Chapter 5
Chapter five
Breaking Ground Anyway
Jace
The box shouldn’t be here.
That’s the first thing that sticks, not just the fact that it was buried, but where it was buried.
Right on our Miller land like someone wanted it hidden but not gone.
It was tucked just deep enough that it wouldn’t be found by accident, but not so deep that it couldn’t be dug up again when the time came.
I crouch beside it, resting my forearms on my knees as I take a closer look. Forcing myself to slow down and actually see what’s in front of me instead of jumping straight to conclusions that don’t help anything.
Rodeo tags.
Not old enough to be forgotten, not worn enough to be tossed aside, and definitely not something anyone in this area would just leave lying around. Let alone bury like it means something more than scrap.
I pick one up, turning it over between my fingers. The metal cool and solid, the number stamped clean and familiar in a way that settles wrong in my gut.
I’ve seen these before.
Not just in passing, not just at events where everything blurs together under lights and noise. Close enough to remember the pattern, the setup, the way certain riders carry themselves when they wear numbers like this.
And that’s when the unease really starts to build.
This isn’t random.
It’s not some kid messing around or a piece of junk that ended up in the wrong place.
This was put here.
On purpose.
I shift my attention back to the box, pushing aside a piece of worn leather to get a better look at what’s underneath. The second layer tells me even more than the first.
A glove.
Not new, not clean. Not old enough to be forgotten either, the kind of gear someone uses regularly and takes care of, the kind of thing you don’t just lose track of unless you mean to.
Or unless something happened.
I sit back slightly, letting out a slow breath as my eyes scan the rest of the contents, taking in every detail, every piece, trying to fit it together into something that makes sense.
It doesn’t.
My jaw tightens as I reach for the last item. The one thing tucked deeper than the rest like whoever put this together wanted it protected more than anything else in the box. The second my fingers brush against it, something in my chest goes tight.
Paper.
Folded.
Handled more than once.
I pull it free and unfold it carefully, the edges worn but the ink still clear enough to read without any trouble. The name written across it stops everything cold.
Colt.
For a second, I just stare at it. My mind pulling up pieces I didn’t think about before. Old conversations, half-remembered moments from the circuit, things that didn’t seem important at the time but suddenly feel like they should’ve been.
Colt doesn’t leave things behind.
He doesn’t lose gear.
And he sure as hell doesn’t bury it out on someone else’s land unless there’s a reason for it.
I glance up, scanning the open stretch of Miller land around me. The quiet suddenly feeling different, heavier, like I’m not as alone out here as I thought I was when I first rode up.
The wind moves through the grass, steady and normal, but it doesn’t settle anything in me.
If anything, it makes the silence sharper.
Now I know this didn’t just happen.
This was planned.
And whatever it’s tied to…
It’s not finished.
I fold the paper back up slower than I need to, my mind already moving ahead of me.
Connecting pieces that don’t quite fit yet, but are close enough to keep me from ignoring them.
I shove everything back into the box with more care than I expected, like it matters how I handle it even if I don’t fully understand why.
Colt being tied to this isn’t something I can brush off.
Not with the way he moves through things.
Not with the way he’s always been one step ahead when it comes to anything that smells like trouble.
Not with the fact that this is sitting out here on our land, that makes it personal whether I want it to be or not.
Which means one thing.
I’m not waiting around anymore.
The thought settles in clean and solid, cutting through the rest of it. Whatever this is, whatever he’s got going on, I’m not leaving this land sitting open and empty like an invitation, and I’m sure as hell not letting something like this sit under the surface while I pretend it’s nothing.
I push to my feet and brush the dirt from my hands, my gaze sweeping the stretch of land again. This time it’s different, not just open space or possibility, but something I need to lock down before it turns into a problem I can’t control.
Building out here isn’t just an idea anymore.
It’s necessary.
By the time I swing back into the saddle, I’ve already decided how this is going to go. It doesn’t leave a lot of room for debate, not even from my brothers. For once this isn’t just about expansion or timing or whether it makes sense on paper.
This is about putting something in place that says this land is ours, watched, lived on, protected.
And I’m not asking for permission the way I might have before.
I’m telling them it’s happening.
The ride back feels shorter, the weight of what I found riding with me the whole way, pressing in just enough to keep my thoughts sharp. By the time I reach the yard, I can already see them spread out where I left them, like nothing changed even though everything just did.
Wade is the first to look up, his expression shifting the second he sees my face. “That was quick,” he says, straightening slightly. “Fence still standing?”
“Yeah,” I answer, sliding down from the saddle, my boots hitting the dirt with more purpose than before. “Fence is fine.”
Brooks watches me a second longer, reading more than what I said out loud. “Something else isn’t,” he guesses.
I don’t answer right away, just grab the box and set it down on the nearest flat surface, flipping it open so they can see for themselves instead of trying to explain it piece by piece.
That gets their attention.
Wade steps in first, his brow pulling tight as he looks over the contents. “What the hell is this?”
“Found it out on Miller,” I say, keeping my tone even, even though there’s nothing even about what this means. “Buried just off the fence line.”
Luke moves closer, his focus narrowing in the same way mine did earlier, taking it all in without rushing to speak, while Brooks stays quiet, his expression shifting into something more serious than anything we were dealing with ten minutes ago.
“Rodeo gear,” Wade mutters, picking up one of the tags. “You recognize it?”
“Yeah,” I say, and that’s enough for all of them to understand that this isn’t random.
Luke’s gaze lifts to mine. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yeah,” I answer again, there’s no point dancing around it.
A beat of silence settles, heavier this time, more focused.
Brooks exhales slowly. “Alright,” he says. “Then we need to figure out why it’s on our land.”
“We will,” I agree, then glance back out toward Miller land, the decision already locked in place before I even say it out loud. “But first, I’m building out there.”
That pulls all three of them back to me.
“Now?” Wade asks, not arguing yet, but close.
“As soon as we can break ground,” I say, meeting his gaze head on. “I’m not leaving that stretch open anymore, not with this going on, and not with everything else that just walked into my life today.”
Luke studies me, his expression thoughtful, weighing it the way he always does. “You’re tying this to the land,” he says.
“I’m tying it to everything,” I answer, because that’s the truth whether they like it or not. “That land’s been sitting there waiting long enough, and I’m done waiting.”
Brooks crosses his arms, not shutting it down, but not handing it to me easy either. “You’re talking about a full build, not just a quick fix,” he points out.
“Yeah,” I say, steady. “I am.”
Another pause settles, the kind that always comes before a decision gets made between us, and I hold it without backing off. For once I’m not second-guessing where I stand.
This isn’t about proving something.
It’s about stepping into it.
Wade lets out a breath and shakes his head slightly. “Hell of a day to decide to get serious,” he mutters.
“Maybe,” I say, not budging. “Or maybe it’s the right one.”
Luke glances between all of us, then gives a small nod. “We’ll talk numbers, timeline, what it takes,” he says. “But if we’re doing it, we do it right.”
Brooks follows that with a slow nod of his own. “No cutting corners.”
“Wouldn’t plan on it,” I answer.
Wade huffs out something that sounds a lot like reluctant acceptance. “Guess I better start clearing space for you then.”
That’s as close to agreement as I’m getting out of him today, and it’s enough.
Because the decision’s already made.
And this time, I’m not just thinking about it.
I’m digging in.
“That’s not the only thing we need to talk about,” Brooks says after a second, his voice shifting back into that steady, measured tone that usually means he’s already three steps ahead of the rest of us, and I know exactly where he’s going before he even says it out loud.
The will.
The rule that’s been sitting over everything since Dad signed it, the one that says nothing big changes without all four of us agreeing to it, not land, not money, not expansion, and definitely not something like building a house out on Miller that shifts how everything’s run.
Wade exhales slow and heavy, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “You know what this means,” he says, not looking at me at first, like he’s giving me a second to rethink it before he pushes. “This isn’t just you deciding to build something. This pulls all of us in.”
“I know exactly what it does,” I answer, keeping my voice level, even though there’s a tight edge under it now. I’m not backing off this just because it’s inconvenient. “And I’m not throwing it on you without thinking it through. I’m telling you it needs to happen.”