Page 120 of 11 Cowboys

How has this happened?

I pace the gravel outside the barn with my phone clutched in one shaking hand. The article is still open on the screen, like a wound that won’t close. Every word cuts deeper. I hitcallbefore I can talk myself out of it.

Rianna picks up on the second ring, far too chipper for someone who has detonated a nuclear bomb under my life.

“Grace! Did you see it?”

“You published it,” I say. My voice comes out flat. Stunned. “You published that garbageunder my name.”

After what happened to Allie, I should have guardedagainst the risk of the same kind of exposure, but I’m the boss. No one should have been able to undermine me like this. I have the final sign-off. At least, I used to.

Rianna sighs, like I’m being difficult. “Technically, we both did. It was still your research. I gave it the edge it needed.”

“The edge it needed?” My throat tightens. “You turned their lives into a circus. You named Nora. You made it sound like they’re some sex cult hiding behind hay bales.”

She scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic. It isn’tthatbad. People eat this stuff up, Grace. You, of all people, should know that. You’ve edited enough pieces to understand the game.”

“This wasn’tyourpiece,” I spit. “This was mine, and I trusted you.”

There’s a pause. “Look, I know you’re close to them. That’s why the article was off. You weren’t being objective. You were protecting them at the expense of the content and what it can do for the magazine. This isn’t like you, Grace.”

I stare at the horizon, the cattle grazing peacefully in the distance, completely unaware that the lives of their owners have been sold for clicks. “That was the wholepoint,Rianna. Toprotectthem. To show what they were building with some goddamn perspective and respect. You’ve hung us all out to dry.”

“Well, Josh disagreed. He thought it was too soft. Said it read more like a love letter than journalism. He asked me to tighten it up, so I did, and it worked. Views are through the roof.”

Josh? They’re on nickname terms now? I let the silence stretch, swallowing back the rising nausea. “So that’s it? You took everything they trusted me with and turned it into a headline factory.”

“I made it readable and exciting... And come on, Grace. Let’s not pretend you didn’t get something out of this, too. Youwereliving the dream out there. All those rugged men and that wholesome Americana backdrop? Peoplelovethat. You’ve had the vacation. Now it’s time to come back to thereal world.”

I press my free hand to my forehead, heart pounding. “You think I wrote this to live out a fantasy?”

“Didn’t you?”

Her words land like a slap. My body goes still.

A door creaks behind me, and someone moves around inside the ranch house. The men are going to read this, if they haven’t already. What am I going to do?

“You used me,” I whisper. “You used my absence to undermine me in front of Joshua so that you could shine. You’re after my job.”

“No,” she says too quickly. “Isavedyour piece.”

I hang up without another word.

My hands tremble as I lower the phone. All those conversations. The quiet trust built over dinners, children’s bedtime stories, and nights spent tangled in sheets and hope. I wrote everything down. Every confession, fear, and moment they gave me because it was beautiful, and I never wanted to forget.

I thought it was safe to create memories.

Instead, I handed over secrets like ammunition.

And now? They’ll never forgive me, and honestly, I don’t think they should.

The screen door slams behind me as I stumble out onto the porch, still clutching my phone like it might bite me. The early morning sun is cresting over the ridge, and it should be beautiful—it always is—but all I can focus on is the wreckage.

Footsteps. Heavy ones. Purposeful.

Conway.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t need to. His presence alone pulls the air from around me. His jaw is tight in the same way it was when I arrived, before he softened, and his eyes spear me with their darkness layered with betrayal I won’t recover from.