Page 4

GRACE

I wake to the sound of a rooster crowing.

Like an actual rooster. Not a ringtone or some ironic farm noise alarm clock. A live, feathered demon screaming outside my window at six in the morning.

Welcome to Cooper Hill Ranch.

I roll over, groan, and bury my face in the soft pillow that smells of cedar laundry detergent and fresh air. The room’s too bright, I’m too tired, and there’s no coffee within reach, which should be a crime.

By the time I drag myself out of bed, shower, throw on jeans and a blue cotton shirt, and make it to the kitchen, the house is already buzzing.

The men are scattered. The kids are half-dressed, half still in their pajamas, and louder than any group of humans should be before eight A.M.

“Morning, sunshine.” Levi winks, sliding a biscuit onto a plate and shoving it in my direction.

“I don’t speak before caffeine,” I mutter as my body reacts to his proximity with a raging surge of heat .

“Lucky for you, I do.” He passes me a chipped mug with steam curling out of the top. “Here’s your morning medicine. Conway wants you outside after breakfast. Cody and Nash’ll show you around.”

“Why do I feel like I’m being handed off like a lost dog?”

He grins, flashing me with those dimples that annihilate sense and reason. “Because you are.”

***

Ten minutes later, I’m outside, squinting in the morning sun, already sweating, as I follow Cody and Nash to the barn.

The land stretches out around us like a painting of golden fields, dusty trails, and fence lines disappearing into the horizon. There’s a slow beauty here that’s unrushed and undemanding. It’s charming enough to settle my skin in a way a city skyline never has.

Cody leads the way with ease that says he belongs to this place, his shaggy brown hair catching the light, his sun-kissed skin glowing, and that calendar-worthy smile out in full force. He walks with surety, like the dirt knows him and trusts him back.

Nash trails a few steps behind. Quieter and leaner, he’s the type of man you don’t notice at first, but once you do, you can’t stop watching. His smile is small and careful, as if it costs him something to give, which somehow makes it worth more.

“This here’s the west pasture,” Cody says, gesturing with a gloved hand. “We let the cattle roam most days. Fences are solid, but we still check every week or so.”

“Guess what you’re doing today?” Nash adds with a quiet grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I stop walking. “Oh, no. I’m here to observe, not work.”

“Too late,” Cody says, handing me a pair of gloves with a wink.

We walk the fence line for over an hour, and I have a mouthful of questions I don’t let loose.

I have time to get to the center of this article, but right now, working alongside them feels like the right thing to do.

By the time we hit the halfway point, I’d tripped twice, stepped in something suspicious, and sweated through the shirt I expected to wear for the whole day.

But I haven’t fainted or died.

And weirdly, I’m enjoying being out from behind my desk.

Cody chats the whole way, easy and unfiltered.

He talks about the land, the animals, and the work, mentioning nothing about the lack of a female presence on the ranch or their goal of recruiting a superwoman to take on this huge family.

But it’s Nash I keep stealing glances at.

He moves quietly and carefully, checking fence posts with a practiced hand, never rushing, never missing a beat, looking out over the cattle like they’re long-lost friends.

“You guys grew up out here?” I ask.

“Yup,” Cody says. “All of us. Grandparents took us in after the accident. We learned to work before we learned to drive.”

The accident is quickly brushed over, and I don’t ask about it. I have time to tackle the hard stuff once we get to know each other a little better.

I wipe sweat from my neck with the hem of my shirt, bearing my belly for a second.

Cody looks over, eyes twinkling. “You’re doing better than most city folk.”

“You mean because I haven’t cried yet?”

“Yet.”

Nash chuckles behind me. “Give it time.”

***

Back at the barn, I try to wipe the dirt off my jeans with my filthy hands, smearing even more dirt. Pointless. My hair’s frizzing, my face is flushed, and I’m one awkward comment away from collapsing.

“Why do people choose this life?” I mutter.

Cody hands me a bottle of water. “Because it’s ours. No boss breathing down our necks. No uncomfortable desk chair, boring meeting, or soulless commute to a job we hate. Everything you look at…” he sweeps his arm almost full circle, “is ours.”

I twist off the cap and drink. It’s warm, metallic, and somehow the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

“It’s hard work,” Nash says quietly, leaning against the barn wall. “But it’s honest.”

I look between them at the sunlight behind their shoulders, the dust on their skin, and the calm satisfaction in their eyes.

These men are the realest thing I’ve met in years.

And that’s kind of terrifying.

Because real is dangerous. Real doesn’t come with warning labels or escape clauses. Real makes you feel things when you’ve spent years numbing yourself with the next project, the next night out, the next forgettable man.

I wipe a smear of sweat off my temple and force a half-smile. “So, where’s the spa?”

Cody grins. “You passed it. It’s the trough we walked by with the algae in it.”

Nash adds, totally deadpan, “You can book a mud wrap. Fall down, and we’ll leave you there.”

I laugh more than I mean to, and it surprises all three of us.

The barn behind us groans with heat. Somewhere nearby, a horse snorts and kicks at the ground. The sun’s climbing, but the air still feels soft out here. I want to ask them why they’re really doing this. The ad. The woman. The arrangement feels more like fantasy than reality.

Instead, I ask, “So what do you guys do for fun? Or is all this fencing an elaborate foreplay ritual?”

Cody snorts. “Don’t knock it. We’ve had proposals come in from women who said barbed wire’s their kink.”

I snort, seriously wondering if he’s telling the truth and if he’ll share the responses they’ve had for research purposes, of course. I’m nosy and feel like assessing the competition. Nash smiles. That quiet, unreadable kind that makes me want to peel up his edges and peek at the secrets beneath.

I flush at that intrusive thought that I’m vying for these men in any way. What the hell is going on with me today?

Cody glances at me. “You ever been on a horse?”

“Only in heels at a bachelorette party. Pretty sure it was traumatized.”

He laughs. “Then you’re overdue for a proper introduction. We’ll fix that.”

“Great,” I say flatly. “Looking forward to straddling livestock with no control over my lower body.”

“Hell of a way to bond,” Nash murmurs, then pushes off the barn wall. “Come on. Let’s get you cooled off before you melt into the hay.”

“Can I take a couple of pictures first?”

Cody grins, and Nash stares at my phone like it might turn him to stone.

They lean against the barn wall, with arms folded like hunky bookends.

I check the photos for quality and flush hot at the sexiness captured in small format.

Wow! The readers are going to devour these men.

This article is going to find them a wife overnight with this level of man-candy on offer.

A ripple of jealousy snakes through me, but I squash it down hard, following them toward the house, my legs aching and my pride a little bruised.

On the way, a dog barrels across the yard, heading in our direction.

“Easy, Beau,” Nash says, laughing.

He holds out his hand, but Beau doesn’t stop.

Instead, he trots up like he owns the place and intends to size me up.

Big, black, golden, and grinning, his tail wagging in wide, lazy arcs, he pauses a foot from me, his head tilted, his amber eyes curious.

Then, without warning, he nudges my hand with his wet nose and lets out a low, approving woof .

I laugh, surprised by the sudden warmth in my chest. He leans into my legs like he’s known me forever. Like I already belong here.

“Well, what do you know?” Nash shakes his head, grinning broader than I’ve seen all day. “You’ve gotten Beau’s approval. After that, the rest of us fall in line.”

I pet Beau’s warm side, thinking this isn’t the story I thought I’d be writing.

But maybe it’s the kind I need.