Page 57

CONWAY

I spot her through the glass before we’re even halfway across the floor, wearing a tight black dress, red heels, and gold hoops that catch the light as she turns her head. Her hair’s twisted up in some kind of sleek, unforgiving knot, and her eyes lined dark and sharp like she’s on her way to war.

It’s Grace. But not our Grace.

Not ranch Grace, with dirt on her boots and sunshine in her smile. This version of her is all hard angles, cool detachment, and stark armor like she’s carved from marble and judgment. With her spine rod-straight and chin high, she looks like she owns the place.

But even from across the room, her trembling hand is noticeable. And her eyes. Those big, soulful eyes are wide with something she’s trying hard to hide. It’s raw, like fear or hurt, as though she’s holding herself together with little more than willpower and war paint, and my stomach drops.

Because I did that. I broke her.

I should’ve let her explain. I should’ve cooled off before pushing her out. I know myself. I burn hot and fast and say things I don’t mean. By the time I come back to center, the damage is already done.

Now I’m standing in the middle of a glass palace in a button-down I ironed three times, with my best boots still covered in dust, no matter how hard I tried to clean them.

Brody’s at my side, stiff as stone, while Dylan stands behind us, jaw tight and shoulders squared like we’re walking into a fight.

Maybe we are.

We look like the setup for a joke. Cowboys in the City. We don’t fit here, and we damn well know it.

What’s Grace gonna think, seeing us like this? That we’ve come to drag her back to the Stone Age? That we can’t let her go be the boss of her own damn world?

Is she gonna be embarrassed? Furious?

I can’t tell. All I want is for her to look at me the way she used to, like I was steady and solid. Someone she could lean on. Someone she could love.

But when her gaze finally snaps to mine, it hits like a slap; cold, cutting, and sharp enough to bleed.

She doesn’t speak or smile when she turns, smooth as ever, and walks toward her office. She doesn’t wave us in or slow down when she pushes the door open and walks inside, leaving it hanging open behind her.

That’s it. That’s our welcome.

I glance at Brody, then Dylan, and follow her in.

Jesus, she looks so fucking sexy; I don’t know what to do with myself. Sexy, but empty. So different from the woman she had become, surrounded by fresh air, loving cowboys, and giggling children.

The office is glass on all sides. Sleek, minimal, and cold, it suits this high-gloss, untouchable version of her. This is where she existed before she came to us, working at this long, neat desk, sitting in this plush leather chair, with the city skyline stretching out before her.

I swallow hard again, growing more and more convinced that this was a stupid idea. We don’t fit, and we’re gonna make damned fools of ourselves.

She shuts the door behind us with a soft click.

“Why are you here?”

Her question isn’t angry as such, but it’s not warm, either. She sounds tired, like she’s worn down to the marrow of her bones. I know how she feels. I haven’t had more than a few hours of sleep since she left.

Since you made her leave , my conscience reminds me.

My mouth opens, then closes. I feel like a goddamn fish and a fool.

I clear my throat. “We— I—”

Brody cuts in, stepping past me. “What Conway means to say is that we’ve come to tell you we were wrong.”

She blinks, startled. That gets through.

“We read the article,” Dylan adds, stepping up beside me. “The one that actually had your voice in it. The one you meant for the world to read. And we don’t care about the rest, the edits, the headlines, or what the damn internet has to say about anything.”

“We want you home,” Brody says. “Where you belong.”

Dylan leans against her desk, folding his arms across his chest. “The kids miss you, Grace. Levi hasn’t told a joke since you left.

Nash keeps muttering to the horses. Jaxon’s scowl has turned at least three heifers to stone.

Corbin keeps checking the porch like you’re gonna show up with a smile and a pot roast. Lennon is reorganizing the pantry again.

McCartney has been singing the blues. Harrison’s given up teaching math, and Cody hasn’t smiled. That’s how bad it is.”

That earns a soft, almost reluctant snort from Grace. But her lips press tight again too fast.

My turn.

I step forward, heart in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I say, voice rough. “I should’ve let you talk. I should’ve trusted you’d never hurt us like that on purpose. I need to be better at listening… and staying calm. I was so wrong, Grace. And I’ ve messed up everything for everyone.”

Her mouth trembles.

“I miss you, Grace,” I add. “We all do. From the moment you drove up to the ranch in that rental car, dressed for a city meeting, you got under our skin. I can’t tell you our kind of love is soft, Grace.

We spend so much time grinding out a living from the dirt, talking to men and beasts, that we forget how to be what women need.

But if you come back, our love will be steady.

It’ll be about showing up, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

Her eyes seem glassy, but there’s a deadness in her eyes that is breaking my heart.

Dylan unfolds his arms and takes a step closer. “I know I don’t say much, Grace. I wish I could… I’ve never been good with words, but I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I mean it when I say I want you in our lives, for me but for me and Eli and Junie, too. They love you. We all love you.”

She looks at us then, and her fear is there, plain as day.

Brody glances at me with panic, widening his eyes. He’s a man of few words. He closed himself down a long time ago, so I have no expectations that he’s going to do anything other than show up, but he surprises me.

“I know I’ve been mostly silent about this arrangement, Grace.

I didn’t want to try because I didn’t believe it could work.

But don’t mistake my silence for indifference.

I tried not to feel anything, but I feel more for you than I’ve ever let myself feel for anyone outside of my family. Will you come home… with us?”

Her hand rises to her mouth, trapping behind it words or emotions she doesn’t want to release, but then she says, quiet, shaky, but clear, “I can’t.”

My breath stalls.

She shakes her head, swallowing hard. “Something’s happened. You don’t know. And when you find out…” Her voice breaks. “You won’t want me anymore.”

Tears spill over her lashes. She tries to swipe them away fast like they’re a weakness she’s ashamed of, and it fucking breaks me.

She’s crying, and I can’t stand it because she’s breaking right in front of us and completely failing to understand we want her.

“Grace,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Look at me.”

She doesn’t. So I say her name again, this time with more force. “Grace.”

Her eyes lift to mine, glassy and wet. There’s so much pain behind them, I want to break something.

“You think there’s a truth out there that could make us walk away from you?” I ask. “After everything we’ve shared? After you held our babies, cooked in our kitchen, danced barefoot in our dirt, and cried out in our beds?”

Her chin wobbles. “You don’t understand—”

“Then make us understand,” Dylan says gently. “We’re here, aren’t we? You think we came all this way for nothing?”

Brody nods. “Whatever it is, Grace… we don’t care.”

She sways like the weight of it all might pull her under, then mutters, “You haven’t seen the hashtag.”

My stomach knots. “What’s a hashtag?”

Grace lets out a bitter, watery laugh. “#gracecanride. It has gone viral on social media. A bunch of old hookups sharing private information. Turning me into a joke. A slut meme.”

Silence.

She waits for us to flinch. To step back. To confirm every fear she’s been carrying like a stone. But we don’t.

Brody exhales, low and steady. “Well, fuck them.”

Dylan folds his arms, his jaw hard. “They’ve got nothing to say that we’d give a damn about, Grace.”

And me? I take her hand.

She tries to pull away, but I don’t let her.

“I don’t care what anyone else in this goddamn world thinks of you or says about you, Grace,” I say.

“I care about the woman who showed my little niece how to twirl in her favorite dress. I care about the woman who stood on my porch and told me I needed to lighten up. I care about the woman who made us believe that eleven worn-out cowboys and six dusty kids could have a happy ever after.”

Her lower lip trembles.

“Grace, you’re ours,” Brody says, stepping closer. “Haven’t you worked it out yet?”

She looks down at her feet, swallowing hard, then around at the three of us—at our ranch-worn hands, clothes that don’t fit this place, boots ready for riding hell for leather across rough terrain rather than walking city sidewalks—and finally whispers, “I don’t know how to come back from this.”

“Come home,” Dylan says, the ache in his voice cutting into my heart.

Brody’s voice is quiet and steady. “All you have to do is say yes, sweetheart, and we’ll make all of it go away.”

I watch Grace’s breath catch, the war in her chest so obvious it almost hurts to witness. She swipes at her cheeks with both hands, messy and frustrated.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she mutters. “I used to be composed. I used to be sharp.”

“You still are,” I say. “This situation has been out of your control, but not anymore. Now, you get to decide the story you want to write, Grace.”

She lets out a breath that shudders through her.

“I was terrified you’d see me like they do,” she says. “Something to use. Somebody to discard.”

Brody scoffs. “We see the real you, Grace. And you’re beautiful inside and out.”

Dylan smiles gently. “You held all of us in the palm of your hand without even realizing you were doing it, even this grumpy asshole.”

There’s a pause. A stillness that feels like it belongs to us, drawing us together and bringing a warm feeling into this sterile office.

Then Grace breathes out a single word that changes my life: “Okay. ”

I blink. “Okay?”

She nods, tentative but growing steadier with each breath. “Okay, I want to come home. I don’t know how to fix everything or what comes next, but I want to try. If you still have me, I’ll try to make things better.”

Brody’s laugh is low and relieved. “You’re already ours.”

Dylan pulls her into a hug without hesitation, squeezing her so tightly she turns a little red in the face as he murmurs something against her hair, I can’t quite hear.

I watch her melt into him, and all the anxiety I’ve been carrying since she drove away in a cloud of dust and regret disappears.

Grace steps back, breathless, cheeks still damp, but her smile is real this time. “I can’t believe you all came to my office,” she says with a little laugh. “Cowboy hats in corporate America.”

“You embarrassed?”

She looks at me and shakes her head. “Of course not. Don’t you realize how hot you look? Half the office is dribbling, and the other half is jealous.”

I snort and shake my head, but my attention drifts to the cubicle farm outside the glass and the sea of faces looking our way.

“I wish I had my hat and boots here right now.” She looks around her office, still seeming lost. “I need to quit. Not just because of the article. This job… it’s never been what I truly wanted.”

I nod. “Then we’ll help you figure out what comes next. Whatever it is.”

She takes my hand again, this time with intention.

“Take me home,” she whispers.

God, I’ve been waiting to hear those words since the moment she walked away.

I grip her hand tighter. “Let’s go.”

We turn, walking toward the exit with her tucked between us where she belongs.

Behind us, her office fades into the background .

Ahead of us? Home. All the people who mean the world to me under one roof.

And finally, Grace. The last puzzle piece.