Page 63 of 11 Cowboys

I shake my head slowly. “No.”

The word lands with finality.

Conway sighs. “Noted.”

Silence.

And then, calmly, as if I hadn’t punched a hole in the damn dream, he turns to me. “Reasons?”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the scarred wood. “Because she won’t stay. Because we’re setting ourselves up to fail. Because even if she cares, and maybe she does, it won’t outweigh her career, her independence, her life back home. She isn’t one of us. We’ve tried this before, and we got burned, and I don’t want to go through it again.”

No one speaks, and I get it. What I’ve said is as heavy as a cattle gate slamming shut.

“So you’re against the whole thing?”

I face Conway, needing him to listen. “It’s been a lame duck idea since the start, and Grace being here has made it more obvious. The risk to all of us is too high, but especially to those kids. They already love her… we can’t keep bringing people in here and take them away again. I don’t know what the answer is, but this isn’t it.”

I glance toward the door. Out in the distance, Grace is standing in the fading light by the swing set, hair loose, laughing at something Matty says as Beau circles at her feet.

My chest tightens painfully as the memory of my own momma pushing me on that swing stabs through me, knocking air from my lungs. Love is a risk. No point in experiencing it if it keeps getting taken away. I clear my throat and look back at the table. “We’re gonna end up damaging them… for the rest of their lives. And I won’t vote for something I know damn well has a ninety-nine percent chance of crashing and burning.”

Cody breaks the silence, softer than usual. “But that one percent?”

I meet his eyes. “Not worth betting the whole damn ranch on.”

It isn’t the ranch that’s at risk, but admitting that I can’t bear to lose another person is too painful and raw, even to these men who are part of my body and soul.

Conway straightens, letting the weight of the conversation settle. Then he nods once. “Ten to one. Thedecision stands.”

I don’t argue. What’s the point? I’ve said my piece. They all know where I stand. I’ll never say I told you so when it all goes to shit. I won’t need to. Being right won’t make me feel better.

The scrape of chairs fills the room as the meeting breaks. No one pats me on the back. No one offers hollow reassurances. They know me better than that. I linger behind, staring at the empty coffee mug in front of me. My fists clench, and I force them open again.

I want to believe it’s possible to feel more than this fucking emptiness… this bitterness at the world. God, I want to.

But I can’t.

21

NASH

The paddock is quiet as the sun leans low against the horizon. The golden light catches flecks of dust that hang suspended like tiny fireflies. I lean against the gate, arms crossed, watching the bay mare pacing in tight, jerky circles.

Maggie was rescued two months ago. She’s thin, skittish, unpredictable, and won’t let anyone near her but me. Even then, only barely. I don’t push. I don’t talk much. Horses don’t care about words; they sense vibrations and intentions.

Animals are better than humans at figuring out who’s good and who’s bad.

I shift my weight slowly, barely making a sound, and step into the ring. Maggie freezes, ears twitching, nostrils flare, eyes widening. I stay still, breathing slowly, letting her decide what happens next.

A familiar weight leans into my thigh; Beau, big dopey fool of a dog, flops at my side and watches with his tongue lolling out. He doesn’t understand patience, but he respects the space, and Maggie, surprisingly, isn’t bothered by him.

Movement in the corner of my eye pulls my attention. Grace stands at the fence, one hand resting lightly on the top rail, her hair catching the last of the sun like it’s been lit from within. Her expression is soft, curious, and open.

I don’t speak. Neither does she. We let the quiet settle between us as natural as breathing.

Finally, I break it. My voice sounds low and rough from disuse. “You come to watch or help?”

“Maybe a little of both.”