Page 4 of Awaiting the Storm (Wildhaven #1)

T he morning sun stands high over the western range, casting brilliant streaks of flaxen light across the grasslands as I ride the fence line along the eastern boundary of Wildhaven Storm Ranch.

Luna moves at a steady pace beneath me, her gait sure-footed and light.

I can still smell the earthy dampness of last night’s rain and smell the clean freshness in the cool air.

Mornings like this make me feel alive.

I marked three posts yesterday with red tape, knowing they wouldn’t make it through another storm, and a couple of our ranch hands are already at work, replacing the worst of them. I rein Luna in and swing down just as Cabe flicks the tip of his hat toward me.

Cabe is our foreman. He manages the ranch hands and oversees the upkeep of the barns, pastures, fences, and other ranch infrastructure.

He’s also my cousin. His father, Boone, is my mother’s older brother, and he and his wife, Aunt Irene, work here at the ranch.

Meanwhile, his brothers, Axle and Royce, are off chasing rodeo dreams.

“Got eyes on the worst one over there by the ravine, Matty,” he says, pointing. “She’s snapped clean through.”

“Yeah, I saw it last night. Could’ve let our whole damn herd through, and we’d have lost them down in that steep valley.” I pat Luna’s neck and squint toward the break. “Let’s dig in new footing and secure the posts with concrete. I want these to hold through winter.”

Cabe nods and instructs the rest of the hands to get to work.

I hang around a while longer, watching them dig—tools clinking, boots thudding in the dirt—making sure everything is in alignment, checking the tension on the wire.

It’s steady, quiet work—the kind that fills a day before you even notice the sun’s slid down the mountain.

By the time I head back toward the ranch house, it’s nearing midday. Luna’s damp with sweat, I feel the ache in my thighs from the ride, and my stomach is rumbling from hunger.

I love this land. Every inch of it has Storm blood, sweat, and tears soaked into it. I ride with my shoulders square and my head up. Proud. This place has provided for us for four generations. Through good years and hard ones. It’s ours, and I’m damn sure going to keep it that way.

As the house comes into view, I spot Daddy standing on the porch, his hat pushed back on his head and hands resting on his hips. But what really catches my eye is the man standing next to him.

He’s tall, easily over six feet, and broad across the shoulders—the kind of broad that doesn’t come from gym memberships, but is God-given.

His shirt is crisp, a deep navy button-up, tucked into a pair of crisp khaki slacks, with a brown leather belt and matching loafers.

On a ranch. Not boots. Not even decent walking shoes.

He looks like he got lost on the way to a boardroom.

He shifts his weight as I approach, hands loosely in his pockets, and I notice the angle of his jawline—clean, sharp, with just a hint of a five-o’clock shadow.

His hair’s cut close to his nape, and his skin is sun-kissed.

His lashes are thick, the kind that women pay good money for, and his eyes are dark.

There’s something about the way he’s watching me that sets me on edge. Observant. Unsettling. He doesn’t belong here. This place doesn’t take well to outsiders, and neither do I. Especially ones dressed like they haven’t stepped foot on a ranch before.

Daddy waves me over. “Matty! Come meet someone.”

I hesitate, just for a second, then swing down off Luna and lead her by the reins toward the porch.

“Everything good with the fence?” he asks.

“Snapped post by the ravine. Crew’s fixing it now. They should have the new one in place before sundown.”

“That’s good,” he says, then nods toward the stranger. “This here’s Caison Galloway. He’s the new ranch manager over at Ironhorse.”

That gets my attention.

Ironhorse Ranch.

I keep my face neutral, but my spine stiffens.

Ironhorse is just west of us—thirty thousand acres of prime beef cattle, owned by Holland Ludlow.

The man has a reputation as long as the Snake River and nearly as crooked.

Greedy. Pushy. The kind of man who sees other people’s land as easy acquisitions.

And now his newest henchman is standing on our front porch.

“Caison, this is my daughter, Maitland Storm. Ranch manager here at Wildhaven Storm. She keeps this place running smooth as a shot of top-shelf whiskey.”

The man—Caison—smiles, slow and easy. “Nice to meet you, Maitland.”

I nod. “Likewise.”

Polite. That’s about all he’s gonna get from me.

Caison holds my gaze for a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to get a read on me. Good luck with that. I’ve dealt with Ludlow before. Anyone working for him either shares his values or owes him something. Neither makes for a trustworthy acquaintance.

“I just came over to introduce myself, and your father here was nice enough to talk shop with me over a glass of lemonade,” he says, his voice deep and warm. “I’m getting settled in at Ironhorse this week and figured it was time I met some folks.”

“How neighborly,” I say.

Daddy shoots me a stern look.

“I like to know who I’m sharing the ridgelines with,” Caison adds, unfazed.

I let Luna’s reins slip through my fingers, giving her a gentle pat as she nudges my shoulder. She’s picking up on my mood.

“Fair enough,” I say. “We don’t get many visitors out this way though. You’ll find most folks around here keep to themselves.”

“Is that right?” he replies. “I guess my mother instilled better manners in me than that.”

I raise an eyebrow at his veiled insult.

The corners of his mouth lift in a grin, like he’s used to being challenged and he doesn’t mind the taste of it. “Just wanting to be friendly—that’s all.”

“Right,” I say. “Well, you’ve made friends with our owner. Guess that’s a start.”

Daddy clears his throat. “ Matty—”

“I should get Luna cooled down and rubbed out before she stiffens up,” I cut in. “Long ride this morning.”

“Of course,” Caison says, stepping back. “Don’t let me keep you.”

He says it like a gentleman, but something tells me he’s anything but.

I lead Luna toward the barn, not looking back. I can feel his eyes on me though. The prickle down my spine doesn’t ease until I’m inside and out of sight.

I finish tending to Luna, brushing her down and checking her hooves. I move slower than usual, giving our visitor plenty of time to get gone.

Caison Galloway.

The name sounds like it belongs in a banking firm, not on a ranch. And yet he looks like he could throw a hay bale if he had a mind to. Or fight someone who tried to take it from him. I don’t trust him. Maybe it’s the way he looked and talked—the way he looked at me. Maybe it’s who he works for.

Ironhorse Ranch doesn’t need friends. It needs people to bend to its will. That’s what Holland Ludlow’s always wanted. And if Caison’s here to play nice before he makes a move on Wildhaven Storm … well, he’s going to find out real quick that Storms don’t bend.

Especially not me.

By the time I walk back up to the house, Daddy’s alone again. He’s leaning on the porch rail, watching the sky.

“He leave?” I ask, stepping up beside him.

“Just now. Said he’ll be back sometime next week. Wanted to walk the western pastures. Said he’s looking to expand.”

I stiffen. “Expand where?”

“Didn’t say.”

“He didn’t have to.”

Daddy sighs. “Matty …”

“I know what Ludlow’s about, Daddy, and so do you. And I also know he didn’t hire someone like Galloway just to walk the fences.”

“You just met the fella. You don’t know him yet. ”

“I know enough. You don’t wear loafers out here. You wear them to office meetings. He’s not a rancher; he’s a businessman. And I don’t trust suits.”

He laughs at that. “Well, maybe he’s not as green as he looks. Said he worked on a ranch in Texas before moving to Ironhorse. Was in cattle and land development.”

“Land development,” I repeat. “Again, that’s not ranching. That’s salesmanship.”

“He knew his way around herd logistics—I’ll give him that. Spoke real clear about rotational grazing, herd dispersal, drought mitigation …”

“Which means he’s educated and read a few books and memorized the bullet points.”

Daddy looks at me. “You’re always so quick to judge. I have no idea where you get that from.”

“When Ludlow’s involved? Yeah. I’m suspicious, and you should be too.”

“Eh, Holland’s not so bad. A tad ambitious, I reckon, but he’s not a monster.”

“He’s not ambitious; he’s greedy, Daddy. And I don’t like greed.”

He watches me for a long moment, then nods. “Maybe you’re right. Just … keep your guard up without reading more into the man’s intention than there is, okay?”

“I won’t. But he has an agenda—I can feel it—and I’m keeping my eyes open.”

And I will. Because something about Caison Galloway showing up here doesn’t sit right with me.

And I don’t care how polite his smile is; I’m not about to let Ironhorse creep any closer to our land.

Not while I’m still breathing.