A Horse, a Heartache, and a Hard Place

Chestnut Ridge
Jackson Kershaw’s POV

I only went into town because we were outta mineral blocks and Beau had “forgotten” to tell me until the horses were already licking the dirt like it was molasses. So I was already in a mood — dust on my jeans, sweat on my neck, and a headache brewing behind my eyes.

The bell over the door of the general store jingled when I walked in, and the cool air hit me like a blessing. Earl was behind the counter, leaning on it like he’d been born there.

“Mornin’, Jackson,” he drawled, vowels long and lazy. “You look like hell warmed over.”

“Feel worse,” I muttered. “Where ya keepin’ them mineral blocks these days? Beau went and reorganized the barn again, and now I can’t find a damn thing. Didn’t realize we were clear outta salt licks ’til this mornin’. I done turned that barn upside down before Beau finally tells me we been out and he ‘totally forgot to put it on my list from yesterday.’ I was fixin’ to send him, but Lord knows what that boy’d come back with. I don’t know where his head’s at half the time these days, and I can’t wait for that phase to run its course, while I’m over here tryin’ to split myself three ways — keep the ranch runnin’, line up studdin’ in some sorta order, and haul my butt into town all at once. Had half a mind to knock that boy into next week.”

Earl snorted. “Boy’s got the organizational sense of a possum in a pantry. Teenagers. I am jus’ glad mine are long grown. Don’t know that I still got the patience for all that and then some.”

I was about to agree when I heard it — a voice I didn’t recognize. Crisp. Clear. Not local.

“No, I’m telling you, that can’t be right. Horses don’t eat… cubes. Do they? That just feels wrong.”

I turned.

She stood in the aisle like she’d wandered into the wrong movie — city‑clean jeans, hair pulled back in a way that said she’d tried to be practical but didn’t know how, and a cart full of things no one with livestock would ever buy. Ever.

To be fair, the feed store didn’t make it easy. Half the bags were plain brown paper or clear plastic with nothing but a barcode and a tiny line of print. No cute pictures of horses or goats or rabbits like you’d see in a pet store. Just… bags. Bags of mystery.

She held up a sack of rabbit pellets like it had personally offended her.

Earl sighed. “Ma’am, I done told ya twice now—”

“But the internet said—”

“Internet ain’t never mucked a stall,” Earl said.

She huffed, frustrated and embarrassed, and that’s when she noticed me lookin’ at her all deer‑in‑headlights‑like.

“What?” she snapped.

I lifted my hands. “Nothin’. Don’t mind me none. Just… yer buyin’ rabbit feed for a horse.”

Her eyes widened. “I am not. Am I?”

“You are,” I said, stepping closer. “And that salt lick you grabbed? That’s for goats. And that bucket? That’s a mop bucket. Not a feed bucket. And that—”

“Okay, okay!” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I get it. Spoiler alert: I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Earl muttered, “Ain’t that the truth,” under his breath. “And not willin’ to listen neither!”

She shot him a glare, then looked back at me — and for the first time, I saw the panic under the irritation.

“I just moved here,” she said quietly. “My aunt left me her place. I’m trying to take care of her horse, but I’ve never— I mean, I don’t— I’m not—”

She stopped, swallowed, and tried again.

“I’m trying.”

And damn if that didn’t hit me somewhere old.

Because Briar Rose had sounded just like that once — back when she first came to the Ridge, all bright eyes and city polish, pretending she knew what she was doing while holding a halter upside‑down, swearin’ up ‘n down she ‘was a very good rider’. Yeah, for horses that came saddled, and got tended by hired help. Her whole family was like that: Brindleton Bay shine, Del Sol Valley glamour, San Sequoia gloss, not a lick of sense about ranching but stubborn enough to fake it.

This woman wasn’t Bri. Not even close. But the ignorance — the earnest, flustered, trying‑so‑hard ignorance — it tugged at something familiar.

Something I hadn’t thought about in a long time.

I cleared my throat, pushing the memory aside.

“Alright,” I said, nodding toward her cart. “Let’s start over. Put all that back.”

She blinked. “All of it? You gotta be shitting me! You know how long it took me to find all this crap?!”

“Yup. All of it.”

She stared at the cart like it had betrayed her. Then she sighed and started unloading.

I walked her through the basics — mineral blocks, sweet feed, the right kind of hay cubes, fly spray that actually worked. She listened, really listened, asking questions that weren’t stupid so much as… inexperienced.

When we got to the counter, Earl rang her up with a grin.

“Welcome to Chestnut Ridge, Ma’am. Diff’rent kinda livin’ out here, but it’s the best kind.”

She gave him a look that said she doubted that very much.

Outside, she paused beside her ride — a city SUV that had no business on ranch roads. Instantly reminded me of Bri again. Dammit.

She rolled the cart to the back, and before she could lift a thing, I stepped in and started loading it up — feed sacks first, then the mineral block, then the buckets and smaller stuff tucked around so nothing would shift. She hovered nearby, hands on the cart handle, looking like she wasn’t sure if she should help or stay out of the way.

“Thank you,” she said, softer now. “Really. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Didn’t bother me none,” I said. “You were overwhelmed. Happens.”

She huffed a tiny laugh, then added, “I’m… still figuring things out. The house. The land. The horse. The people. No offense, but when I first got here I asked for directions four times and understood none of it. You guys speak a different language out here! At least I can understand you — mostly.”

She hesitated, then leaned in a little, lowering her voice like she was confessing a crime. “I think Earl got kinda mad at me. I just… couldn’t understand what he was telling me. At all.”

I bit back a smile. “Earl sounds like he’s chewin’ gravel even on a good day, and I don’t think he got many of those. Don’t take it personal.”

“Ugh. Everything is just so… different. Like a different world.”

I nodded. “Yup, sure is. If ya get stuck, you can holler. Ridge folks help each other out.”

She smiled — small, but real.

“I’m not sure I know how to… ‘holler.’”

I tipped my hat. “You’ll learn.”

She laughed, and damn if it didn’t hit me somewhere I wasn’t expectin’. Dagnammit Briar Rose, ya gotta quit spookin’ ’round in my head. She moved on, and I had to. Bad. Can’t go ’round seein’ her in everything and everyone.

She reached for the hatch, but I beat her to it, swinging it down with one hand and slamming it shut with that solid, satisfying thud only a ranch man can make look natural.

She blinked, a little startled — maybe impressed — then thanked me again, before she climbed into her SUV, waved once, and drove off in a cloud of dust.

Earl leaned out the store door behind me.

“Well I’ll be,” he said. “Jackson Kershaw bein’ helpful to a purdy girl. He’s finally movin’ on from his ex-wife. Hallelujah.”

“Shut up, Earl. Got them salt licks ready for me?”

But I watched her taillights disappear down the road longer than I meant to.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt something shift — not big, not loud, just a quiet little nudge in my chest.

Like maybe the world wasn’t done with me yet.

Kershaw Ranch

By the time I pulled up our drive, I was still half‑ready to tan Beau’s hide. Who in their right mind lets a ranch run outta salt licks? We got at least dozen horses on this place on any given day, often more — and more’n that yet come foalin’ season — you don’t just ‘forget’ somethin’ like that.

Picked up two damn cases at the feed store — ’bout forty blocks — heavy as sin. Beau should’ve noticed we were down to crumbs.

Beau was already in the yard when I pulled up, leanin’ against the fence like he’d been waitin’ on me. Which was suspicious, ’cause that boy never waited on anything unless he wanted somethin’ — and he damn sure didn’t look busy.

He squinted at me as I climbed outta the truck.

“What ya doin’ standin’ ’round holdin’ that damn fence up?!” I barked, jerkin’ my chin toward the bed. “Get over here and help me unload. And next time you notice we’re outta salt licks, you tell me before I gotta make an emergency run over to Earl’s.”

Beau blinked. “I said I was sorry… never happened before.”

“Make sure it ain’t never gonna happen again.”

I grabbed the nearest box — forty pounds easy — and shoved it into his chest hard enough to knock the wind outta him.

“Put two out for the herd and stack the rest in the feed room. And put ’em somewhere folks can actually find ’em this time.”

“Yes sir,” he muttered, hitchin’ the box up in his arms.

I grabbed another box and started walking toward the barn. Beau fell in step beside me, boots crunching gravel.

He kept glancing at me. Side‑eye. Suspicious. Too quiet.

Then—

“Pa,” he said slowly, “you’re smilin’.”

“No, I ain’t. Keep walkin’.”

“You are. It’s weird.”

“Ain’t nothin’ weird about a man smilin’.”

“Yeah, but you don’t,” he said, grinning. “Not of late. Ya used to, but then ya didn’t anymore. Not for a long time. Not unless you’re watchin’ a horse do somethin’ stupid, Savannah does somethin’ cute or ya been pushing Mama’s or Brad’s buttons like a hobby. Mama used to make ya smile easy, now only when yer messin’ with her and she gets mad at ya.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, then pointed at him with my elbow since my hands were full. “You talk too damn much. Sound like yer sister with her … teenage ideas.”

Two ranchhands nearby — Cole and Ricky — overheard that and snorted into their coffee mugs.

Beau grinned wider. “So who was she?”

I stopped dead. “Who was who?”

“The woman from the store.”

Cole and Ricky perked up like prairie dogs.

I froze. “What the hell ya talkin’ ’bout, boy!?”

“No use denyin’ it Dad. Earl texted me,” Beau said, deadpan. “Said, and I quote, ‘Your pa’s flirtin’. There might be hope for him yet.’”

Cole choked on his coffee. Ricky outright laughed.

I spun on them. “Y’all got somethin’ to do besides eavesdrop? Or do I need to find chores for ya?”

They scattered like chickens.

“Yeah, ya better skedaddle, don’t forget yer noses, still up in my business, where they don’t belong!”

I was gonna kill Earl.

“I wasn’t flirtin’,” I snapped. “I was helpin’. And damn Earl needs to mind his own, and so do you.”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “Uh‑huh. Parents are so cute when they grow up.”

“Shut up and get crackin’ on them salt licks!”

He smirked, grabbed the box tighter, and sauntered off, I could hear him laughing all the way to the horse shelters. Damn kid!

And I told myself — firmly — that it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. Just a stranger who needed help.

That was all.

Right?

…Right.

Chayton Greywolf’s Ranch,

few days later

I rode Blaze out to Chayton’s place early morn’ because Beau hadn’t come home the night before. Again. Teenagers. I trusted Cheyenne and her family, her father had been my best friend since I don’t remember when, I knew he was permissive of their relationship to a certain degree but not beyond, but the boy still had chores, and I wasn’t about to let him think he could skip out on ‘em because he had a girlfriend.

Chay’s ranch sat on a rise overlooking the valley, the kind of view that made you forget the world had problems. Blaze snorted as we approached, ears flicking forward. He liked it here — good land, good horses, good people.

I spotted Chay in the corral, arms crossed, lookin’ like he was about to chew nails and spit bullets. One of his bays stood tied behind him, ears pinned like it didn’t wanna test him either.

“Uh‑oh,” I muttered to Blaze. “Somebody done gone pissed him off all right.”

Blaze flicked an ear back at me, like he agreed.

Chayton Greywolf was full‑blooded Indian — his word, not mine. Bri once lectured me for sayin’ it, so I tried callin’ him indigenous instead ’cause I’d grown up around him and his people long enough to not wanna disrespect their culture like she said that word was doin’. He damn near choked laughin’, said I sounded like I’d swallowed a college brochure. Can’t win for losin’ on that one, so I usually tried to avoid it altogether.

Anyway, Chayton didn’t smile much. Not him, not his people. They treated smiles like they meant somethin’ — like you didn’t hand one out unless you were sure the moment deserved it.

So when he wasn’t smilin’? That was normal.

But when he had that look — shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes gone flat? Yeah. Somebody was in trouble, and this could go south real quick.

As I rode closer, Patches let out a sharp whinny from the far paddock, tossin’ his piebald head like he owned the damn place. One of mine — Beau’s favorite mount — and if he was hangin’ around the fence line, there was no doubt my boy wasn’t far either.

Blaze answered right back, ears pricked, chest puffed like he was fixin’ to start somethin’.

“Knock it off,” I muttered, though neither of ’em ever listened.

I swung down off Blaze, boots hittin’ the dirt. My knees cracked — not from bein’ old, just from too many years of doin’ stupid things on horseback — and Blaze shifted his weight like he’d heard it and was judgin’ me for it.

“Don’t start,” I told him, loosening his cinch. “Ain’t no spring chicken, but I ain’t old neither, and not dead yet.”

I slid the reins over his head and tied him to the rail beside Chay’s bay, Blaze still eyeballin’ Patches like he was takin’ attendance in a pissing contest.

Chayton and I didn’t bother with a hello — when you’d known a man since you were both knee‑high and raisin’ hell, a nod was plenty, especially in this neck o’the woods.

Chay jerked his chin toward the barn. “Outsider,” he grumbled. “Right there in my barn. Needed outsiders wanderin’ in here like a hole in the head.”

I blinked. “What outsider?”

“You’ll see,” he said darkly. “Brace yerself, Kershaw.”

I snorted. “Nah, I’m here for my kid. Where’s Beau?”

“Inside with Cheyenne,” Chay said. “Pretendin’ he ain’t hidin’ from you. Was gon’ say somethin’ last night, send him yer way, but then I remember ya’ll laughin’ at me because I got twin daughters to wrangle with all their odd girl problems, so I thought ya can go take long walk off a short pier, white boy. That’s what I thought.”

I snorted. “Figures.”

Before I could go drag my son out by the ear, I heard it — that same crisp, not‑from‑around‑here voice.

“I’m telling you, my horse is lonely! The internet said—”

Oh no.

Not her.

Chay threw his hands up. “Woman, the internet also says you can cure cancer with essential oils and positive thinkin’. Don’t make it gospel. Ya can’t even handle one horse yet, ya’ll don’t need two! I ain’t sellin’ ya no damn horse, I don’t care what that sign out front says, ’bout horses fer sale, I ain’t got none to sell to YOU. Find some other fool willin’ to take a gamble on one of their horses!”. He added something in his native tongue, I wasn’t much for languages but picked up a few words and they wasn’t pretty.

I stepped around the corner.

And there she was.

Same blonde hair — different shade than Bri’s, but close enough to make something in my chest twitch. Pretty blue eyes — bright, earnest, overwhelmed. Similar figure that made my brain short‑circuit for half a second before I shoved the thought into a mental ditch. Dammit Bri! And damn me for thinkin like that!

She turned, saw me, and her face lit up like she’d just spotted a lifeboat.

“Oh! You’re the guy from the store!”

Chay looked between us, eyebrows climbing. “You two know each other?”

“Nah,” I said quickly. “Just ran into her at Earl’s store.”

“That so,” he said, voice low and unimpressed.

She nodded enthusiastically. “He’s a lifesaver! Kept me from from buying rabbit food for a horse. It looked the same and my printout said to look for cubes. Those were the only cubes I could find.”

Chay stared at me trying so hard not to say the wrong thing or burst into laughter. “Yeah, that’s our Jackson, the local hero and savior for any damsel in distress, ain’t ya?”

I told him something unflattering a man could only say to his closest friend, which made him laugh.

She stepped closer, clutching a notebook full of printed articles and highlighted nonsense.

She blinked up at me, all earnest and hopeful. “You have a ranch, right? I need a horse,” she said. “Because mine is lonely. She looks so sad all the time. I tried to make her laugh, gave her goodies, even put an Alexa in her barn so she has music when I am busy, but she still looks sad. And that one over there is so cute and pretty! She would look great with mine!”

I swear my brain short‑circuited right there.

Did she just say she tried to make her horse laugh? Lord have mercy.

This woman was out here doin’ stand‑up comedy for livestock, installin’ fancy gadgets no horse on God’s green earth ever asked for. The only music I’d ever heard tied to horses was a bunch of cowboys huddled ’round a fire, someone pickin’ a guitar while everybody sang off‑key and half drunk.

I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or call animal control for emotional support.

Before I could figure out what to do with that information, Chay groaned loud enough to rattle the rafters.

“May the Gods give me strength. That’s a stallion, woman! Last thing ya need is an intact stallion…”

I rubbed my face. “Ma’am—”

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” she snapped at me, flustered. “I’m not eighty!” Then she turned to Chayton “And quit belittling me! I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl horse, I need a second horse, and that’s that!”

I sighed. Cityfolk always got their panties in a bunch about that term, even though Ma’am was a perfectly acceptable way to address women in this neck o’ the woods.

Before Chay, who was about to combust next to me could say anything, I did.

“Alright. Look. Horses don’t get lonely the way you think. They’re herd animals, sure, but buyin’ another horse ain’t like buyin’ a second cat so the first one has company. That can go sideways real fast.”

Next to me, Chayton nodded in agreement.

“Real fast,” he echoed. Then he pointed at the stallion she’d been eyein’. “That one is spirited. You bring that home to your sad little mare, and best‑case scenario? He tears down your fence, your shelter, and half your yard tryin’ to get to her.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

“Worst case?” Chay continued, deadpan. “He gets to her. Then you ain’t got one sad horse — you got two pissed‑off horses, both with serious bite marks, a vet bill big enough to make you cry, and possibly a lil horse baby on the way you ain’t remotely prepared for. And that’s only if ya didn’t get in their way or ya’ll be in the hospital or worse yet.”

Her mouth fell open. “Oh my God!”

Chay shrugged. “Stallions don’t do gentle introductions. They do chaos. And horses don’t just like other horses cos they’re horses. Sometimes they really do NOT like other horses and that’s never pretty.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What he’s sayin’ is: don’t buy a damn stallion.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

She looked genuinely disappointed, and something in me softened again — same damn feeling as before. Same damn memory of Bri, standing in my barn twenty years ago, hellbound and naïve, while holding a halter upside‑down and insisting she knew what she was doing, cos ‘she could ride, and very well’. She wasn’t bad on horseback even then, but her horses always came saddled and she never needed to muck out no damn stall before.

I shoved the thought away. Something that had become a habit, cos ev’ry other thought of mine still had Bri in it. Some good, some great, some … well … just for me to know what we did when we did it, and some not so great. Either way, I was doin’ a lot of thinkin’ about a woman who let go and moved on.

“This ain’t your fault,” I said. “You’re new. You’re learnin’. But you can’t trust the internet for ranch stuff.”

She nodded slowly. “So… what do I do?”

Chay opened his mouth — probably fixin’ to tell her to haul herself back to wherever she blew in from — but I cut him off.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” I heard myself say. “Take a look at your setup. Make sure the horse’s alright.”

Her eyes went wide. “Really? Oh, thank God. You are an angel! Please do. I don’t know my address, it’s… a… well, you know that big tree when you come off the highway? The one with the adorable patch of wildflowers?”

Oh, Lawd have mercy! I thought to myself, and before she could dig that hole any deeper, Chay finally snapped. “The old Wilkes place,” he said, deadpan.

“Gotcha,” I muttered — then immediately wanted to slap that damn grin clean off his face.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll swing by tomorrow.”

She nodded, thanked Chay, thanked me again, gave me one of those lil smiles and left in a flurry of dust and determination, while Chay stood there roastin’ me alive with that glare‑and‑grin combo he’d perfected since we were kids.

And damn it all, I felt that same little nudge in my chest. Not attraction. Not interest. Just… pity.

That’s what I told myself. Just pity.

She did have a real nice figure, not like I was lookin’ or nothin’. And that blonde hair. Just like Bri. Her eyes weren’t green like Bri’s though, but a bright, pretty blue.

Lord have mercy. Me.

I blamed it on it havin’ been long — too long — since I last had a decent woman in my bed. Not countin’ Taylor. There was nothing decent about Taylor, she was a means to an end. I ended that mutually beneficial arrangement the day after I got back from my last visit with my daughter and Briar Rose’s San Sequoia family, where everybody and their dog made it real clear I wasn’t doin’ nobody a favor with that mess, least of all myself.

When Beau told me he hated her so much he was already thinkin’ up backup livin’ arrangements in case I was fool enough to make her permanent? Yeah. That sealed her fate right there.

All I’d risked and lost because of this damn ranch — the only thing I had left from the Kershaws before me — had been so one day I’d have somethin’ decent to hand down to my boy. Keep what little legacy we had alive. It probably was what cost me Bri in the end. And since she was gone — really gone this time, not one of those times where eventually she’d come stormin’ back into my life like she had a hundred times before — no, I knew for a fact she was gone as gone can get and she wasn’t comin’ back. Not this time.

So, hell… it damn well better be worth it.

If Taylor was makin’ my boy not wanna come home, she had to go. And stay gone.

My daddy raised me a gentleman, but I know how to make myself clear to a woman when I need to. Taylor was gone, and she was gonna stay gone.

Believe you me.

“I’m goin’ ’cause of that poor horse,” I added quick. “Ain’t nothin’ else to it.”

Chay snorted so hard Blaze flicked an ear at him.

“Oh, Jaaackson… you’re a lifesaver… an aaangel…” He pitched his voice high and dramatic, flutterin’ his lashes, then threw his whole damn weight against me like some lovesick fool.

I shoved him off so hard he stumbled, still howlin’ with laughter.

“You’re in trouble,” he wheezed.

“Knock it off. I ain’t.”

“Oh, you are. Done found yourself another Bri, and you’re lovin’ it. You got a type, my brother — one of them not‑from‑here girls. You like ’em fancy types.”

“Nah, I don’t and I ain’t interested.”

Chay raised one eyebrow — that slow, judgmental one he saved for when I was lyin’ to myself.

“Uh‑huh,” he said, voice low. “Kershaw, you ain’t interested, but you’re standin’ there pitched forward like you could use yourself as a damn kickstand.”

I groaned. “Ya need to quit readin’ yer wife’s smut novels, ya got filth on the brain.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, grin wide enough to split his face. “Welcome back to the land of the livin’, brother. I’m real glad you finally figured out there’s more women in this world than Briar Rose — and I ain’t even countin’ Taylor.”

I shot him a look, but he kept goin’.

“Just do us all a favor,” he said, waggin’ a finger at me, “and don’t go wakin’ up married to lil’ Miss Cityslicker. We all remember how that turned out with that ranchhand you made Savannah with.”

“Lord almighty,” I muttered, “you never let a man forget nothin’, do ya?”

Chay just grinned wider. “Not when it’s this fun.”

I glared at him.

Chay was still chucklin’ when I turned on my heel and stomped toward the house. I wasn’t mad — not truly — but I was damn sure done bein’ everybody’s entertainment for the day.

I pushed open the front door without knockin’. Chay’s place was two stories, but I didn’t need to look around.

I knew exactly where my boy was.

When not at school, teenage boys only had three modes:

• Eatin’
• Sleepin’ (alone or with company)
• Doing chores, or avoidin’ the chores they were supposed to be doin’

I could see the Greywolf’s kitchen was empty, and since Beau sure as hell wasn’t back at my ranch doing chores like he was supposed to be doin’, that left lil to the imagination.

I headed straight for the stairs.

“Boy!” I hollered up. “You best not be doin’ somethin’ ya don’t want me catchin’ ya doin’!”

There was a thud, a muffled curse, and the sound of someone trippin’ over somethin’ they shouldn’t have left on the floor.

Yep. Nailed it.

I marched up the steps, gave a firm knock on Cheyenne’s room door, then pushed it open.

She was fully dressed, though slightly disheveled. My kid was raisin’ up off the floor, clearly had tripped over his own feet, lookin’ guilty as sin. Since they were both dressed I knew they hadn’t been doin’ anything scandalous — probably interrupted them makin’ out. I was born at night, but not last night, and I knew there was no stoppin’ a seventeen‑year‑old ranch kid from doin’ that. I’d been one once, and that’s all I’m gonna say to that.

“Pa— we were just—”

“Don’t even start,” I snapped, pointing at him. “I don’t care. You’re supposed to be at our ranch doin’ your chores. Instead I find you over here, flirtin’ with your girl, and lettin’ us run outta salt licks like we’re amateurs.”

“Daaad, that was days ago and one mistake! I said I was sorry and it won’t happen again!”

“Yeah, ya also said you’d be home last night like I asked ya to. I know Chay and Ash run a tight ship, which is the only reason I didn’t come get ya last night!”

Cheyenne winced. “Sorry, Mr. Kershaw, it’s my fault. I had a rough day and asked him to stay with me. I swear we didn’t do nothin’. You know my parents would have my hide.”

“It ain’t your fault, sweetheart,” I said, softenin’ for her. “It’s his. Now why is yer ass not on the way downstairs halfway sittin’ on yer damn horse, Beau Wyatt?!”

Beau blinked. “Jeeze, Pa, I’m comin’! I liked ya better flirtin’ with that city woman — at least ya were smilin’.”

I glared at him so hard he actually took a step back.

“That wasn’t a smile. Neither is this. That’s me bein’ two seconds from wringin’ your neck. GIT!”

Cheyenne covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

Beau held up his hands. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry I stayed out. I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, just like ya said last time. And the time before. Keep this up and I’ll castrate ya like a colt, just to make sure yer lil’ late‑night visits don’t make me a grandfather before my time. Yer Momma would drive out here, beat my ass in front of everybody, tan my hide, and then call my daddy so he could fly over and kick my ass double!”

Cheyenne squealed, slapped both hands over her mouth, and bolted out of the room like the floor had turned to lava.

“Wow, Dad. Nice goin’. Hope yer happy now, humiliatin’ her like that!” Beau grumbled, then tore out after her.

“What? Am I supposed to pretend I don’t know what you two are up to? You told me yerself back at yer grandparents’ house just weekend before last that you didn’t ask me to pick ya up a box of condoms to make water balloons with!” I hollered after him.

Immediately, Cheyenne let out a noise like a wounded possum, voices shot up, and a door slammed so hard the frame rattled.

When Beau came back into view, he was fumin’ — forehead all scrunched up like I was the problem — because his girlfriend had locked herself in the bathroom and told him to get lost.

Becomin’ a father is easy. Bein’ one? Lord help me. Especially to teenagers.

I exhaled, long and slow. Truth was, I wasn’t mad about the salt licks. Or the stayin’ out. Or even the teasing.

I was mad because everybody kept actin’ like I’d been caught sweet‑talkin’ some woman… and I wasn’t. I wasn’t.

I was helpin’. That’s all.

Just helpin’.

The good thing about teenagers and their unpredictable mood swings was that you never knew what was comin’ next. When I got back to Blaze, Beau was already mounted, sittin’ there like nothin’ had happened, waitin’ on me.

He watched me, head tilted. “Pa… you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, lowering myself into the saddle, while raising a hand at Chayton in the distance, who was too busy pretending to blow kisses at me “Bye Jaaaaacksooon, you aaaaaangel…”

I flipped him off, turned Blaze and trotted off, Beau falling in step next to me on Patches.

“Just tired of folks runnin’ their mouths, with their noses deep in my business and my kid doing everythin’ except what I asked him to.”

He grinned. “You’re just mad ’cause we all can see you like her.”

“I do not like her.”

“Uh‑huh.”

“Boy, if you say ‘uh‑huh’ one more time I will slap ya off yer horse, dagnammit!”

He zipped his lips dramatically.

And damn it all… I caught myself smirkin’ back at that brat.

Just a little.

The Next Morning

I told myself I was only goin’ over there because the horse needed lookin’ at. Not because I was curious. Not because she’d smiled at me like I’d done somethin’ heroic when all I did was stop her from feeding rabbit food to her poor horse.

Just the horse. That was it.

Savannah rode shotgun, swingin’ her legs and hummin’ some country song off‑key like she owned the whole damn morning. She had a smear of jelly on her cheek, and her light‑brown hair — sun‑bleached at the ends from livin’ outside like a feral barn cat — was wrangled into two crooked braids she’d done herself.

I knew better than to try and fix ’em. That girl could be harder to wrangle than a bobcat with his balls caught in an electric fence, and I wasn’t lookin’ to lose a finger today.

Truth was, I’d brought her along ’cause it’d keep down the gossip. Folks saw my beat‑up old truck pullin’ up to that city girl’s place with my seven‑year‑old ridin’ shotgun, they’d assume I was just helpin’ with horse trouble — not whatever nonsense Earl and Chay had already decided I was up to.

Same reason I bothered hitchin’ the horse trailer. Nobody in their right mind goes through all that trouble for a damn booty call.

Savannah just grinned out the window, blue eyes shinin’, happy as a lark and completely unaware she was my human shield against small‑town rumor mills.

“You’re nervous,” she announced, turning back to me.

“I ain’t.”

“You are. You’re tappin’ the wheel,” she drawled, that little country lilt of hers way too confident for a seven‑year‑old and entirely too good at gettin’ under my skin.

I stopped tappin’. “I’m not nervous. I ain’t got no time for this, but we help our neighbors, that’s a golden rule here. So, I’m just … annoyed.”

“Same thing for you.”

I shot her a look. She grinned, gap‑toothed and smug.

The woman’s place wasn’t far — small cabin, old cedar siding, porch saggin’ a little. The barn was one of those open‑sided shelters folks built when they didn’t know what they were doin’. The fencing leaned like it was tired of standin’.

And the horse… Lord.

That poor mare stood in the shade, head low, tail barely flickin’. Her coat was dull, her ribs too sharp, her eyes half‑lidded.

“Damn,” I muttered. “No wonder she looked sad.”

Savannah hopped out before I could stop her. “Ma’am!” she hollered loud enough to wake the dead. “Your horse is sick!”

I winced. “Savannah—”

“What? She is. Look at her, Daddy!”

The woman came out of the cabin, hair in a messy bun, wearing jeans that had seen better days and a T‑shirt with a coffee stain. She looked tired. Worried. But she smiled when she saw us.

“Oh! Hi. I didn’t expect you so early.”

“Horses don’t care about no schedules. I came when I could get away,” I said. “What’s goin’ on with her?”

She bit her lip. “I… don’t know. She’s been like this since I got here. I thought she was just old or depressed or something.”

Savannah was already halfway to the mare, so I reached out and set a hand on her shoulder pulling her back against my leg — that light dad‑pressure that meant slow down, don’t make everyone think you’re feral.

“Alright, hold up, wild child,” I murmured, then looked at the woman. “This here’s my daughter, Savannah. She’s seven, she’s opinionated, and she thinks she’s the foreman of my entire ranch.”

Savannah puffed up like a banty hen. “’Cause I am. Someone has to keep an eye on them ranchhands or they just go slackin’ about.”

I gave her shoulder a squeeze. “See what I mean?”

The woman laughed — tired, but real — and crouched a little to Savannah’s height. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Savannah.”

Savannah nodded solemnly, like she was signin’ off on a business deal. “Nice to meet you too. Your horse is real sick, lady.”

“Savannah,” I warned again.

“What? She iiiis.”

I sighed and gently nudged her back a step. “Anyway. This motor-mouth right here is my second‑in‑command, whether I like it or not. Figured bringin’ her along would keep the rumor mill from churnin’ too hard.”

The woman blinked. “Rumor mill?”

“Small town,” I said. “You’ll learn.”

Savannah grinned up at her. “Daddy’s real famous.”

“I ain’t,” I muttered.

“You are,” she sing‑songed. “He was marr..—”

I slapped my hand gently but firmly over her mouth before she could finish, givin’ her that look — the one that meant not another word, young lady, and usually bought me at least five seconds of peace.

She glared up at me, all blue‑eyed indignation and jelly‑smeared sass — same look her brother used to give me at that age, which had armed me with seventeen years’ worth of dad tricks up my sleeve.

Before she could open that mouth again and start narratin’ my entire marital history to a stranger, I did the most efficient thing a country father can do:

I licked my thumb and went straight for the jelly.

“Daddyyyy!” she shrieked, jerking her head away like I’d tried to baptize her in battery acid. “That’s gross! Quit it!”

“Hold still,” I muttered, catching her chin with two fingers and scrubbin’ the rest off with the corner of my shirt. “Ain’t meetin’ new folks lookin’ like you lost a fight to no damn donut.”

She swatted at me, offended to her core, then wriggled free and bolted straight toward the horse — braids flappin’, boots kickin’ up dust — blessedly too busy now to spill any more truths I didn’t need aired.

And the woman laughed — soft, grateful, and just a little overwhelmed — while I tried real hard not to look like a man who’d lost control of his own life the second he let his kid out of the truck.

I nodded my head over at the poor mare. “Let’s have a look-see.”

We walked over together. I crouched beside the horse — one knee down, one foot planted so I could move if she shifted — running my hands along her belly, checking gums, listening to her gut.

The woman crouched beside me and the horse, stroking her neck. “I’m trying. I really am.”

And there it was again — that same damn echo of Briar Rose in the early days. The stubborn pride and that heart of gold. The fear of messing up. The way she tried to hide how overwhelmed she was.

Except this one didn’t have Bri’s fire. She had something softer. Quieter. Like she’d been knocked around by life and was still finding her footing, silenced and subdued.

“She’s got colic,” I said. “Mild impaction. Not bad yet, but it will be if you don’t fix it.”

Her eyes widened. “Is she going to die?”

“No,” I said firmly. “Not if you do what I tell you. If ya don’t, yeah, she will.”

She nodded, swallowing hard, already fighting tears. “Okay. Tell me what to do. Please dumb it down enough, cos if it hasn’t been painfully obvious, I really don’t know what I am doing here.”

Savannah leaned against the fence, arms crossed. “Daddy’s real good at this. He knows ever’thing about horses. He’s a real good rider too. Multiple‑time rodeo champ. Got bucked off a mean big bronco last month.” Her little country lilt made every word sound like she was auctionin’ me off at the county fair.

“Savannah.”

“What? You did.”

I swear, the way she talked, you’d think she was tryin’ to sell me to the highest bidder.

The woman’s eyes flicked to me — and this time there was something in them. A spark. A little jolt of oh wow.

“You ride rodeo?” she asked, sounding impressed despite herself.

“Sometimes,” I said. “When the ranch bills pile up.”

And she looked at me like she was seein’ something new. Something she hadn’t expected.

And I hated how that made my chest feel.

I stood up too fast. “Let’s get your horse fixed.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “You’re gonna be doin’ most of the work. Main thing, keep her upright. Don’t let her lay down, don’t let her roll.”

She hesitated. “No medicine? ’Cause… I… already tried some things.”

I braced myself. “What’d you do?”

“Well, I gave her chamomile tea. And, um… lavender essential oil. And a little peppermint. The internet said—”

I froze.

Savannah froze.

Even the horse flicked an ear like she knew stupidity when she heard it.

“You gave a thousand‑pound animal herbal tea?” I said slowly, like maybe if I spoke careful enough the universe would correct itself.

“It’s natural,” she said defensively. “And I was trying to help. I also have a hot water bottle somewhere. And a heating blanket. If I can find my extension cord, I could—”

“Lord have mercy,” I muttered. “No. No heatin’ blankets. No plug‑ins. No spa treatments. This ain’t a grandma with a tummy ache, it’s a colicky horse.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Savannah nodded like a tiny judge. “Daddy says horses don’t need heat. They make their own. They’re like big furnaces with legs.”

“Savannah.”

“Is true…”

“Look, I was trying to go for natural,” she said, still defensive. “And honestly, just like regular doctors, vets nowadays are all in the pocket of Big Pharma. They overmedicate everything. Herbal remedies are—”

“Oh for the love of—” I snapped. “Lady, this ain’t a yoga retreat. This is a horse with colic. She don’t need no chamomile tea. If ya didn’t know what to do, you shoulda taken her to a vet, not risk killin’ this poor animal with your internet nonsense.”

Her face crumpled instantly.

Not dramatic. Not loud. Just one sharp inhale — and tears she tried to blink away.

Then she turned and ran.

Straight back into the cabin, door slamming behind her.

Savannah stared at me like I’d just kicked a puppy.

“Daddy,” she said, hands on her hips. “What is wrong with you.”

I exhaled hard. “I didn’t mean—”

“You made her cry.”

“She was bein’ reckless with that poor animal!”

“She didn’t know!” Savannah stomped her foot. “She ain’t from here. She ain’t got nobody. How would you like gettin’ yelled at when ya jus’ didn’t know better?”

I blinked. “I did not yell at ‘er.”

“Did too,” Savannah said.

I rubbed my face. “Aw hell.”

I stood there a moment, watching the cabin door slam behind her, feeling like the world’s biggest jackass. Savannah was already at the mare’s side, stroking her neck like she’d been born doing it. Well, she had.

She looked over her shoulder at me and jerked her chin toward the house.

“Go,” she mouthed. “Ya gotta say yer sorry, daddy.”

“I ain’t goin’ in her house,” I muttered. “That kinda thing gets people shot in this neck o’ woods!”

Savannah narrowed her eyes — same look Briar Rose used on me when I was being stubborn, even though they weren’t even related, but Bri’s brother Connor raised my lil girl for me when she was too little for me to juggle a tiny baby and a ranch and my boy so I guess that Cameron behavior rubs off. And Connor’s eternal sense of righteousness now sounded from my lil girl’s lips. “Daddy! Like she has a gun or would know how to use one! She tried to give a horse herbal tea! You messed up, you fix it!”

Aw hell.

I walked up the porch steps, boots thudding against the old boards. Knocked once. No answer. Knocked again, softer this time.

Nothing.

I glanced back. Savannah made a little shooing motion with both hands, like she was herding cattle.

I sighed, took off my hat, and pushed the door open just enough to lean in.

“Ma’am?” My voice came out gentler than I expected. “Ya alright?”

A sniffle answered me.

I stepped inside.

The place was small — one room, a kitchenette, a couch that had seen better decades. She sat on the floor beside the couch, knees pulled up, face buried in her hands.

When she heard my boots, she looked up and waved me in, embarrassed, wiping at her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s just… it’s all a bit much.”

I knelt awkwardly, hat in hand. “I didn’t mean to bark at you. I get… gruff when it comes to horses. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I am sorry.”

She nodded, breathing shakily. “I know. I just—”

For a second she steadied. We looked at each other. A quiet moment. Something soft. Something neither of us wanted to name.

Then she broke.

“I didn’t mean to kill my horse!” she wailed, voice cracking.

I blinked. “Ma’am— ya didn’t. We’ll fix ‘er right up.”

“I was trying to help! I thought chamomile was calming to her tummy! I thought lavender was soothing! I thought— I thought— I am so sooooorryyyyy …..”

She dissolved into full, messy tears.

And I had no idea what to do.

But my body did.

I reached out, awkward as hell, and put a hand on her shoulder. She leaned into it like she’d been waiting for someone to hold her up.

“It’s alright,” I murmured. “She ain’t dyin’. You just… didn’t know. And you’re tryin’. That counts for somethin’. I am sorry fer what I said, I know you wasn’t tryin’ to kill that animal. Just a lil ignorant.”

Eventually her sobs softened into hiccups. She wiped her face again.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”

She let out a tiny, exhausted giggle. “We need to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Apologizing nonstop.”

I nodded solemnly, couldn’t help the grin when I said. “Sorry.”

She snorted — actually snorted — and covered her face. “Don’t do that.”

“Couldn’t help myself.”

She stood, brushing off her jeans. “Can I get you something? Tea?”

I must’ve made a face because she burst out laughing again.

“Okay, not tea. Coffee?”

“Yeah, I’ll take some of that,” I said.

She handed me a mug — chipped, mismatched — and then held out her hand.

“I’m Amy,” she said softly. “Amy Lynn Mercer. Mabel Wilkes was my maternal aunt, and the last living relative I had, even though I didn’t even really know her.”

I took her hand, warm and small in mine. “Jackson Kershaw. I live over ’cross the ridge.”

Her eyes widened. “The Kershaw Ranch? I heard about it. Best trained horses in Chestnut Ridge.”

I shrugged. “We do alright.”

Truth was, that was me downplayin’ it. My father, Jack Kershaw, built that reputation long before I was born, and when he moved off for love when I was eighteen, he handed me the reins — the real ones. Said the place was mine to run. Sounds casual, but it wasn’t. It was a hell of a gesture. Like a king steppin’ down and trustin’ his son with the crown and the whole damn kingdom. Not something any decent man would squander.

Didn’t matter that most of our stock were mutts — Standardbred crosses, Saddlebred mixes, Paints, Appys, whatever wandered onto the property and proved they had heart. Folks didn’t come for pedigrees. They came because a Kershaw-bred-and‑trained horse would work, listen, and carry you through hell and back without quittin’.

Ranch work. Trail work. Ropin’, sortin’, barrel racin’, whatever you threw at ’em. A good number of ’em turned out damn fine rodeo horses too — quick‑thinkin’, sure‑footed, and honest enough to trust with your life in the arena.

People drove in from three counties over to buy one. Some from farther. And the stud fees alone kept beans on my table more months than I cared to admit.

But I wasn’t about to say all that to a woman who’d just tried to give a horse chamomile tea and a hot water bottle.

So, I just shrugged again, like it weren’t nothin’.

She glanced toward the barn. “If… if my mare makes it through this, I might need to hire you to teach me about animal husbandry. I don’t know how to do any of this. Oh God, what did I get myself into?”

I took a sip of coffee. “We can fix that.”

She looked down at her hands. “I hope so.”

Back outside I started walking her mare, Juniper, in slow circles. Amy watched like she was afraid to blink.

“This ain’t workin’ here,” I said. “She’ll need checkin’ through the night. You got no way to make sure she don’t lay down. If she gets worse, she’ll need help right away, and you don’t know what to look fer. I’ll take her back to my ranch. You can come by to see how she made out, but give her a couple days.”

“I will,” she said quickly. “Thank you. Both of you. Really.”

I loaded Juniper into my trailer myself. Amy hovered nearby, wringing her hands, apologizing every third breath until Savannah finally told her:

“Miss Amy, Daddy said she ain’t dyin’. Quit fussin’. Nobody knows more ’bout horses than mah daddy. She’ll be all right, cos my Daddy said she would be.”

Amy tried to smile. It didn’t quite land.

Kershaw Ranch

Back at my ranch, I settled Juniper in, got her water, walked her in circles again till we both got tired. I secured her for the night in a shelter I could see from my bedroom window.

By morning she was brighter, ears up, eyes clearer. I gave her a quick wash — just enough to get the dust and dried sweat off — and she leaned into the brush like she hadn’t been touched in months.

I’d already switched her to the good stuff — alfalfa‑based hay, soft and rich, the kind that puts weight on a horse quicker than anything. Gave her a scoop of that high‑fat pellet feed too, the kind folks around here call “power chow” ’cause it’ll turn a rack of bones into a horse again if you’re patient.

When I hand‑fed her, she just about took my whole damn hand clear off, poor mare was so hungry. Not mean — just desperate. The kind of hungry that comes from months of makin’ do on whatever she could scrounge.

Poor thing.

I knew old lady Wilkes hadn’t been doin’ too good, but we all figured she’d gotten her affairs in order. She’d always been the hermit type — back when she was healthier, neighbors tried checkin’ on her and she’d run ’em off with a warning shot from that old shotgun of hers.

Had I known she was gone… and that this poor horse was left to fend for herself… I’d’ve been over there long before now.

By noon, Juniper was out in the small pasture, tail swishin’, actually playing with one of my docile mares. Trottin’ circles around her, tossin’ her head, showin’ off like she’d been reborn. Amazing what water, rest, and someone who knew what the hell they were doin’ could do.

The next afternoon, Amy showed up with a nervous smile and a bag of store‑bought muffins like she was visitin’ someone in the hospital. She stopped dead when she saw Juniper prancin’ around like she owned the place.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “She looks… she looks incredible. She’s so—she’s running. I can’t believe—”

Savannah puffed up like a banty hen. “Told ya mah daddy could fix her.”

“Savannah,” I muttered.

“What? I did. And ya did!”

Amy turned to me then, slow, like she was seein’ me for the first time. And there it was — that look. Soft. Warm. Grateful in a way that hit me square in the chest. Like she thought I hung the moon.

Her eyes were bright as the Chestnut Ridge skies after a storm when the dust is gone and the sun is comin’ back out.

I looked away fast, pretended to check the latch on the gate. Last thing I needed was to be thinkin’ about another city girl’s eyes.

The last one had got a hold of my heart when I was about Beau’s age — the woman who’d later become his momma. She’d been, and still was, the best and worst thing that ever happened to me. And I was still tryin’ to shake loose of her shadow.

But hell if those blue eyes didn’t stay in my head anyway.

I was in the kitchen with Amy makin’ us some coffee when Beau burst in, boots thuddin’, hair a mess, smellin’ like sweat and sunshine.

“Pa—” He stopped dead when he saw her. Smirked. “Oh. Didn’t know we had company.”

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut wire, walked over, took his hat off for him and slammed it into his chest. That boy knew better.

He straightened instantly. “Ma’am.”

Amy smiled. “Hi.”

“This is my son, Beau,” I said. “Beau, this is Amy Mercer. Lives out at the old Wilkes cabin now.”

He tipped his head. “Nice to meet ya. Yer horse is lookin’ purdy darn good again. Hey Pa, I done all my chores. Cheyenne’s waitin’. Can I go to the swimmin’ hole?”

“Be back before dark. I mean it. Don’t ya make me come lookin’ for ya — won’t be pretty. And this time I will.”

“Yes sir! Ma’am.” He gave Amy one last smirk and slipped out the door.

She watched him go. “He seems sweet.”

“He’s a handful,” I said. “But he’s a good kid.”

She hesitated. “No offense, but I was a bit shocked. You don’t seem old enough to have a teenager.”

I couldn’t help a chuckle, low and rough. “Ranch work’ll do that. Keeps a man lookin’ younger than he feels. Either that or raisin’ horses ages you slower than raisin’ kids.”

Her eyebrows lifted, amused now, but she didn’t push. Just gave me this soft little nod, like she understood more than I wanted her to.

“Where is their mother? I don’t think I’ve seen her yet.”

I stiffened before I could stop myself. She caught it. Looked like she wished she could snatch the question back out of the air.

I poured coffee — mostly to buy myself a second.

“Complicated,” I said finally. “Beau’s a twin. His sister Briony lives in San Sequoia with her grandparents — they’re well off, and she hates it here. Her momma lives with her new husband clear over in Brindleton Bay. We… didn’t work. Long story. Too much fire, not enough sense.”

I took a breath.

“And Savannah’s mother died when she was a baby. She never met her. My ex‑wife’s brother helped me raise Savannah till she was old enough to come live at the ranch with Beau and me.”

“Oh.” Her voice softened. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

I shrugged like it didn’t still sting. “It’s fine. Was a long time ago. Whole thing’s just one big mess, that’s what it is.”

We sat at the table. She wrapped her hands around the mug like she needed the warmth to steady herself.

“I guess we both have complicated lives,” she said quietly.

She took a breath, bracing herself. “My life… fell apart. All at once. Exactly two weeks ago. In one single night I went from having everything I wanted to having a few thousand bucks to my name, no future, no plan. Just up shit creek without a paddle. I’m thirty‑two. I always wanted kids — two of them, a boy and a girl — and I thought I was on the right track. Perfect man, perfect home, perfect career, upscale penthouse, fancy dinners, exclusive luxury vacations. Just cruising along… until I could feel the clock starting to tick. Not in a crazy way, just… time passing, alarm bells shrilling in the background. So, I started bringing it up more. Marriage. Kids. A real future. His last name. A ring on my finger promising forever.”

She swallowed hard. “The night I was certain he was going to propose, he broke up with me instead.” Her mouth twisted. “Turns out he didn’t want kids, or marriage, or any of it. He just never said it out loud.”

She shook her head. “It was his penthouse. And everything in that place was his — the furniture, the dishes, the art, even the damn towels. I didn’t even have a lease in my name. One minute I’m thinking I’m getting a ring, living in an upscale penthouse with a well‑groomed, classy man… the next I’m standing in the hallway with two suitcases and a duffel bag, staring at the shambles of what used to be my life. Seven years together, and everything I owned fit in the backseat of a rideshare.”

She stared into her coffee like it might explain something.

She let out a shaky breath. “He said he ‘couldn’t breathe’ with all the pressure. That he wasn’t ready. Not ready. A fifty some year old man not ready for commitment. Would be funny if it weren’t so sad. He also said he didn’t want to waste my time — or blow up his life with my domestic nonsense. He called it a midlife crisis.” Her voice cracked. “And then he shut the door.”

“I checked into a hotel. Tried to breathe. Tried to make sense of it. Tried to come up with a plan to rebuild my life. But fate wasn’t done giving me the middle finger just yet. The next morning, I got an email from HR saying my position had been eliminated. Downsizing. Effective immediately. No severance. No warning. Just… gone. Thanks for playing and bye bye. My trust issues have trust issues now.”

She let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all.

“So within 48 hours, every plan I had for my future detonated. I was sitting in that hotel room, numb, when I got a call from some attorney saying an aunt I never met left me a cabin in Chestnut Ridge? I had to Google where that even was, sorry, no offense. I thought it was a prank. But I looked him up — real attorney. I went to his office and… suddenly I went from living in a penthouse in San Myshuno with a manager‑level job and a man I thought I was starting a family with to… owning a small cabin… here. I don’t have to tell you how that has been going for me so far.”

She shook her head, defeated and trying not to show it.

“I mean, not like I had other options. I had enough money to my name to buy a one‑way plane ticket to the only roof over my head I currently have — ruin or not — and enough left over to rent a car until I can buy something cheap, and to tide me over for a few months until shit really hits the fan for me. So… here I am. For better or worse. I don’t know what I’m doing. That cabin isn’t just old, Jackson — it’s a ruin. The porch leans, the floorboards groan, and there are holes in the roof I can literally see the sky through, so the minute it rains I’ll be screwed. I have no idea how to find work here, and I know NOTHING about horses or ranching or this town or… anything. And I mean, I don’t have to tell you I stand out like a sore thumb here. What do you think about that, Jackson?”

I deadpanned, “Hell, I can’t say what I’m really thinkin’ in the presence of a lady… but it involves me fightin’ the urge to go find that man and introduce his face to a fencepost.”

For a moment she just stared at me — then burst into laughter. Real laughter. Snorts, gasps, the whole thing. The most adorable sound I’d heard since Briar Rose. It was contagious, and soon we were both laughing, the kind that shakes loose something tight inside you.

The laughter faded in slow little aftershocks, leaving the room softer, quieter — like the air right after a storm breaks.

She looked up at me, eyes searching. “You think I can do this? Be honest. You think I have even a snowball’s chance in hell to make this work?”

I met her eyes. “Yeah. I do. Sounds like yer clear out of options anyway.”

She let out a breath that trembled just a little. I hated how much I noticed.

I took a sip of coffee, then set the mug down. “Tell you what. After I finish up the feedin’ tonight, I can swing by your cabin. Take a look at that roof. See what needs fixin’.”

Her whole face lit—then fell just as fast. “I… I would love that. Really. But I can’t pay you. I mean, I’m already in your debt for saving Juniper. I can’t ask you to repair my house on top of that. Not until I figure out how to make some money.”

I shrugged. “Ain’t askin’ for money. You could help out around my place. Cook, clean, keep the house from lookin’ like a tornado hit it. Lord knows Savannah and Beau don’t pick up after themselves.”

She froze.

“Oh,” she said faintly. “Um. I… don’t really… cook.”

I raised a brow. “At all?”

“I can make toast,” she said. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“It depends on the toaster.”

I stared.

She winced. “And cleaning… well… I lived in a penthouse for seven years. We had a service. Before that I was in the orphanage and we had assigned chores, but it was more like… wipe a table, sweep a hallway. Not… real cleaning. And after it was college.”

I blinked. “So you’re tellin’ me you can’t cook, can’t clean, and don’t know a damn thing about horses.”

She nodded miserably. “Correct.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Well. Hell.”

She looked like she might cry again. “I told you. I am hopeless. I’m useless. I am SO screwed!”

“No,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “You ain’t useless. You’re just… green. City green. There’s a difference.”

She swallowed hard. “So… now what do I do?”

I sighed. “We’ll figure somethin’ out. Might not be cookin’ or cleanin’, but there’s always work needs doin’. Maybe ya can help pick up around here, do laundry, that sorta thing. That’d help me a great deal. And I’ll still look at that roof. Don’t need you drownin’ in your sleep next time it rains. Chestnut Ridge don’t do subtle. Either it’s hot, or ya got snow up to yer eyeballs. Never rains—until it does, and then it’s a downpour like ya ain’t never seen. And that ain’t even the worst part. Springtime’s tornado season. Fall too.”

Her head shot up, eyes huge.

“Tornadoes? Snow? WHAT!? Oh my God!” She started tapping her forehead with her palm, each word a thud. “I. Am. So. Screwed!”

“I am tellin’ ya, ya ain’t screwed,” I said. “We’re countryfolk. We don’t let that happen. If ya willin’ to accept help and advice, you’ll get it. Plenty of it. We take care of our own ’round here. Like it or not, sounds like yer one of us now. You’ll be okay. I promise ya.”

Her eyes went soft again — too soft — and I had to look away before they did somethin’ stupid to my chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I muttered. “Roof might be so bad I might need to make ya my helper. How are ya with a hammer? Ya handy?”

“Take a guess…” she said, laughing — a small, shaky sound — but it was good to hear her laugh. I laughed too. Couldn’t help it.

“Thank you, Jackson,” she said in that soft voice that went straight down my spine and left me feelin’ some kinda way.

And damn if it didn’t make me feel ten feet tall.