big arms and an even bigger belly.
He liked bread and pie a little too much, but that was quite alright with them.
He was one heck of a worker. And everyone loved when it was his turn to cook breakfast. His biscuits were the stuff of legends.
Cash just gave the man a shrug. “He’s just a horse. Like all the rest of ‘em.”
Hank laughed. “Oh, I forgot, you think you’re a horse whisperer.”
Cash winked at him. “I am a horse whisperer.”
Truth was, he wasn’t a bit worried about that colt. He’d always known his way around horses. A lot better than he did with people. He knew the horses, and they knew him. The colt might be a tough one to tame, but he wasn’t tougher than Cash.
Luke leaned back in his chair, smirking. “All’s right with the world, eh? Too good to last too long. Reckon Remington’ll be sniffing around again soon.”
Cash’s grip tightened on his coffee mug at the name.
Grayson Remington.
He was the kind of man whose pockets were a little too deep.
So deep that he thought money could buy him anything—including the Montgomery ranch.
Even if he’d been told ‘no’ a thousand times.
It didn’t stop him from trying. He’d been making offers for years, hoping one of them would crack under the pressure—or maybe hoping he could scare them one day with his gang of idiots.
“Let him try,” Cash grumbled. “He’ll never get this land.”
Beau nodded in agreement. “Darn right he won’t.”
All three brothers would have rather died than give him even so much an acre of their land. Pa had built this place from the ground up. And Cash wasn’t about to let some rich, slick-talking fool take it away.
This place was a lot more than just land. It was more than dirt and fences and cattle and horses.
It was home.
It was everything the Montgomerys stood for.
***
There was something about the routine of ranch life that Cash loved.
It was easy to lose himself in the work, letting the hours slip away to the land and the animals.
Some days, he worked so hard that night fell before he realized he was starving and nearly dead on his feet.
There was always more to do than time to do it.
But today? Today, the minutes dragged by liked hours. He’d spoken too soon to Hank. The doggone colt was giving him hell.
“Easy!” he barked as the young horse fought him fiercely, kicking up dirt, muscles coiled tight as he bucked with all his might against the rope Cash had just slung around his neck. The animal had grit, that was for sure.
Yet despite his frustration, Cash was excited to have the colt. He was black. Beautiful and strong. There was fire in his eyes, and he was stubborn to the bone. Cash could respect that. If he could gentle him well, he’d be a dang good asset to the ranch.
The colt wheeled and plunged away again, nearly yanking the rope out of Cash’s grip, and he had to square his stance, nearly squatting to the ground just to keep himself on his feet.
The pressure was enough that the colt came trotting back in, and Cash took his chance, pulling out a snapped carrot from his pocket.
The sight and scent of the treat brought the colt to a quick halt. He knew the taste of carrot. But he didn’t come closer yet. He stomped and huffed, eyeing the halter slung over Cash’s arm like it was going to bite him.
“I know, boy,” Cash muttered. “You ain’t gonna like this, but we’re doin’ it anyway.”
Slow and steady, he tucked the arm that held the halter behind his back and held out the carrot. He took a step forward. Then another. The colt stomped a hoof again, but the carrot proved to great a temptation.
Finally, Cash stood in front of the colt, and he held out the carrot carefully on his palm, letting the young horse sniff at it. The colt took it quickly, munching with relish. Cash stroked his neck gently. “There we are. See? No harm here.”
Slowly, slowly, he pulled the halter out from behind his back and brought it to the animal’s nose.
The colt flinched—but he didn’t bolt.
“That’s right,” Cash murmured approvingly. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
Once again, he let the colt sniff at the halter. Then, with subdued movements, he lifted it up and slid the noseband lightly over the colt’s muzzle, letting the cheek straps brush against his face—a feeling he’d need to get used to before they did anything else.
The colt tensed, trying to dance sideways, but Cash moved with him, remaining as close as possible. He wasn’t about to let the colt think he won. He ran a firm hand along the horse’s neck, reassuring him. “Ain’t so bad, huh?”
Then came the real test—getting the halter over the colt’s ears. Cash placed a gentle hand on the colt’s mane, pulling the crown strap up—slow. The moment the leather touched his forehead, the colt pinned his ears and tried to lunge forward.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Cash grunted, anchoring his feet in place.
He kept a tight grip on the lead rope, and the colt was compelled to turn in a tight circle, unable to fight against the tension.
When the horse stopped, blowing hard through his nostrils, Cash tried again.
This time, he pulled out his final trick: a peppermint candy.
As soon as the treat appeared on his palm, all the fight went right out of the colt. Its ears came forward and it practically stumbled over its own hooves in its effort to get to Cash’s hand.
“Easy, there,” he chuckled, closing his fingers around the treat. As the colt nuzzled at his closed fist, he pulled the crown strap up gently over the ears and set it down. The colt snorted, shook its head—but Cash was right there, already fastening the throatlatch.
As soon as it was fastened, he stepped back, holding the lead rope in one hand, still clenching the peppermint in the other. The colt tossed his head again, let out a whinny… but this time, the sound was more curious, less frightened.
That was all Cash needed. He grinned, proud of himself. “That’s the spirit.” He held out his hand, and the colt eagerly caught up the peppermint in deft lips and crunched away. Cash stroked his mane, murmuring soft praise. “Well done… atta boy.”
The dang horse had worked him hard, but he’d pushed through it, as he had dozens of times before. And, like so many times before, its wildness was slowly giving way to something else—trust.
“Good boy,” he muttered, patting the colt’s neck. “I think I’ll call you Buck.”
He led the colt back into the barn, talking softly to it the entire way, then hung the halter and lead rope just outside its stall. Tomorrow would be another lesson—another battle, getting the colt used to the halter, the signs to walk on and whoa. But today’s battle was over, and it was a success.
Next was checking the fence lines in the far fields. Cash saddled up his favorite horse, a bright chestnut mare named Ruby, and in minutes they were riding out to the stream out back by the tree line.
It took Cash more than an hour to check all the back fences.
When they finally came to the stream, he stopped and dismounted to let Ruby drink.
It was already growing late in the afternoon, and the sun was bearing down hot.
He patted Ruby’s damp neck and allowed himself a triumphant smile as he began to ford the stream, heading for the fence line on the far bank.
We’ll get that colt gentled yet.
Then he heard it.
A sound that didn’t belong. Faint, but clear… the sharp wail of a baby.
Cash stiffened. His gaze snapped toward the field on the other side of the fence.
It melted quickly into tress, and he squinted, peering over the fence line, trying to see if there was something hidden in the grass, perhaps just inside the woods.
He went still, and even his heart thudding in his ear seemed to become too loud as he strained to catch the sound again.
There was nothing. Nothing but shifting grasses and rustling branches and open sky.
“What in the…?”
Then he heard the cry again, clearer, louder, nearly in front of him this time—somewhere just beyond the fence.
“Who’s there?” he shouted, worry turning his voice sharp. He took off running toward the fence, leaving Ruby by the creek, feet propelling him forward like a bat out of hell.
That’s definitely a baby.
He was up and over the fence like a shot—and nearly stumbled across a still form in the grass.
“Whoa!” He jerked away instinctively, half-bracing himself for the startled yips or growls of some wild animal.
But none came. He peered through the long grasses again, eyeing the thing cautiously. It was small, no bigger than a wolf, but it was no wolf.
His breath became ragged as he dared a step forward, then another. And then he saw her—a woman!
She was small. Frail. She had collapsed just past the fence line, her body curled protectively around something—no, someone.
A baby.
Cash’s pulse began hammering in his ears. “No…” he muttered, dropping to his knees beside her, worry pinching inside his chest. “Hello? Can you hear me, ma’am?”
She wasn’t moving.
The baby was still crying. He could see it now, its tiny body tucked against her chest, but—thank God—it didn’t look hurt.
Cash’s eyes darted back to the woman. Strands of auburn hair clung to her dirt-streaked face, her breathing shallow but there.
Alive.
They were both alive.
Cash hesitated for a second before reaching out. Slowly he pushed the hair back from her face. and his eyes widened.
She was beautiful.
But the expression on her silent face was pained… as though she was having a nightmare.
What’s she doing out here?
It couldn’t be anything good.
“Ma’am?” he questioned, softly, his mouth suddenly dry.
He didn’t know who she was, where she had come from, or what had driven her to collapse on his land.
But one thing was certain. She needed help. And he was going to give it.
“Ma’am?” he said again, scrambling for the water canteen at his belt. Water. She needed water.
Hang in there just a little longer…