Page 82 of 11 Cowboys

28

CONWAY

Cattle shift in the pens, bawling, tails flicking at flies. The auction yard smells like sweat, dust, and diesel. It’s already hot enough to melt a man’s sanity and patience, and it’s barely past nine.

I step out of the truck, hat low over my brow, and scan the crowd. There are ranchers everywhere, wearing worn boots and shirts sun-faded to the color of spit. Most of them I recognize, some enough to share a few words with. Some I don’t trust. Some I’d sooner have at the end of my gun than my dining table.

Beside me, Nash climbs out, quiet as always, his eyes already tracking the cattle like he’s mapping their thoughts and futures. He doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s always worth listening to. That’s why I brought him. What he doesn’t know about livestock ain’t worth knowing. He should have been a vet, but fancy education isn’t within reach when the family’s livelihood is on the line.

We move toward the check-in desk. “Delaney,” I say, voice steady. “Here for the yearlings.”

The woman nods, marks us off, and we’re in. Back among the pens, I start sizing up the animals for muscle tone, stance, and attitude. Nash doesn’t say a word but follows, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp over everything and everyone.

We’re here to buy, but in this place, it’s never just business, and sure enough, before we’re ten minutes deep into our task, three of the Bradford brothers make their way toward us. Colt, Cash, and Cary Bradford lean against a rail like they own the damn place. They run a tight operation with better cattle than I’d admit out loud, and their unusual living situation is the inspiration for our current quest, not that I’d admit that, either.

Colt spots me first and lifts a hand. “Delaney.”

Nash gives a nod but says nothing.

I tip my hat. “Didn’t expect to see you boys here.”

Colt grimaces. “Had three horses stolen. Figured if those bastards hit us, they’ll be looking elsewhere, too. You check your boundaries lately?”

“We do it regularly,” I say. “But I’ll double it after hearing that.”

Cash spits a stream of chew into the dirt, eyes narrowing. “Watch your south pasture. That’s how they came for ours. Quick, quiet, like they’d been watching a while.”

The warning lands like a stone in my gut. Our south line’s long, and we rely mainly on good fences and reputation, but those don’t stop a determined thief.

Then Cary cuts in, voice slick as oil. “Heard about your little bride ad.”

I stiffen, but Colt laughs like it’s no big deal. “Melanie showed us the advert online. Thought it was a prank at first.”

“Set up works for you,” Nash says evenly, surprising all of us.

Colt nods, tipping his hat back. “That it does. Melanie’s got more grit than all five of us combined. Raised on a working ranch, knew how to pull a calf and fix a tractorbefore she learned to brush her hair. You need a woman like that. Someone who gets the life.”

I glance at Nash, who remains still and unreadable. He doesn’t need to say her name for me to know exactly what he’s thinking. Grace is nothing like that.

Colt catches the look between us and raises a brow. “You found a contender? We heard Lennon was out and about with a pretty city girl.”

“People have too much time for gossip,” I say, annoyed that we can’t do anything without being watched.

Cary chuckles low. “That they do. That they do.”

“Who is she?” Cash asks.

“Journalist,” I admit, hoping that will end the speculation. “She’s only staying to get the story.”

“Yeah?” Colt says, his gaze assessing.

Something must cross my features that tells him more than I intend to give away.

“She’ll be too soft,” Cash says. “Too polished. She’ll enjoy the ride, sure, but she won’t stick around. Can’t ask a woman like that to give up her world for yours. There’s no glamor in this life. No luxury. Just hard graft and tired satisfaction.”

Colt shrugs, but he nods at his triplet. “Have your fun. But maybe think twice before you build dreams on new soil. This life of ours needs deep foundations.”

My jaw tightens. I don’t like being told who we should or shouldn’t want. But the worst part? I can’t say they’re wrong.