Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Ryder glanced up and gave me a mock scowl. “Most people don't trust other folks to do things right.”
I smiled. “That sounds exactly like something you'd say.”
“Because it's true, darlin’.”
I stepped around the post and reached for the pliers lying beside him, straightened, and went over to the post, intending to get my hands dirty.
He looked at me with a harder scowl on his face. “What're you doin'?”
“Helping you,” I teased with a wink.
“You don't know what you're doing.”
“Neither did you the first time.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Fair enough.”
For the next hour, we worked side by side beneath the fading light, with Ryder teaching me how to properly rewire a fence. We barely spoke, but the silence didn't feel strange. It felt comfortable. Familiar.
I paused, wiped my hand over my sweaty forehead, and looked out across the land stretching toward the mountains.
Fourteen years ago, I'd spent every waking moment dreaming about leaving this place behind.
Now, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.
As if he sensed my thoughts, Ryder came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I leaned back against him, loving the scent of leather, clean sweat, and the man himself that surrounded him.
“You alright?”
I tipped my head back and to the side and looked at him, smiling.
“Better than I’ve ever been.”
His arms tightened around me.
“Good.”
I looked out across the ranch one last time. The place I'd once sworn I'd never return to sat bathed in the golden light of sunset.
Fourteen years ago, I'd run from Rootstown Creek believing I'd left everything behind.
I never imagined the one thing worth coming back for had been here all along.
EPILOGUE
THE FOLLOWING SPRING
The mornings started the same way, and I loved it.
I woke before the sun, pulled on jeans, a tank, and a plaid flannel and filled two thermoses with steaming hot coffee before walking out into the crisp air looking for Ryder.
This morning, he was already in the barn, breath fogging in the early light as he checked the mare’s leg one last time before turning her out. He didn’t look up right away, but I knew he’d heard the screen door clanging shut behind me and my boots crunching on the gravel the second I left the house.
“She’s holding weight better,” he said when I reached him. His gaze moved over me the same way it always did now, slow and thorough, like he was checking that I was still safe, healthy, and whole. He took the thermos, drank, then handed it back, fingers brushing mine longer than necessary.
“You sleep okay?” he asked, his voice low.
That was most of our mornings. Quiet, practical, but never indifferent. Not with him.
He reached out and hooked two fingers in the front pocket of my jeans, tugging me closer until my boots bumped his. His free hand settled at the small of my back, rough and warm, like he needed the contact just to start the day. He didn’t kiss me, just held me there for a second, his forehead nearly touching mine, breathing me in like he’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.
We ended up combining the two ranches, and it was the best decision I’d ever made. Combining the ranches took months of surveys, lawyers, deeds, inspections, and more paperwork than I ever wanted to see again. But when everything was finished, Kane-Shaw Ranch finally belonged to both of us.
When everything was recorded and the new documents came back signed and stamped, Ryder looked at me across the lawyer’s desk, eyes dark and absolute, and said, “Yours. Mine. Same thing now, sweetheart. Don’t ever forget that.”
I still woke up some nights turning it all over in my head. My father’s death and how Ryder had watched me for fourteen years without me ever knowing. Those facts didn’t go away just because I stayed and loved Ryder more than anything or anyone else.
Some mornings, the knowledge sat heavy under my ribs. I’d look at him across the table and remember exactly what he’d done and why. Then he’d set a plate in front of me or reach over and brush dirt off my cheek, and the weight would ease a little. He never asked for forgiveness, but his expression showed me I had the quiet choice to keep living beside him despite what he’d done and the faults he saw within himself.
No one was perfect, least of all me. I was in no position to judge even if reality weighed heavy on my shoulders some days.
We tore my childhood house down before the first frost last year. It took no time at all with a small crew and rented equipment. Ryder handled most of the heavy work himself, quiet and methodical, the same way he did everything. I helped where I could by hauling debris, sorting anything worth keeping, and watching the walls that had held so many bad memories come down one by one.