Chapter 9
SLADE
Morning light filtered through the cabin's front window, thin and gray.
The storm had passed sometime in the night, leaving a quiet that felt personal, like it belonged to the two of us and no one else.
Morgan was still asleep next to me, her hair spilled across my chest, one arm draped over my ribs.
I'd been awake for the better part of an hour, watching her breathe, trying to memorize the shape of this moment before it slipped away.
Because it would slip away. That's what moments like this did.
I eased out from under her carefully, trying not to wake her.
She stirred but didn't open her eyes, just burrowed deeper into the blanket with a soft sound that made my chest ache.
I pulled on my jeans and shirt, moving quietly around the small space.
The fire had burned down to embers. I added wood, waited for it to catch, then stepped outside to check on the horses.
The cold bit into me, sharp and painful as I took in a deep breath. Snow blanketed the trees and the lean-to. There was no trace of the trail we'd ridden in on. It was beautiful in a brutal way. The kind of beauty that didn't care whether a person survived it or not.
I turned my attention to the horses next. They were fine, huddled together for warmth, unbothered by the chaos humans insisted on creating around them. I gave each of them a pat, made sure they had water, then stood there longer than necessary, staring out at the wide stretch of white.
That was when I saw him. Hades stood at the edge of the tree line, half-shadow, half-smoke against the snow.
He didn’t move. Just watched the cabin for a long moment, his eyes steady, like keeping the peace was his job whether anyone asked him to or not.
He sat back on his haunches and let out a soft howl, then disappeared back into the woods.
Last night shouldn’t have happened. I didn’t regret it, but it would come with a cost. Morgan had a job to do and a reputation to build.
I had land to protect, a rodeo to get off the ground, and a legacy I was still trying to figure out how to carry without letting it crush me.
And now we’d tangled ourselves together in a way that made all of that harder to untangle. The cabin door opened behind me.
“Hey,” Morgan said. “Did I hear a wolf?”
I turned. She stood in the doorway wrapped in the blanket, her hair messy, her eyes still soft with sleep. She looked vulnerable in a way that made something protective and possessive coil in my gut.
“Hey,” I said. “That was Hades. Probably checking on us to make sure we survived the night.”
She stared out at the tree line. “Ruby told me about him. You should've woken me when you got up.”
“You needed sleep.”
“So did you.”
I moved back toward the door and offered a smile. “Sleep is overrated.”
“That’s what people who never get enough sleep say,” she teased.
I stopped close enough to her that our shoulders almost touched. We stood there in silence for a moment, watching our breath fog in the cold air.
“We should head back,” I said.
“Okay.”
She didn’t argue which should've made things easier. Instead, something twisted in my chest. I’d wanted her to fight me, and that truth sat heavier than the cold.
Once we’d shut down the cabin and started back toward the ranch, Hades showed up to lead the way.
Even with him keeping us on the trail, the ride back was slow.
The snow had drifted in places, making the trail treacherous in places.
I kept Morgan close, watching for patches of ice and unstable ground.
She looked more confident and relaxed in the saddle. Like something had shifted overnight.
Hell, everything had shifted overnight.
When the main ranch buildings came into view, Hades left us to cover the rest of the way on our own. Relief and dread washed over me equally. Relief because we'd made it back. Dread because reality was waiting.
And so was Dawson. I spotted his truck parked near the barn before we even dismounted. He must've gotten back earlier than expected.
Morgan noticed too. “Is that—”
“Dawson,” I confirmed, swinging down from the saddle. “He's back early.”
Her expression shifted and something guarded slid into place. She let me help her dismount, then handed me her reins and brushed snow from her jacket like she was preparing for an inspection.
Dawson stepped out of the barn as we approached, his expression unreadable. He took in the two horses, the snow still clinging to our coats, and the careful distance Morgan had put between us.
“Did the storm catch you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “We had to hole up in the north cabin.”
Dawson's gaze flicked to Morgan, then back to me. “Everyone all right?”
“Fine,” Morgan said. “Slade got us there safely.”
Her cold, professional tone made my jaw tighten.
“Morgan Carter,” I said, gesturing between them. “This is Dawson Griffith. Dawson, Morgan's the town planner.”
“It’s “nice to meet you, ma’am.” Dawson tipped his hat, polite but assessing.
Morgan offered a small smile. “Nice to meet you too. Slade's told me about the rodeo plans. They're impressive.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Dawson's gaze lingered on her for a beat too long, then shifted back to me. “I'll help get the horses settled.”
Morgan took that as her cue. “I should get going. I've got work to catch up on.”
She didn't look at me when she said it and didn't wait for a response. Just headed toward her car with her shoulders squared and her chin up, every inch the competent professional who definitely hadn't spent the night with her legs wrapped around my hips in a storm-trapped cabin.
I watched her go, something heavy settling in my chest.
“Slade.” Dawson's voice pulled me back.
I turned to find him studying me with that quiet, knowing look he got when he'd already figured out more than I wanted him to.
“What?” I asked, defensive without meaning to be.
He shook his head and led my horse toward the barn. “Come on. Let's get these two settled and you can fill me in on what’s been going on.”
We worked in silence while we tended to the horses. The familiar rhythm should've been calming, but it wasn't.
“So,” Dawson said eventually. “How'd the land review go?”
“Good,” I said. “Morgan knows her stuff. She's thorough.”
“And the town? They warming up to her?”
“Some. Others are still suspicious.”
Dawson nodded, running a brush along Lollipop’s flank. “Does it seem like she's planning on sticking around?”
“I don't know,” I said, weighing my words carefully. We hadn’t talked about it but a woman with her aspirations wouldn’t be happy in Mustang Mountain for long. “Once the rodeo gets approved and the site work's done, I expect she'll probably move on.”
Dawson paused mid-stroke. “You sound pretty sure about that.”
“I'm being realistic.”
“Uh-huh.” He went back to brushing, but I could feel his attention still fixed on me. “And last night?”
“What about it?”
“Anything happen? You two seem… close.”
I set down the hoof pick harder than necessary. “We got stuck in a storm. That's it.”
“That's it,” Dawson repeated, not believing a word.
“Yeah.”
He was quiet for a long moment like he was trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to without pissing me off. “You know, for someone who’s spent half his life riding things that wanted to kill him, you sure do run scared from the things that might actually be good for you.”
“I'm not running from anything.” And I wasn’t. Kincaids weren’t raised to run away, not from a fight like the one that might erupt over that damn marker, and definitely not from a woman who would be leaving soon anyway.
“No?” Dawson straightened, meeting my eyes. “Then why do you look like a man who just lost something he didn't know he wanted?”
I didn't have an answer for that. Or maybe I did, and I didn't want to say it out loud.
Dawson sighed. “Look, I'm not trying to push. But if there's something between you two—”
“There's not.” That should have shut him down, but he knew me better than I knew myself.
“Slade—”
“She's not staying, Dawson.” The words came out sharper than I meant them to. “She's got a career to build and a life somewhere else. This—Mustang Mountain, the rodeo, all of it—it's just a job for her.”
“Did she say that?”
“She doesn't have to.”
Dawson gave me a long look, the kind that made me feel like he could see straight through every wall I'd built. “You're already bracing for her to leave.”
“I'm being practical.”
“You're being a coward.”
His accusation hung in the air between us. I turned away and grabbed a water bucket that didn't need filling, so I’d have something to do with my hands. “I don't know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to be honest,” Dawson said quietly. “With yourself, if not with me.”
“I am being honest.”
“No, you're being safe. There's a difference.”
I set the bucket down and faced him. “You want honesty? Fine. Last night happened. And it was a mistake. Not because I didn't want it, but because it complicates everything. The rodeo, the land review, her job… all of it gets messier if people think there's something between us.”
“Is there something between you?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“The hell it doesn't.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, frustration building. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to stop treating people like they're temporary just because you're scared, they might be.”
The words hit hard, but I wasn’t about to admit he was right. I’d spent so long being the Kincaid no one expected to stick around, I'd started assuming everyone else was the same way.
“She's going to leave eventually,” I said, quieter now. “There’s nothing holding her here.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she'd stay if you gave her a reason to.” Dawson's expression softened, and he clapped me on the shoulder. “Think about it. And get your head straight before the next committee meeting. We've got work to do.”
That was just like him to drop a truth bomb then leave me there in the barn, surrounded by the smell of hay and leather and my own tangled thoughts.
I didn't see Morgan for the rest of the day.
She didn't call. Didn't text. And I didn't reach out either, telling myself it was better this way.
But that night, lying in my own bed in the ranch house, I couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd looked at me in the cabin.
The way she'd trusted me completely and given herself over without holding back.
The way I'd woken up this morning already planning how to retreat.
Dawson's words echoed in my head. “You're being a coward.”
Hell, maybe I was. But being brave had never gotten me much except bruises and broken bones and people who decided I wasn't worth the effort.
It was better to be realistic. Better to protect what I could control.
Even if it meant letting go of something that felt, for one perfect night, like it could've been everything.