Chapter 5
Rain came down in sheets, the kind that soaked through denim and turned every step into a negotiation with mud.
Adam killed his truck engine and sat for a moment, wipers thudding back and forth, watching Hawk wrestle a fence post upright one-handed.
Hawk leaned into it with his shoulder, boots sliding, jaw set, as if stubbornness alone might count as leverage.
The sky hung low and bruised, clouds dragging themselves across the hills. The pasture beyond the fence had turned dark and slick, puddles forming in every shallow dip. Thunder rolled somewhere far off, slow and heavy, followed by a silence that pressed down hard enough to feel personal.
Adam climbed out, glad he’d chosen to drive instead of ride his horse. Cold rain slapped his face and ran down the back of his neck. The ground sucked at his boots as he slogged toward the fence line.
Hawk looked over. Rain streaked down his face, collecting in the lines at the corners of his mouth. His cast was wrapped in a garbage bag and duct tape, swollen and ugly, already sagging with water. “Mornin’.”
“You’re supposed to be healing,” Adam said. “Not auditioning for Man vs. Weather.”
Hawk grinned. “Dawn tried that argument.”
“And?”
“Lost.”
Adam shook his head. “She should’ve tried harder.”
“She did,” Hawk said. “Then she figured you’d be out here alone fixing the fence line, so I might as well come out.”
Adam snorted. He’d never intended to buy one of the ranches in the area, but when in Rome and all of that. So long as he combined his cattle with Hawk’s, he was fine being a cowboy when he wasn’t at the bar. He glanced at the fence line. “This is a mess.”
The fence was wrecked with posts snapped low and wire pulled loose and sagging. A cottonwood had come down hard in the night, roots torn clean out of the earth, leaving a raw crater filled with brown water and churned mud. Branches lay tangled across the line, dragging wire down with them.
“Yep. Spring in Montana,” Hawk said easily.
Adam stepped into the muck and got to work, because that was what he did.
He took the heavy end, hauling posts upright while Hawk steadied them and tied wire where he could.
The rhythm came back fast—pull, brace, pound.
The mud tried to steal his footing every time he shifted. “Tell me again why I decided to ranch?”
“It’s fun and good money, plus a way of life, I guess.” Hawk moved slower than usual, careful of the cast, but he stayed at it. Sitting still had never been one of his strengths.
They worked in silence for a bit, the only sounds the rain, the thud of the post driver, wire rasping, and horses shifting uneasily in the far field.
Hawk tied off an end. “How was dinner last night?”
“Fine.” Adam drove the post harder than necessary.
Hawk’s mouth twitched. “Fine?”
“Don’t start,” Adam said.
“I’m not starting,” Hawk said. “I’m asking.”
Adam bent and pulled the wire taut, forearms burning. “It was dinner. That’s it.”
Hawk tied off a loop with his good hand. “Town seems to think otherwise.”
Adam’s head snapped up. “Town?”
Hawk glanced at him, amused. “Word travels.”
“Fantastic,” Adam muttered.
Hawk went on, unbothered. “She’s pretty.”
Adam snorted. “That’s your contribution?”
“Just an observation,” Hawk said.
Adam shook his head and went back to the post. He didn’t want to think about Bianca’s mouth, or the way she’d watched him when he talked, or how easily the conversation had become warm and charged. He didn’t want to think about how long it had been since anyone had looked at him that way.
They worked another minute. Rain pattered against the wire, and a cottonwood’s leaves slapped wetly in the wind.
“She seems smart and likeable,” Hawk said.
The woman had been funny, too. “Yeah, but she’s from the city and likes her money.”
“Shit. Who doesn’t like money?” Hawk muttered, lifting his good arm to wipe mud off his cheek as rain beat against his drenched cowboy hat. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Adam shrugged. “Not my type, you know? My mom was a professional gold digger. I’ve told you stories.
” Sitting around campfires at night, everyone told stories.
“In fact, Bianca’s mom sounds a lot like mine.
Hers ultimately married a Hollywood mogul and mine a tech genius.
For the money.” The woman had never been happy, though. Probably still wasn’t.
“You’re different than your mom,” Hawk said reasonably.
True. “But I ain’t wearing designer jeans, now, am I?” Adam shook his head.
“You don’t have the body for it.”
Adam snorted. “Look who’s talking.” There were more rips in Hawk’s jeans than Adam’s, and that was saying something.
“It’s not like you’re poor,” Hawk said.
“My finances aren’t anyone’s business. Especially a Hollywood scout who’ll be gone before the huckleberries bloom.” Adam drove the post again, too hard. The impact jarred his arms. “Though I wouldn’t mind dating her while she’s here.”
Hawk snipped off the wire. “Ah. The famous let’s-have-the-month move. You know that never works, right? Someone always falls hard and then gets hurt.” He slid in the mud and quickly recovered. “Maybe you’ll be the one to fall. I saw how you looked at her.”
Adam wiped rain off his face with the back of his wrist. “Like I said, she’s pretty. But I’m not interested in knowing more about her than what I already do.”
Hawk glanced at him. “You’re lying.”
Adam stared at him, then looked away. “I’m not.”
Hawk didn’t push. “Maybe she wants to know more about you. Maybe she actually sees you. Most people don’t.”
Adam barked a laugh. “She sees a business owner who can help her do her job.”
“Maybe,” Hawk said. “Or maybe she sees a man who shows up. Who fixes things. Who takes care of people.”
Adam clipped the wire with a sharp snap. “You’re giving her a lot of credit.”
“I’m giving you credit,” Hawk said. “You do a hell of a lot for everyone around here.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Adam straightened, rain pouring off the brim of his hat. “Because someone has to.”
“Yep, and that’s solid. Maybe the pretty Hollywood lady is looking for solid. Might as well give her a real chance,” Hawk said quietly.
Adam didn’t answer.
Hawk pressed on. “You make sure the town’s okay. You make sure neighbors are okay. You make sure I’m okay. And then you go home alone and act like that’s just how it is.”
Adam scoffed and barely kept from reminding Hawk how hard he’d fought against loving Dawn. The entire town had finally gotten involved and brought the moron to his senses. “So now that you’re settled, everyone else has to follow suit?”
Hawk smiled faintly. “I’m not saying everyone. I’m saying you deserve the option.”
Adam shook his head hard. “No way. Bianca isn’t—” He stopped, exhaled. “She’s not staying. She likes momentum. She likes what comes next. That’s fine. But it’s not this.” He gestured at the fence, the land, the soaked morning pressing in around them. “It’s not here.”
Hawk watched him for a long moment. “Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be real.”
Adam looked away, out toward the trees blurred by rain. “Real still leaves.”
Before Hawk could answer, the sound of hooves cut through the rain.
Adam turned as two riders came over the rise along the fence line.
Both rode easy and confident, their horses picking the way through the mud without hesitation, heads low, ears flicking, accustomed to bad weather and worse ground.
Oilskin coats were darkened nearly to black by the rain, and the cowboy hats were pulled low with their brims dripping steady streams of water.
“The Nevins are out early,” Hawk noted, leaning on a shovel.
The Nevin land ran along the other side of Adam’s place for miles in rolling pasture broken up by stands of cottonwood and creek-fed lowlands.
The Nevins had been there for generations.
People said eons, only half joking. Their great-grandfather had driven cattle across this same ground before fences existed to argue about.
They ran cattle first and foremost, but they’d learned early not to put all their faith in one thing—rotating crops through the flatter stretches, barley and hay mostly, keeping the land working and productive without stripping it bare.
Thatcher Nevin swung down first. The eldest twin was tall, broad-shouldered, and built thick through the chest and arms, the kind of man who looked carved rather than trained.
His dark hair curled at the edges beneath his hat, rain plastering it back, green eyes sharp and assessing even when relaxed.
Pike followed a heartbeat later, leaner and faster, already grinning as his boots hit the ground, dark hair cut shorter, blue eyes bright with humor and curiosity.
Fraternal twins, unmistakable but never confused.
Thatcher was steady and deliberate, Pike restless and quick, and both solid as the land they worked.
They’d been rodeo stars once and now ranched hard.
“Hell of a morning for fence work,” Thatcher called, voice carrying easily through the rain.
Hawk smiled. “You boys lost?”
“Heard you were hurt.” Pike hopped across the sagging wire without breaking stride. “Figured we’d come see how bad.”
Thatcher’s gaze went straight to Hawk’s cast. “You look like hell.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” Hawk said.
They crossed the boundary line without hesitation. The edges of all ranches in the area were blurred by decades of shared work, shared water rights, borrowed equipment, and favors that were never written down. Thatcher nodded at Adam. “Hey. Good to see you.”
“Morning,” Adam said.
“I heard that you’re already dating the Hollywood lady,” Pike added cheerfully.
Adam shot Hawk a look. Hawk lifted his good hand. “Wasn’t me.”
Thatcher chuckled. “The town is awash in joy at the thought of a new romance.”
“Jealous?” Adam asked dryly.
Pike laughed. “Maybe a little. Mostly impressed.” He rolled wide shoulders. “We sat in the back during the town meeting. That gal is pretty.”
“Very,” Thatcher agreed.
They grabbed spare gloves and fell into the work without being asked—taking posts, tightening wire, moving with the easy coordination of men who’d fixed fences their whole lives.
Thatcher worked methodically, testing each repair twice.
Pike talked while he worked, cracking jokes, asking questions, keeping the mood light without slowing anything down.
Rain kept falling. The fence slowly straightened, patched and reinforced, still bearing the marks of what had knocked it down.
“You’re good at this, Adam,” Thatcher noted thoughtfully. “Wasn’t sure when you bought the Lorrety Homestead, but you’ve done a good job.”
Yeah, Adam hadn’t been sure it was a smart move, either.
But he figured at first that the property would prove to be a decent investment, and now it was part of his life.
This ranching and fighting nature all the time.
It dug into a guy’s bones and stayed there.
“How long do you suppose it’ll be called the Lorrety Homestead?
” Old Man Lorrety had sold to Adam and then moved to Florida to live in the sun near his grandkids, but he’d farmed the land for decades before that.
Pike grinned. “Not until you settle down and knock out a couple of little Ridgeway hellions who ride broncs and sing at bars at night.”
Probably true.
Thatcher knocked a post into place with a hard hammer. “You lookin’ to settle down, Ridgeway?”
Adam snorted. “No.” Even so. Pretty brown eyes flashed through his mind.
Pike tossed him a pair of wire cutters. “That’s when they catch ya.”