Chapter 10-Bit
“Wow,” I breathe, leaning against the barn doorway. “This place is incredible. Like something out of a science fiction novel.”
Everything gleams—steel tables, stainless equipment, polished floors that smell faintly of bleach and hay.
The machines hum quietly, blinking with little green lights that mean important things are happening here.
Apparently, there’s a whole science behind collecting and prepping bull semen for use. Which is great, because now I’ll never look at milk the same way again.
Can I tell you? There are some things a girl doesn’t need burned into her brain before coffee.
Still, it’s impressive.
This whole operation runs like clockwork. Sawyer’s clockwork.
“It’s nice, I guess. But the vacation is almost over,” Kristie says, crossing her arms.
It’s been like two days since the guys left, and both of us have been climbing the walls. Kristie hides it better than I do, but I can see it—every time a truck passes, she flinches.
Every time her phone buzzes, she looks like she’s bracing for bad news.
I get it.
But my worry feels different.
“I don’t know,” I say finally, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug.
She turns to me like I just confessed to something horrible.
“You can’t be serious. We need to get back.”
I sigh because I know what she’s thinking. I know what I’m thinking, too. My track record isn’t exactly shiny—failed jobs, bad relationships, unfinished degrees.
I’ve been running so long, I forgot what it feels like to stop.
But when I look around this ranch—at the fields rolling out to the tree line, the steady rhythm of the place—I feel something I’ve never felt before.
Peace.
Purpose.
And a man-shaped ache I don’t quite know how to handle.
“I mean,” I start carefully, “I have no real reason to rush back. And FYI, you’re the one who got all flustered by your long-lost love.”
Kristie shoots me a glare. “Yeah, and you’re the one who yelled at me to get on the bike and let’s go.”
“At least now you’re admitting he’s your long-lost love,” I tease, grinning.
“I—what—that’s not—” she stammers, cheeks going pink.
“Look, cuz.” I lean on the fence beside her. “I’m not judging. I just want what’s best for you. You’re smart, you’ll make the right choice. And I’m asking the same—no judging. No matter what I decide.”
Her features soften. She reaches over, threading her fingers through mine.
“Never.”
And just like that, I’m ten again, sitting in her parents’ backyard eating popsicles and swearing we’d always be on the same team.
Cousins, best friends, ride or die.
Some things don’t change, no matter how many years—or miles—pass.
We stand there quietly, side by side, looking out over the ranch. The air hums with crickets. A hawk circles lazily overhead. And in my chest, a tiny, dangerous thought takes root.
Maybe I could belong here.
“Is it silly that I’m worried?” she whispers.
“Not at all,” I say softly. “Obviously, something’s up. I’m worried too.”
About Sawyer. About Kristie. About a future I might want too much.
Then I hear it—the low, steady growl of engines.
My head snaps up.
Kristie hears it too.
We both move off the fence, scanning the horizon. The rumble grows louder, deeper, until the vibration runs up through the soles of my boots.
This is it.
I grab Kristie’s hand and squeeze hard as the line of bikes comes into view, chrome flashing in the late-afternoon sun.
The big rig follows close behind, its massive frame dusted with road grit.
When the convoy turns up the drive toward the garage, I finally let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
I follow her gaze to Rooster, and I see Kristie’s shoulders sag with relief.
They’re back.
Safe.
I pull her in for a quick hug, heart pounding against hers.
“I’m going over there. Go get your biker,” I murmur into her ear, smiling when she blushes.
Then I step back, square my shoulders, and start walking toward the truck.
Because my cowboy just came home.