Chapter 19
nineteen
Sloane
On paper, everything looks perfect. That’s what makes it unsettling.
As of Friday, every piece of equipment we lost in the break-in has been replaced, and Hollis Ranch is back up and running. At least on the surface.
The stress with Horizon Group still sits squarely on my shoulders and Gage’s, a constant weight we pretend we’re managing. After the cease and desist order, things have gone quiet. Too quiet to trust.
Quiet has never meant safe. It usually means someone is thinking. I’ve seen this kind of silence before—boardrooms that went still right before land was seized, files buried, or pressure applied through channels no one ever admitted to using. Silence isn’t peace. It’s pressure building.
Tommy still hasn’t been able to confirm who broke into the ranch. Without a security system in place, I don’t think we’ll ever really know. I managed to convince Gage that cameras around the property were necessary, and he agreed without much of a fight.
It’s still strange how easily he lets me make decisions for Hollis now, when five months ago he fought every suggestion like it was a threat. It’s made the last stretch of these six months easier to live in. Easier to forget what’s coming.
It’s insane to realize we’re already into the last month of this. The countdown has been sitting heavy in my chest as the end gets closer.
When this started, I counted the days until the six months were up so I could sell my share and leave the ranch behind. Now the math doesn’t work the same way.
I’ve gotten close to the ranch hands, especially Hank, who’s shown me what it actually takes to keep this place alive. The town has worked its way into my routine, into my days.
Daisy’s scones and coffee have become something I rely on more than I should. And then there’s Gage. Broody, gruff, impossible Gage Hollis, who somehow became my comfort before I realized how much that could cost me.
How am I supposed to walk away from all of this and go back to Austin? Back to a city life and a job spent behind a desk, surrounded by corporate suits.
My job may be in environmental protection, but it’s still a world away from this place—and from the choices waiting for me here.
I spent my morning buried in Gage’s bed, wrapped in a comfort that felt too easy for how temporary everything is. I moved into it not long after the night we spent together, mostly because we fell into it, and partly because—despite what he’ll admit—he likes sleeping next to me.
I enjoyed it more than I should. This morning just feels heavier than it should.
My thoughts keep circling, and I don’t want to drag the rest of the ranch down with me. I run a hand through my hair and let out a slow breath. No matter what, decisions won’t be made lying in bed—even if I keep pretending I still have time.
I slip from the covers, stretch, and pad downstairs toward the coffee maker. I make myself a cup, doctor it just right, and head out to the porch. Curling up on the swinging bench, I nurse my coffee while Jesse and Mason head off together, leaving the morning quiet.
Gage is kneeling by the tractor, shirtless, a worn work hat settled low over his brow like it’s always belonged there. I stare at his sun-darkened skin, slick with sweat under the rising light. His biceps flex with every turn of the wrench, and the longer I watch, the harder it is to look away.
Remind me how I’m supposed to return to Austin when this is what my mornings look like.
He stands and lifts the hat, wiping his brow with his forearm before settling it back into place. When he turns, the taut lines of his abdomen—and that familiar trail of dark hair—pull my attention hard and fast.
His gaze locks on mine, and he smirks, fully aware of exactly where my attention is. I take a slow sip of coffee, trying to steady myself. I breathe out slowly, but it doesn’t help much. Men like Gage Hollis don’t make it easy to stay grounded.
He tosses the wrench into his toolbox and starts up the steps. Even in the shade, his skin still gleams with sweat. “See something you like?” he teases, and I smile up at him, knowing I should look away—and don’t.
“I don’t know. I’ve been getting into cowboys lately. If you find one with dark hair, broody, and a real pain in my ass, let him know I’m interested,” I say, watching his reaction as he nods.
“I might know a guy,” he says, his smile slipping for just a beat, like his thoughts drift somewhere he doesn’t invite me into. With everything happening between us, I can’t be the only one thinking about what happens when the six months are up.
His expression shutters, and he pastes a grin back on like nothing slipped. “I think it’d be good for you to take a break for the day,” he says a little too quickly.
I lift an eyebrow. “Trying to get me out of the way again?”
The joke lands, but something underneath it doesn’t.
He laughs, easy and practiced. “Nah. We both know the ranch runs a lot smoother with you behind the scenes.” At least he’s finally admitting it. “You’ve done a lot for the place.
“You deserve to relax,” he says. “It won’t burn down if you’re not making calls, checking the books, or untangling whatever crap Uncle Sam failed to disclose—for one day.”
I suppose he’s right, even if it feels foreign to hear it said out loud.
I’ve done little else since I got here. Less time combing through what Samuel did or didn’t do, more time figuring out how the ranch was quietly bleeding money—through water rights, delayed repairs, and Horizon’s illegal bullshit creeping in where no one was looking.
Rest hasn’t exactly felt like an option.
I stand and walk over to him anyway, the decision settling slowly in my chest.
His hands slide around my waist, warm and sure, pulling me close like this is easy for him—like I’m something he already knows how to hold. I tip the brim of his hat up with two fingers and kiss him slowly, deliberately, a soft hum slipping from my throat as I linger there.
“A bubble bath does sound nice,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to see his eyes darken, his gaze dropping to my mouth before lifting again. His eyes hood, desire flickering there—sharp, controlled, unmistakable.
“Then get in there before I make you work,” he says, his voice rough enough to pull something dangerous and hot low in my belly.
“If working means being upstairs with you,” I tease, nipping his bottom lip and letting the suggestion hang between us, “you won’t have to make me do anything.”
He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating against my lips, his grip tightening like it takes effort not to pull me closer, not to give in.
Then, before I can push him into agreement, he pulls back, dragging in a deep breath, his jaw tightening as if he’s forcing himself to remember everything waiting outside this moment.
“I’ve got work to finish,” he says, voice careful now, steadying. “But enjoy yourself—for me.”
I pout anyway, brushing one last kiss against his lips. “I will.”
I step back and head inside, leaving him on the porch—and hating how quickly the disappointment settles in when he doesn’t follow. I tell myself it’s nothing. That he said he had work to do. That this is what grown adults do. Still, the quiet feels heavier than it should.
The day drags on, mostly because I’ve been banned from anything ranch-related, left with too much time and nowhere useful to put it. Don’t get me wrong, the break from paperwork should feel like a gift, but without work to anchor me, my thoughts don’t give me much peace.
I’ve never been good at standing still. Back there, I’m decisive—needed, trusted. My days are structured around urgency and expectation. Here, being benched feels less like rest and more like being quietly erased, like I’m something fragile that needs to be kept at a distance.
I manage to lose myself in a book on my tablet for a while, curled up in the quiet. I rarely make time for that, even without the ranch. I can’t remember the last time I let myself escape reality for more than a few minutes without checking the time or my phone.
By the time morning slips into afternoon, I still have a hundred and fifty pages left, but my attention keeps drifting—back to Gage, and then to food. He and I share the same work ethic, which means it’s a miracle either of us remembers to stop when we should.
If I forget to eat, he’s usually the one nudging food into my hands. Somewhere along the way, I got used to doing the same.
When I step outside, I scan the ranch for him, but only Hank, Jesse, and Mason move through the yard, each of them busy in their own way. If Gage isn’t out on the land, he’s usually in the office, so my feet carry me there without much thought.
I pass through the barn on the way, slowing to pet each horse along the aisle. Their warmth and steady presence ground me for a moment, the familiar sounds and smells settling something restless in my chest as I head toward the office.
When I reach the office, I stop short.
Gage is on the phone.
He looks tense, jaw tight, papers spread across the desk in front of him like he’s been digging for answers instead of waiting for them. Since he started trusting me, he’s left this part to me—so why is he buried in it now, without a word?
“I know you’ve told me a hundred times already, Monty, but the ranch is—” He cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sharp sigh.
My stomach knots. What the hell is going on?
“—It’s fragile, all right?” he continues, pacing now. “I have to cover my own ass here, or I can kiss this place goodbye. You get me?”
I don’t believe this.
He’s trying to protect the ranch without me. Again.
My stomach tightens, the familiar ache setting in. Whatever he’s dealing with, it’s big—and he didn’t bring me into it. I thought we were past this. I thought things were finally shifting in the right direction.
Is this why he wanted me out of the way today? So he could figure out how to buy me out without ever telling me?
Hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it.