Chapter 8 JACE
JACE
Wind howls like it’s trying to tear the whole ranch off the earth. Rain slams sideways into my face, sharp as gravel, soaking me from head to toe. The gates rattle, steel clanging against steel, the horses screaming from inside the barn—high, panicked, desperate.
“Jace! Back inside!” Beck’s voice barely cuts through the roar. He’s fighting with a rope that’s whipping like a live thing, Zane on the other side trying to drag the gate closed.
I shove forward through the mud, half-stumbling, half-running, my body a fireball of pain. My leg protests with a hot, electric pain that goes straight through my ribs; my left shoulder is a constant dull, angry throb. My hands are shaking from exertion. I’m half-broken, not broken.
They want me out of this, want me safe, tucked away like some useless ornament. Hell no! I’ve bled for this land, and I’ll break the rest of me before I sit and watch it tear apart.
I push past my brother’s outstretched arm. “I said I’m coming,” I tell him, and there’s no patience in it—only the small, stubborn truth.
I can still lift a gate, tie a knot that won’t give, and tell a man where to hold and where to push. This is my ranch, too, dammit, and I’m going to help them protect it.
A gate slams wide open, causing a young gelding to bolt into the storm, eyes rolling white.
My gut lurches, but my legs are already moving.
I catch the edge of the chain, hauling it back into place while Beck swings into the mud beside me, both of us shoving our weight into steel that fights harder than any bull I’ve ever ridden.
Lightning flares, blinding white, and for a breath, the whole yard glows. Then the hum of the floodlights dies, followed by pure darkness. The mechanical whir of the auto-gates cuts off. The whole ranch falls silent except for the storm and the terrified animals.
It’s a blackout.
“Generator!” Zane bellows.
I’m already moving, half-limping, half-running, lungs burning from more than the storm. I know the layout of this place in my bones. Past the feed room, up the slick slope of mud to the control shed. My shoulder slams against the door, and I spill inside, fumbling through the dark.
The panel blinks dead at me. No juice. I grab the manual override, fingers trembling too much to get the sequence right. The keys slip as my breath fogs the glass.
“Come on, damn you,” I mutter, stabbing commands that’ll make the system bend. Nothing. Just the mocking flat line of silence.
Behind me, I can hear the clang of a gate swinging loose, the wild snort of a gelding too smart for his own good. My chest knots because I know if we lose them in this weather, they won’t come back.
I pound the side of the panel with the heel of my hand, pain sparking through bone. “Son of a bitch. Work!”
But it doesn’t, not for me.
The panel stares back blankly. My pulse is in my throat, every nerve buzzing with useless rage. I know these systems; I had them put in. But my hands are clumsy, shoulder’s shot, and the override just keeps spitting me out like I’m some rookie with no right to touch it.
“Move.”
Her voice slices through the dark, steady, low, not asking.
I twist and there she is—hair whipped loose from the storm, rain dripping off her jacket, eyes sharp as a blade. Tessa. The one I was ready to throw off this land after I discovered her betrayal. The one who has me doubting myself since I failed to properly vet her before I let her on my land.
She doesn’t wait for permission as she slides past me, fingers flying over the keys, bypassing the sequence I just butchered. Her movements are clean, practiced, and confident in a way that makes the pit of my stomach tighten.
“You’re wasting time trying to brute force it,” she says, not even looking at me. “This system’s layered. You have to trick it.”
Trick it? Jesus.
Lines of code stream across the screen, a blur my fogged brain barely keeps up with. She mutters under her breath, snapping a wire into place, rerouting the current like she’s done this a thousand times.
Then a hum, low and beautiful, just as the generator kicks in. The lights above us flicker once, then hold. Outside, the gates lock into place with a satisfying clang. The horses quiet, and the alarms still.
Relief hits me so hard my knees nearly buckle. I brace myself on the panel, staring at her like she just pulled the whole ranch back from the edge of a cliff.
Tessa exhales, shoulders easing, and only then does she glance at me. “There. You’re welcome.”
For the first time since she set foot on my land, I don’t see a threat standing there.
I see salvation. And it stings almost as much as it steadies me.
She doesn’t flinch under my watchful gaze, shrink, or fidget.
She meets me head-on, like the storm outside couldn’t touch her, like my glare’s nothing compared to the things she’s already faced.
Her hair’s plastered to her cheek, a streak of mud across her throat. She looks like hell—wild, messy, stubborn. But steady. God, so steady.
The yard groans under the wind. A sheet of rain rattles against the metal roof. My brothers are out there cussing and wrestling with the horses, but for this pocket of time, it’s just the two of us in the glow of the panel, close enough I can feel the heat rolling off her.
I want to ask her how the hell she knows all that. What else is she hiding behind those sharp eyes and clipped answers? But the words stick. Instead, I just listen to her breathing, sharp little pulls of air that sound too much like my own.
My jaw aches from clenching. My pride tastes like rust.
I drag a hand down my face, smear water and grit across my skin. My pride wants to snarl, to shove her out and take back the reins. But the truth’s already sitting heavy in my chest. Without her, we’d be knee-deep in chaos right now.
“I had it,” I mutter, voice rough. It sounds like a lie even to me.
She quirks an eyebrow, not bothering to hide her disbelief. “Sure you did.”
The corner of my mouth jerks, not quite a smile, not quite a snarl. God, she infuriates me. And she just saved us. They can’t both be true.
I lean closer, not enough to crowd her, just enough to make sure she hears me over the storm. “Listen, you’ve been lying since the day you showed up, and I don’t like it. But I’m not calling the cops on you. At least not tonight.”
Her eyes flicker, something between relief and defiance, but she holds my gaze like she’s daring me to take it back.
“It’s the least you can do after I just saved your ass,” she retorts, and I can’t help but laugh.
“But tomorrow,” I add, stepping back, “we’ll see.”
She rolls her eyes at me just as thunder cracks outside, so loud it shakes the walls. A reminder that the storm isn’t done with us yet.
The wind shifts, a low, rolling moan crawls across the fields—different this time. Meaner. My gut drops.
Then it slams us.
The roof above rattles like it’s about to tear clean off. The lights stutter, blink, and die again, leaving us in darkness broken only by the flash of lightning through the window. Somewhere out in the yard, metal screams, hinges give way, and something heavy crashes down.
“Shit.” I’m already moving, fumbling for the flashlight clipped to the panel. It spits a thin beam that cuts through dust and rain spray.
Tessa’s eyes find mine in the dark, wide but steady. “What systems are tied in?” she shouts over the howl.
“Cold storage, barns, main house!” My voice is ragged. If we lose power there, feed spoils, foals freeze, and the house itself becomes a coffin in this weather.
She doesn’t waste time. “Then we split, reroute, and restart everything we can reach. Keep it alive piece by piece.”
Her tone is sharp, commanding. I should hate it. Instead, it jerks me forward, gets me moving.
We push out into the storm side by side. Rain slaps my face raw, mud sucking at my boots, wind threatening to rip me right off balance. She leans into it, small but stubborn, hands tight around the tool kit she grabbed without asking.
Time loses shape after that. It’s just black sky and the roar of the wind, the two of us moving from one failure to the next like plugging holes in a sinking ship.
Cold storage first. I haul the doors shut while Tessa reroutes power lines through the auxiliary board, her fingers flying in the dark like she was born to it. My shoulder and leg scream with every yank, every shove, but I keep going. Pain’s a better anchor than fear.
Next, the south barn. The generator here coughs, dies, then sputters again under her hands.
I brace the breaker box open for her, rain stinging my eyes, watching sparks jump across wet metal.
She doesn’t even flinch, just mutters about circuitry and current, knuckles raw where the rain’s scrubbed skin away.
We move together without talking. I muscle doors closed, wedge planks across frames, throw my weight where steel bends. She threads cables, resets boards, and fixes the damn systems I thought I knew better than anyone. Our breaths sync, rough and fast.
By the third reroute, my legs are trembling. She shoves a flashlight into my chest and says, “Hold it steady,” like she’s not already running on empty, too. I do, watching her—soaked through, hair plastered to her neck, eyes burning with focus—like she’s the only solid thing in this storm.
Every so often, our hands brush—glove against glove, or slick skin when the leather tears. Tiny jolts that cut sharper than the wind. I tell myself it’s nothing. Just the night, the adrenaline. But I keep feeling it, even after we pull apart.
Hours blur, and by the time the worst finally begins to pull away, my whole body’s wrecked—soaked, shaking, every muscle blown. And still, I find my eyes dragging back to her, again and again.
Tessa is standing a few feet away, bent over with her hands on her knees, breath tearing in and out. Her hair is plastered dark, her clothes soaked to the bone, mud streaked across her cheek. She looks like hell, like she went twelve rounds with the storm itself.
And somehow, she looks like salvation.
I should still be questioning her, holding her at arm’s length because of the lies she’s been feeding me. But after tonight, after this? I can’t see her the same way. Not just some spy or a liar.
She straightens, eyes finding mine in the pale gray light, and for a second, it feels like the whole damn ranch has gone quiet just to watch us.
I look away first, jaw tight. Pride’s still there, sure. But underneath it, something else gnaws. Gratitude. And the dangerous start of trust.
Dawn breaks slowly across the horizon, painting the mud and ruin in gold. I’ve lived through storms before. But this one’s left a mark I won’t shake easily.