Page 59 of 11 Cowboys

He doesn’t.

The next stretch of fence feels even longer, but I keep my grip on the post, sweat dripping down my temple. Brody loops and tightens the wire with those rough, capable hands, his forearms flexing under the sunlight, marked with faint scars from years of hard physical work.

At the next post, the wire slips awkwardly through my gloved hands. It tangles. I mutter under my breath and wrestle it back into place.

Brody growls. “You’re gonna lose a finger if you don’t pay attention.”

The words snap like a whip. My back stiffens. Istraighten, fold my arms across my chest, and meet his glare dead-on. “You done?”

The unexpected steel in my voice makes him blink. His mouth tightens like he wants to argue, but something flickers behind his eyes instead. Maybe surprise. Maybe respect.

He exhales, and the tension visibly drains from his shoulders. “Didn’t think you’d last this long.”

I shrug, still holding his gaze. “You don’t know me.”

He nods, then tosses the wire down and leans against the fence, finally wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. For the first time all afternoon, his posture softens as he takes a rare moment of relaxation.

“You think we’re crazy, don’t you?” Brody says, eyes scanning the endless rolling hills ahead of us.

I hesitate before I ask him to clarify. He could only be talking about one thing, and I don’t want to waste my words. He uses them so sparingly, so maybe that’s the approach he’ll respect. “I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.”

Brody nods once, still staring out at the pasture and avoiding looking at me. The breeze ruffles his hair, cooling our sweat.

“I wasn’t on board at first,” he says gruffly. “Didn’t vote for it. Told Conway it was foolish to drag some poor woman into this mess.”

I watch him, surprised he’s opening up at all. His profile is sharp and unforgiving, but there’s a crack in the armor now. A sliver of vulnerability.

“Why?”

Brody shrugs, jaw working like he’s chewing on words he’s never said out loud. “We’ve already failed at it. Three times. Good women. Strong women. None could handle this life…” He shakes his head. “Couldn’t handle us.” He glances sideways at me, his gaze sharp. “You wouldn’t stay, either.”

I don’t take the bait. I don’t flinch.

“I’m not here to stay,” I say honestly. “I’m here towrite.”

The wind shifts, carrying the faint scent of hay and musty animals.

Brody nods again like he expected the answer. “Good. Don’t let them charm you. Don’t let them under your skin or into your heart. This place looks pretty until you’re stuck in it. Get out while you can.”

I let the silence hang, let his words land, but deep down, something twists. A small seed of defiance.

“Maybe you’re wrong about me,” I say, softer this time but steady.

Brody doesn’t move for a second. Then, the corner of his mouth tugs upward with the faintest ghost of a smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

***

We return to the truck in silence. Brody stays a step ahead, shoulders tense but looser than before, like a man who’s finally laid down a burden.

The others are out by the barns, moving hay and tending to horses. The kids’ laughter drifts faintly across the fields. They must be done with their lessons and enjoying some wild time.

We leave the vehicle parked at a casual angle. As we approach the house, Brody slows and then stops just shy of the porch.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “you didn’t quit out there. Most would’ve.”

I meet his gaze, holding steady. “I don’t scare easily.”

His lips quirk again, the barest flicker of approval. “Figured that out.”