Lucas
We’d called a breakfast meeting because it was the only time everyone could be in the same place without something pulling them away from their responsibilities. Jesse and I sat together, and he held my hand.
“If this is you telling us you want us to be bridesmaids at your wedding,” Colt said, deadpan, “I’m leaving.”
Jake elbowed him hard enough to make the table rattle. “Shut up.”
There were a few laughs, the easy kind, and then, the room settled.
All eyes on me. I hadn’t planned a speech.
I clocked faces without meaning to—Jake’s steady focus, Ruth’s attention, Miguel’s open curiosity—and felt the weight of being believed by people who didn’t know my past yet.
I hadn’t planned anything beyond the facts.
But standing there, with coffee mugs in hands and plates half-cleared, it felt wrong to keep it clinical.
“Okay, we have an announcement, so listen to Lucas,” Jesse said.
“Jesse and I have been talking,” I said, and felt him shift beside me, solid and steady. “About the ranch. About what comes next.”
I swallowed, my mouth dry, hands cold despite the heat of the room, my heart thudding hard enough that I felt it in my ears.
I went on anyway because this was the part they needed to hear.
“What we’re talking about isn’t selling the ranch.
Not now.” I glanced at Jesse. “Not ever. We’re selling a limited parcel of land, about eleven thousand acres, from the road to the ridge.
Nothing that affects water rights, core grazing, or how this place runs day-to-day.
No developing, kept as nature intended.”
A few people shifted, listening harder.
“No one here loses a job,” I said. “Nothing gets stripped back. The ranch stays a working ranch.” I met the gazes of each person in the room.
“The money from that sale goes straight back into this place. We fix the cabins properly. We add a few more. Part of them becomes the basis for outreach work. A place for kids who need space, structure, and something real to hold on to.”
Jake and Gunner exchanged glances, but neither man gave anything away about how they felt, and I faltered.
“Go on,” Jesse said.
“Can you say the ranch bit?” I asked him.
Jesse cleared his throat. “The funding lets us upgrade fencing and corrals, improve pasture rotation, bring water lines where they’re needed, keep horses sound and well-worked, new horses, hire seasonal staff when we need them, and invest in tack, trailers, and facilities.
” He stopped, and I assumed that was all he was going to say, and it was my turn to take over.
“That investment will earn money that will fund the outreach long-term.” I took a breath.
“I want to set up a program for LGBTQ+ teens and young adults. Kids, too, if that’s what it takes.
The ones who fall through every net. The ones with nowhere left to go because no one wants them.
” I braced myself for the truth of what I needed to say, because saying it here was tearing open something that had been buried deep.
“The Harbor 5280 charity saved my life when my dad, Walter’s son, threw me out at fifteen for being queer.
They found me on the street, hurt badly, and took me in, got me a bed, got me an education and a future. ”
No one interrupted. Jesse brushed my hand with his and laced our fingers.
“I was already written off. No money. No safety net. No one was asking questions. They got me medical care. A bed. Food that showed up whether I deserved it or not. They made education possible when it felt like something that belonged to other people.” I didn’t look away from any of them, pride and anger sitting side by side—proud I’d survived, still furious I’d ever had to.
“They saved me by not letting me disappear,” I said.
I let the words sit. “So, what I want to do here is make sure there’s a place for the next kid who thinks there isn’t hope. Does anyone have any questions?”
There were some quiet exchanges of words between them all, but they all looked to Jake to summarize. He pushed his hat on his head and stood, and fuck, I suddenly thought this was going to go badly when Jesse’s hold on my hand tightened.
Jake cleared his throat and nodded once. “That’s rough, Lucas,” he said. “So. When do we start?”
The dining hall emptied out in slow stages after that. Questions turned practical, voices eased, boots headed for doors. Jesse stayed close without crowding me, one hand at my back, and I turned into his arms, inhaling the scent of him and holding him close.
He frowned. “Is everything okay? I thought that went well.”
“I know he’s probably busy, but can I get Gunner to take me out to the graveyard again?” I mumbled into his shirt.
He didn’t hesitate. “Nah, I’ll take you.” He paused, then tipped his head toward the yard. “You want to ride out there?”
I blinked. “I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “That’s okay. Come on. I’ll introduce you to Sadie.”
We walked to the barn together, the late morning light cutting clean lines through the dust motes. He stopped at a stall halfway down, resting his forearm on the door.
“She’s slow,” he said. “Steady. She was your grandpa’s old horse, and Miguel looks out for her. She was already near retirement when Walter passed, so she never worked much after that.” He glanced at me. “She’ll take care of you.”
Sadie was a gorgeous, dappled gray, and she lifted her head when we stepped in, ears flicking forward, dark eyes calm and curious.
Jesse moved with easy confidence, brushing her down, checking her feet, talking to her under his breath as if it were only the two of them, and he put on a blanket, saddle, and bridle.
I watched because, one day, I wanted to be able to do this.
“Okay,” he said and handed me something. “Helmet.”
“A helmet?” I repeated. “Not a Stetson?”
“Nope,” he said firmly. “You’re not putting on a hat until you know what you’re doing.”
He helped me climb into the saddle, one hand steady at my knee, the other at my back, talking me through it without making a thing of it.
Tighten this. Hold that. Sit like this. Breathe.
He supported my weight when it would have hurt me, and then, all too soon, we were heading out, the barn falling away behind us as Sadie moved off at a patient walk, Boone just to the side of us, Jesse in reach.
I didn’t feel brave, and jeez, it was high up sitting there, but after a few moments of my ass thumping against the saddle, I found the rhythm of it, the rise and fall starting to make sense.
The path was obviously familiar to Sadie and Boone, and snow lingered in the shadows, the air cold and bracing. Jesse stopped us a little way from the graves and pointed to our left.
“From here you can see the ranch house and barns.”
I checked where he pointed, the house and barns lay out below us, familiar shapes now instead of things I’d been measuring and pricing.
In a few months, this would be mine and his.
We’d own it together once my seventy-five percent kicked in, and the thought no longer felt abstract or frightening.
It felt settled. Like a plan that had finally found the right ground.
I could see it then—not just projects and funding and ideas, but a future that stayed.
A place we built forward instead of tearing apart.
Jesse leaned over in the saddle and rested a hand on my knee, steadying, grounding. I glanced at him.
“Okay?” he asked.
I nodded; the word stuck in my throat. I was more than okay. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt peace. “I want more with you, Jesse,” I murmured. “I want forever, Cowboy.”
He leaned in then, awkward, and I moved in the saddle—Sadie steady as a rock—and he kissed me. “I can live with that, Lucas.”
We carried on to the gravestones, all of them exposed now that the snow had pulled back, and Jesse helped me down from Sadie. I rubbed her nose, murmured my thanks, and let her stand while we walked the last few steps on foot.
I stopped in front of my grandparents and didn’t know what to do with my hands. I went back to Jesse, who’d stayed with the horses. “Can you leave them? The horses, I mean?”
“Sure—”
I didn’t let him finish, gripped his hand, and tugged him with me.
“I’m sorry I never got to meet you, Grandpa,” I said when we reached them. “And you, Grandma.” The words felt smaller than the weight of emotion inside me, but they were all I had.
Jesse squeezed my hand and looked down at the stones.
“Hey, Walter,” he said, voice rough but steady.
“I’m gonna tell Lucas about you now. About how you were good people.
How, when I was a kid, and my dad was loud and hurtful, when Hoyt was gone more than he was home, you were there for me instead. ”
He glanced at Isobel’s name. “I didn’t know you, ma’am, but Walter loved you dearly and would bring flowers here every Sunday.”
“I’ll do that,” I murmured.
Jesse smiled at me, then focused back on the stone. “Thank you, Walter, for teaching me how to sit on a horse properly when Abel didn’t care. You didn’t rush me or shout, just waited till I figured it out. You gave me Boone and trusted me with him.”
His hand tightened around mine. “You were stubborn, quiet, and complicated as hell. But you were a good rancher. A good man. Everything I know about this place, about doing things right, I learned from you—not Abel Knox. I don’t exactly know why you kept my dad on, but in my heart, I believe you used what skills he had, ignored the bad, and keeping him had a lot to do with making sure I had a home and was looked after.
I came out this week, told everyone, not that any of them had a word to say about it, and I’m with your grandson, Lucas.
He’s staying here with me, alongside me, and we’re gonna get a dog, and I’ll get him a horse, and teach him to ride.
You’d love him. He’s just as stubborn as you, old man, and just as wonderful. ”
I swallowed hard and stared at the headstones, trying to imagine the man who’d never held me and a love that had existed one generation too early.
“I wish you’d known me,” I said to the ghosts in the stone. “I wish I’d come to Snow Creek anyway and found you.”
Jesse turned then, cupped the back of my neck, resting his forehead against mine. “He would’ve loved you as a kid and as a grown man,” he said.
Something inside me cracked open. I leaned onto him, breathing him in, letting myself grieve for people I’d never had and a childhood that might have been different.
“I’m here,” Jesse murmured.
I closed my eyes and let myself believe him.
I was home.
When we got back, Jesse got called away, and I was bubbling with emotion, and as if he knew it, my cell buzzed with a message from Dalton.
Dalton: Hey!
Lucas: I told him
Dalton: Told him what
Lucas: That I love him
Dalton: And??
Lucas: He loves me too
Dalton: I know
Lucas: You did not know
Dalton: Please
Lucas: We’re… figuring it out. I’m not selling all of it. Just part of the ranch
Dalton: Look at you. Compromise. Growth. I’m emotional.
Lucas: Don’t start
Dalton: I’m serious. That’s the right move
Lucas: The charity still gets funding. The ranch stays. Jesse stays
Dalton: And you don’t come back to the city
Lucas: Yeah
Dalton: Knew it
Lucas: You’re an asshole
Dalton: Correct. Also—trying my hardest to get out there to visit
Lucas: You said you couldn’t take PTO
Dalton: I said not now. I’m working on it. People owe me favors
Lucas: That sounds illegal
Dalton: It’s networking
Lucas: Uh-huh
Dalton: Also, quick question
Lucas: ?
Dalton: Don’t suppose you have any spare cowboys that want to relocate to the city now my best friend has abandoned me?
Lucas: Absolutely not
Dalton: Rude.
Lucas: Goodbye, Dalton
Dalton: Love you too
It was anticlimactic when my six months were up,
We drove into town in silence and parked outside Buckler and Grant, the law offices tucked on the side of the courthouse and opposite the diner.
Jesse didn’t say anything as we went inside.
Neither did I. We held hands, hugged before we went inside, and there was nothing but love, hope, and future plans between us.
There was no showdown needed, no last-minute plea, no dramatic pause where someone changed their mind.
Just paperwork.
We sat across from a polished desk while Joseph slid forms toward me and explained things I already knew.
As a lawyer, he was polished yet kind. Sign here.
Initial there. This page confirmed the will.
That one confirmed the timeline. Another confirmed that, yes, I had fulfilled the requirement exactly as stated.
Six months. Done.
My pen scratched across the paper, my name looking strange and final at the bottom of each page. With every signature, something loosened inside me.
“Congratulations,” the lawyer said, smiling like this was something to celebrate. “You’re officially the majority owner of Snow Creek Ranch. Seventy-five percent.”
I nodded and smiled because that seemed expected, and I squeezed Jesse’s hand about as hard as I could.
Seventy-five percent that I wanted to share out. I’d done what I came here to do. I’d survived the cold, the initial friction with Jesse, and I’d fallen in love. My grandfather had somehow known what he was doing.
Jesse stood when it was over, already halfway out of the chair before I’d fully processed the words. His expression hadn’t changed. If anything, he looked… wary, and I hated that. Did he think that now that I had the majority share, plans would change?
Outside, the September sun was round and fat, and around us, the town carried on as if nothing had shifted at all.
“So,” I said, and tugged him to a stop, stepping back into the alley between the courthouse and the post office. “That’s that.”
“Yeah,” Jesse replied, as I wound my arms around his neck and laced my hands.
“And now we get to do everything we wanted, work on the cabins, build the horse program, maybe get married.”
He stared down at me, eyes wide. “Huh?”
I fluttered my eyelashes at him and went up on tiptoes to kiss my sexy cowboy. I’d come here with plans. With full rehearsed arguments about selling, about opportunity, about how this could be the start of something better for both of us if only he agreed to sell.
I’d fallen in love and wanted a family I could call my own. I wanted lazy suppers on the porch, a dog, and yeah, maybe even kids one day. I wanted Jesse in my life forever.
“Is that a proposal?” Jesse asked after some more kissing.
“Nope,” I said with a grin. “but it’s definitely a bullet point on my planning spreadsheet and appears just after the cabins and the charity work and the dog, and before adoption.”
He laughed, then, and lifted me off the ground, twirling me as if I weighed nothing.
“I love you, City.”
I held on tight, dizzy and happy, and so much in love it hurt. “I love you, cowboy.”
Forever.