FOUR.
Ever
——————————
Decision.
I’ve been riding for hours—longer than I realized. When I finally guide June back into the barn and slide off her back, my spine feels locked in place, my knees threaten to give out the second my boots hit the ground, and my legs are frozen in that classic post-ride cowboy bow.
I tie her lead to the post with hands that are starting to tremble from fatigue, then shake my legs out at my sides like I’m trying to wake them up.
I lean over and touch my toes a few times, stretching the knots out of my hamstrings and lower back, but it’s no use.
I overdid it. I’ll be lucky if I can crawl out of bed at all tomorrow.
“Can I get her for you?” a warm voice calls from down the aisle.
I turn quickly to see Jesse strolling toward me, two leads draped over his shoulder as he guides a pair of horses to their posts.
“Sure, yeah. If you don’t mind,” I say, stepping aside so he can reach June.
He moves straight to her side and runs a gentle hand down her neck. “Good girl,” he murmurs, voice soft and sweet, the kind of tone reserved for animals and maybe a few lucky people.
“She’s usually pretty skittish around strangers,” he says, glancing over at me. “I’m surprised she let you ride her this long. Most folks get bucked off before they make it out of the paddock.”
“Oh,” I say, startled. I look into June’s eyes, searching for some hint of the attitude Jesse’s describing. “I didn’t know that.”
“She must like you,” he says, and the way he side-eyes me—slow, careful, almost playful—carries a second meaning I feel in my cheeks before I can stop it.
“Well,” I manage, clearing my throat softly, “I certainly like her.” I pat June’s flank one last time and step back, suddenly hyper-aware that the words could be taken two ways.
“Did you get a chance to look around the ranch fully?” he asks, still working his hands over June’s coat.
“I did, yeah.” I glance up at the rafters overhead—the same ones I used to climb and inevitably fall from as a kid, earning more than a few bruises and a lot of laughter from Uncle Ray.
“It’s the same, but different. I can’t explain it.
Everything feels so familiar, but knowing it’s mine now, that I actually have a responsibility… I don’t know. It’s a lot.”
“I’m sure if you gave it a chance, you’d learn to love it,” he says gently. “If June likes you, that counts for something.”
I smile wide at the encouragement, grateful for the kindness in his voice, but before I can answer, Tobias’s loud drawl cuts through the barn.
“I wouldn’t get too attached if I were you, Jess.”
I snap my head toward the entrance. Tobias’s silhouette fills the doorway, backlit by the bright late afternoon sun pouring in behind him. My nerves go on high alert instantly.
“She’s not sure she’s keeping this place,” he adds, stepping inside so I can see the hard set of his jaw.
Jesse straightens but doesn’t rise to the bait. “I know that. I’m just giving her some encouragement in case she’s lookin’ for it.”
Tobias stops just in front of me, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “Did you make a decision?”
“I have until tomorrow.”
“Right.” He holds my gaze for a long, weighted moment—long enough that I feel the challenge in it—then turns to Jesse without another word to me. “Load up the horses. I’m gonna make sure the cattle have their feed locked up. There might be a storm tonight.”
He walks away without looking back, boots heavy on the packed dirt floor. I let out a sharp huff the second he’s out of earshot.
“What’s his problem?” I ask Jesse quietly, hoping he’ll lean in and dish some dirt. But he just shrugs, already untying June’s reins.
“He’s always like that. You get used to it.”
I give him a skeptical look as he leads June into her stall and starts the familiar routine—loosening the cinch, lifting the saddle off her back, setting it on the rack.
I know the rest of the process by heart.
It’s methodical, soothing in its own way.
But rather than stand there stewing over Tobias’s cold shoulder and the way he seems determined to remind me I don’t belong every chance he gets, I grab my binder off the tacking table on my way out and head back toward the house.
— ∞ —
Mr. Jenkins arrives at the ranch in his pristine white truck, dust already clinging to the lower edges of the doors.
He spends the first thirty minutes sitting across from me at the outdoor picnic table, laying out every reason why a young woman like me shouldn’t even attempt to run a place like this alone.
He goes on and on about how much simpler it would be to put everything up for auction, take the money, and build a real career somewhere else.
I listen without interrupting, but inside I’m already miles away.
I made up my mind yesterday while riding June through the rolling pastures. There’s no way I can let this place go.
When I finally tell him my decision he looks at me with something close to pity, like he’s already picturing me failing spectacularly and coming back to him hat in hand. It’s the same look my mother used to give me when I announced big dreams she thought were foolish.
I watch as he makes his way back to his truck and climbs in, the engine revving a little too eagerly as he pulls away down the dirt road.
When he disappears around the bend out of sight, I drop my forehead onto my arms with a long, exhausted groan.
I know this is the right choice, but another part of me—the honest, terrified part—knows I’m in way over my head.
Last night I went through the binders again, line by line, and the numbers don’t lie. The ranch is barely scraping by. If I don’t figure out how to turn a real profit soon, there might not be enough cash to make it through the rest of the year.
“He works with the auction company in town,” a low voice says from in front of me. I jolt upright, eyes scanning until I spot Tobias leaning against the big oak at the edge of the yard, arms crossed in that predictable way of his. “He gets commissions from the people he refers.”
“Seriously?” I ask, and he gives a single nod, his gaze drifting toward the road even though the truck is long gone. “That’s horrible.”
“It’s how he makes his living,” he says. No outrage, no judgment, just fact.
I scoot back on the bench until I’m perched on the edge, hands tucked under my thighs, staring at the weathered holes and splinters in the tabletop.
“You’re really going to keep it?”
I lift my eyes to his, bracing for the usual sarcasm, the hard edge that’s become so familiar. But when our gazes meet, there’s something softer there—just a flicker, barely noticeable, but enough to throw me off balance.
“I think so.”
“Well, you just told him yes. So you either are, or you aren’t.” I roll my eyes and tilt my head back to stare up at the branches arching overhead.
“Then I am,” I say, half in jest, half to convince myself.
He pushes off the tree, straightening to his full height, but I keep my eyes on the sky. “Don’t expect me to warm up to you.”
A small, tired chuckle escapes me. I could fire back, pick up the argument where we left it yesterday, but the fight has drained out of me. My body still aches from yesterday’s too-long ride, and my mind is foggy with everything I’ve been carrying.
“You are incredibly rude, you know that?” I lower my gaze to his face, expecting a dismissive grin that says he couldn’t care less. But his expression is flat—almost blank—like he didn’t register the words at all.
“You’re gonna have to learn how to make decisions around here,” he says instead. “It took you three days to decide what you wanted to do with this place, you can’t have that mentality. Things change on a dime out here. Sometimes you don’t even have a minute to think.”
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then swing my legs to the side and stand up from the bench.
“Well, in that case, I’ve decided I no longer wish to speak with you right now.
” My voice comes out too tired to carry real annoyance, but it’s steady enough.
“If you need my help tomorrow, I’ll be at the barn at seven.
If you’re not there, I’ll take it as you don’t need my help. Got it?”
I stop at the bottom step of the porch and turn to face him. He’s standing perfectly still, eyes locked on me with that same unreadable intensity—daggers, maybe, or something closer to appraisal. I can’t tell.
Before I can second-guess myself, I turn and stride across the deck. I yank open the storm door, let it bang shut behind me, and step into the blessed cool of the air conditioning.
I lean back against the door, eyes closed, and let out a long breath. Tomorrow is going to hurt—in more ways than one. But at least I’ve made the choice. Now I just have to live with it.
— ∞ —
What did I do to myself?
It’s seven in the morning and I’m already standing in the barn, half awake, the air thick and warm with early humidity. My eyes still feel gritty from lack of sleep, and I’m already craving another coffee.
Last night was endless. I lay in the dark for hours, staring at the ceiling fan blades slicing slow circles overhead, my mind racing through everything that needs doing: fences to check, bills piling up in the next few weeks, feed orders to place, payroll to figure out.
The weight of it all pressed down until I couldn’t breathe.
“Mornin’,” a deep, gravelly voice rumbles behind me.
I glance over my shoulder. Tobias looks as tired as I feel.
He’s dressed much like yesterday—worn jeans, and boots, but today his shirt is sage green, the soft color making his eyes stand out sharper than usual.
Without a hat, his dark brown hair is slightly disheveled, like he didn’t have the time to do anything expect run his fingers through it.
It’s unfair how good he looks even half awake.
“Morning,” I reply, polite but clipped. I pat June’s hindquarters to keep my hands busy and my mind from wandering to dangerous places—wondering what he looks like right when he wakes up, how he drinks his coffee, if he actually thinks about what he’s pulling on or just grabs whatever’s closest. I can’t afford those thoughts at seven a.m..
“We’re checking fences on the east pastures past the cattle,” he says, already moving toward a big black stallion, Tacoma, in the far stall. “That stretch has been weathered for years—we hardly ever get out there to repair it. The storm last night probably knocked some posts loose.”
He starts saddling the horse with easy, practiced movements. I try—really try—not to notice the way his arms flex when he lifts the saddle, or the sliver of skin that shows at his waist when his shirt rides up. I definitely need more coffee.
“What about the sheep?” I ask, forcing my eyes back to June. “Do they need to be let out?”
“Jesse’ll be here at nine. He’ll handle them.”
“So just you and me?”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Just you and me, Princess.”
My teeth grit. The word snaps me back to full alertness, cutting through the haze of exhaustion and the pull of watching him move. “I’m letting that slide, only because I’m tired and need coffee.”
“You don’t know how to make your own coffee?” he asks, and there’s the tiniest curl at the corner of his mouth.
I glare at him, hard enough that I hope it burns, but I don’t bother answering. When I stay silent, that faint curl deepens for half a second before he looks away.
“She ready to go?”
“Yup.” I run my hand down June’s neck one last time, then untie her lead.
Tobias swings up onto Tacoma with the kind of effortlessness that comes from doing something thousands of times.
I hesitate only a moment before stepping into the stirrup and pull myself into the saddle.
He watches me the whole time, eyes sharp, like he’s waiting for me to make a mistake he can pounce on.
But I manage it without embarrassing myself.
When he shifts his reins, Tacoma starts toward the barn doors and June falls in behind without any prompting.
Then just as he’s about to ride out, Tacoma veers left toward the wall.
Tobias leans down and snags a beige cowboy hat from a hook by the door, pushes his hair back, then settles the hat on his head.
I hate how that hat makes him look—rugged, confident, unfairly perfect.
He glances back at me then, eyes sliding over me in a slow sweep that sets my whole body on fire. Then he clicks his tongue, and the stallion surges forward, kicking up dust as they bolt out of the barn.
A wild grin spreads across my face, and the challenge hits me like adrenaline straight to the veins. I lean low over June’s neck, squeeze my legs despite the lingering ache, and she leaps into a gallop without hesitation.
Maybe I don’t need another coffee. Maybe I just need this—the speed, the wind, the rush of something that makes me feel alive.