Chapter 10
MORGAN
The approval paperwork sat on my desk in a neat stack, signed and stamped.
Official. Final. Everything I'd come to Mustang Mountain to accomplish, reduced to a half inch of documentation that would gather dust in a filing cabinet somewhere.
I should've felt proud. Victorious, even. Instead, I felt hollow.
“Ms. Carter?” Mayor Nelson's voice pulled me from my thoughts. He stood in my doorway, hat in hand, that grandfatherly smile firmly in place. “Got a minute?”
I straightened, pushing the hollow feeling down where it belonged. “Of course. Come in.”
He settled into the chair across from my desk with a satisfied sigh. “Just wanted to tell you personally that the council voted unanimously last night. Conditional approval for the rodeo site has been granted.”
I’d done it. I’d secured the win I'd been working toward since day one. “That's wonderful news,” I said, and meant it. Sort of.
“You did good work here, Morgan. Real good work.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The environmental impact assessment was thorough. Your infrastructure recommendations were sound. And the way you handled the community concerns… well, that showed real skill.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now comes the part where we actually build the thing.” His eyes twinkled. “Which means working closely with the Kincaids to finalize site prep, access roads, all that.”
My stomach tightened. “Of course.”
“I was hoping you might drive out to the Iron Spur this afternoon and deliver the news to Slade yourself.” He said it casually, like it was nothing.
Like he hadn't asked me to walk straight into the one place I'd been avoiding for two days.
“Seems fitting, given how much time you two put into making this happen.”
I kept my expression neutral and professional. “I can do that.”
“Excellent.” He stood, replacing his hat. “The Kincaids have done right by this town, offering that land. They deserve to hear it from the person who made sure we did it correctly.”
After he left, I sat there staring at the paperwork.
The smart thing would be to call. Send an email.
Handle it remotely and maintain the careful distance I'd constructed since leaving that cabin.
But I'd never taken the easy way out before, and I wasn't about to let Slade Kincaid make me start now.
I changed clothes three times before settling on dark jeans and a sweater that felt professional enough without trying too hard. I told myself the extra effort was about respect. I was lying to myself, and I knew it.
The drive out to the Iron Spur felt longer than it should have. I'd made this trip enough times that I knew every curve, and every marker. The mountains rose around me, indifferent and eternal, and I tried to draw strength from their steadiness. It didn't work.
My hands gripped the steering wheel tight. My heart beat faster than it should have for a simple professional courtesy visit. Because nothing about any of my interaction with Slade had been simple, and we both knew it.
Two nights ago, I'd been wrapped around him in a rustic cabin in the middle of nowhere, feeling more present and alive than I had in years.
Yesterday, I'd watched him pull away before I'd even had a chance to fully wake up.
The shift had been subtle but unmistakable from the careful distance in his voice to the way he wouldn't quite meet my eyes.
I'd known what it meant. I'd seen that particular retreat before, in different forms. The moment when someone decided I wasn’t worth the effort. Useful, maybe, but not permanent. Not worth the risk.
It hurt more than I wanted to admit to myself or anyone else.
So I'd given him the space he clearly wanted with a heaping side of professional indifference. I’d chosen distance instead of messy emotions or an uncomfortable conversation.
I'd done my job, kept my head down, and told myself it was better this way.
I'd been telling myself a lot of lies lately, but it would pay off in the long run.
The ranch came into view, and my pulse kicked up another notch. I parked near the barn, took a steadying breath, and grabbed the folder from the passenger seat. This was just business. I’d get in, share the news, and be on my way back to town before he had a chance to process anything.
I found him exactly where I expected to…
working. He was near the practice pen, repairing a section of fence, his back to me as I approached.
Even from a distance, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he moved with that controlled precision that meant he was thinking too hard about something. Or trying not to think about it at all.
“Slade.”
He turned, and for a second, his expression was unguarded. Something flashed in his eyes… relief, maybe, or a quick moment of longing. Then the walls went up again and left me guessing about how he really felt.
“Morgan.” He set down the post driver and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I didn't expect to see you out here.”
“Mayor Nelson asked me to deliver the news in person.” I kept my voice level and professional. “The council approved the rodeo site last night. It’s conditional approval, pending final environmental and safety reviews, but it's official.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his tight smile giving nothing away. “That's… that's great. Really great.”
“It is.” I held out the folder. “Here are the next steps. There are site preparation timelines, permit requirements, and contact information for the contractors the county recommends.”
He took the folder but didn't open it. Just held it, his gaze fixed on mine like he was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying. “You drove all the way out here to give me paperwork?”
“Mayor Nelson thought it would be better to deliver the news in person.”
“And what do you think?”
The question felt like a trap. Or maybe an invitation. I couldn't tell anymore with him.
“I think we did what we set out to do,” I said. “The rodeo has a path forward. The land review is complete. Everything's in order.”
“Everything,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
He looked down at the folder in his hands, his jaw working back and forth. When he met my eyes again, there was something raw there. Something that made my chest ache.
“Morgan—”
“This is good news, Slade.” I cut him off before he could say whatever he was about to say.
Before I had to hear him explain why the cabin had been a mistake, or temporary, or something that couldn't happen again.
“You should be proud. You and Dawson built something real here. Something that's going to matter.”
“I know.” His voice was rough. “But that's not—”
“I should get back to the office.” I took a step backward, needing distance. Needing air. “There's a lot of follow-up work to coordinate.”
He didn't move or try to stop me. He stood there holding that damn folder like it weighed a thousand pounds.
“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”
The words felt like goodbye.
“You're welcome.” I turned and walked back to my car, each step measured and deliberate. I didn't let myself look back. Didn't let myself hope he'd call out, ask me to stay, or say anything that would crack the careful composure I'd built around myself.
He didn't.
The tears I’d been holding back started falling as soon as I reached the safety of my back bumper. The folder had been delivered and the job was done. And my heart held the uncomfortable certainty that I'd just closed a door I never should have opened in the first place.
* * *
SLADE
I watched her walk away, that folder still in my hands, and Dawson's voice echoing in my head like he was yelling right into my ear with a bullhorn.
“You're already bracing for her to leave.”
“You're treating people like they're temporary just because you're scared, they might be.”
Morgan was halfway to her car, her spine straight and shoulders squared, moving with that controlled grace that told me she was holding herself together through sheer will.
In about ten seconds, she'd be gone. Back to town.
Back to her life. Back to proving she didn't need anyone, least of all me.
And I'd let her go because I was too chickenshit to admit I wanted her to stay.
The folder hit the ground. “Morgan, wait.”
She paused, her hand on the car door, but didn't turn around.
I closed the distance between us in a few long strides, my boots crunching in the snow. “Don't leave. Not like this.”
“Like what?” She still wouldn't look at me. “I delivered the approval. That's what I came here to do.”
“That's bullshit and you know it.”
Now she turned, her eyes full of tears. “Excuse me?”
My heart stuttered. Knowing I was the reason for those tears split my chest in two. I couldn’t let her leave. Not until she knew the truth.
“You came out here because the mayor asked you to, sure. But you're leaving because I made you feel like you had to.” I stopped a few feet away but still close enough to see the hurt she was trying to hide. “And I'm sorry for that.”
Her jaw tightened. “You don't owe me an apology.”
“Yeah, I do.” I dragged a hand through my hair, searching for the right words. “What happened in that cabin—”
“Was a mistake,” she said. “You made that pretty clear.”
“No. That's not—” I stepped closer. “It wasn't a mistake. That's the problem.”
She blinked, some of the steel in her expression faltering. “I don't understand.”
“The morning after, when we got back here and Dawson was waiting...” I stopped, took a breath, and made myself say it. “I panicked. Not because I regretted what happened, but because it was real. Because you were real, and I didn't know how to go on without screwing it up.”
“So you pulled away.” Her voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it. “Decided for both of us that it couldn't work.”