Page 34

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 tractor before 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.

The Bradfords say their goodbyes and move off, blending back into the crowd, but their words stick like burrs in my gut, irritating the places I’ve tried to keep smooth and sure.

They didn’t mean any harm. They’re good men and have made a strong business backed by a loving family.

Their advice was meant to help rather than harm, but it’s stuck in my craw regardless.

Nash doesn’t say anything right away, watching a pair of heifers shuffle through the gates like we haven’t had someone hold up a mirror to our entire damn plan and call it naive.

“She isn’t like Melanie,” I say eventually, more to myself than him.

“No,” Nash agrees softly, “but that doesn’t mean she can’t be what we need. She might not know the land, but she knows animals, she knows kids, she knows family and how to feed it, and she sure knows her way around the bedroom.”

I grunt but don’t argue.

His hand tightens around the rail. “Nora grew up on a ranch. She didn’t stick around.

Where we’re from doesn’t make us stay or go, Conway.

It’s what’s in our hearts. Grace has a lot of what we need and more.

She’ll bring freshness to our lives. A different perspective.

She’s so bright and interesting. I want to talk to her for hours and find out what’s going on in that big brain of hers. ”

We stand side by side, watching the auctioneer call out bids in a clipped chant, cattle moving in and out like clockwork.

Nash folds his arms across his chest, his posture easy, but his eyes are sharp.

He’s thinking like I am. Not only about cattle prices and stolen horses, but about Grace.

About whether we should put our hope into a woman who never signed up for any of this.

Who thought what we have to offer was something worth writing about for entertainment.

“Colt’s right about one thing,” I mutter. “We can’t build dreams on a maybe.”

Nash turns to me, voice low but firm. “Who says she’s a maybe?”

And damn it if that doesn’t make hope swell, because the truth is, we’ve been betting on a miracle since the day we put that ad out, and if there’s even a sliver of a chance Grace might be it, I can’t walk away without laying my cards on the table and finding out for certain.