I’d thought the day couldn’t possibly get worse.

The entire week at work had been dreadful, and to top it off my boss—the company president—called me into his office to reprimand me for a mistake someone else made. By the time I drove home, my jaw hurt from clenching it.

When I pulled onto my street, my sister-in-law’s car was blocking my driveway, parked like she owned the place. The neighbor’s teenage son and his friends had filled the curb with cars, so I was forced to park three doors down and walk back with my tie loosened, shoulders tight, and patience already spent.

I remember thinking, Why do I even bother?

My relationship with my wife’s sister, Susan, had been strained since the day we met. I could never explain it—never find the reason—but she carried an immediate dislike for me like a badge and never let it slip.

And I had little hope for an intimate evening with my wife, Janice. We hadn’t been close in almost a month, despite my persistent attempts and the way I kept telling myself it was stress, or timing, or marriage being marriage.

At the curb, an empty garbage can sat beside the mailbox. I dragged it around the side of the house through the gate and set it next to the back door, then stepped into the kitchen.

Music floated in from the living room. I heard my wife’s voice—easy, bright—and Susan’s laughter mingled with it. Like they’d been having the kind of day I couldn’t afford.

I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, popped the top, and took one slow sip before heading toward the living room.

I didn’t make it three steps.

A sentence I overheard at the doorway froze me in place.

“God,” Janice said, laughing, “he was with me three times today.”

It wasn’t Susan.

It was my wife.

My throat went dry. The beer suddenly tasted like metal.

“Ever since Brandon came back last month,” Janice continued, voice lower, softer, satisfied, “I just can’t get enough of him.”

Brandon. Her ex-boyfriend. The one who’d left her and moved away years before I met her.

Susan’s tone turned curious. “So what are you going to do now?”

Janice didn’t hesitate. “Brandon wants me to move in with him. I’ll get a lawyer and file for divorce.”

Her voice stayed light, almost practical, like she was talking about switching grocery stores.

“This is a community property state,” she added. “So I’ll get half of everything.”

I’d heard more than enough.

I don’t even remember setting the beer down. I just moved—quietly, numbly—toward the back door, retraced my steps to my car, opened the driver’s door, and sank into the seat like my bones had been replaced with sand.

Now I understood why I’d been denied any closeness. Now I understood the distance, the cold shoulder, the sudden “tired” every night.

She wasn’t withholding affection.

She was giving it to someone else.

And now she wanted half of everything.

The worst part was the law would likely hand it to her.

Janice and I had tied the knot just three years ago. She quit her job right after our vows. When she stayed home, she never lifted a finger unless it suited her. I hired a housekeeper three times a week for cleaning and laundry. On those days, Janice would cook dinner. The rest of the time, I cooked or she ordered takeout.

I know what you might be thinking. But love had blinders on me. She had a way of keeping me convinced things were “fine,” of making me feel chosen—until a month ago, when the switch flipped and she became someone I couldn’t reach.

My mother died when I was thirteen. A brutal loss for me and my father. Dad did his best to raise me right, and we became close—close enough that losing him to a drunk driver when I was twenty-three didn’t just hurt; it rearranged me.

It happened a year before I met Janice.

I inherited nearly $2.2 million from my father. I kept it invested with the guidance of a good broker, never touching the principal, letting it grow even through a shaky economy. Janice tried to spend every dime I earned, but I never let her touch that inheritance. I also had hundreds of thousands in savings built from my own work.

I had enough to live comfortably, and I didn’t have to spend it.

But my love for Janice led us to skip a pre-marriage contract—one of those dumb mistakes people make when they believe marriage will last forever. That oversight meant she could potentially take almost a million and a half from me.

All after cheating on me.

And the state seemed perfectly willing to support it.

She’d mentioned getting a lawyer, which meant she wasn’t ready to serve me yet. I had time.

Not much.

But enough.

I sat in my car, staring at my own driveway through the rearview mirror, watching. Waiting. When I finally saw Susan’s car pull out and drive away, I started the engine, made a U-turn, and returned like nothing had happened.

Inside, Janice was nowhere to be seen. I went to the kitchen for another beer, popped the top, and took a long pull while my mind ran in tight circles.

Then her voice floated in, sweet as sugar.

“Oh, there you are, honey,” Janice said, stepping into the kitchen. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Hello, dear,” I replied, forcing a loving smile. “Just got in. Been a long day.”

“I didn’t have time to order anything for dinner,” she said with a slight pout.

I wanted to say, That’s because you spent your day with Brandon and then bragged to your sister.

Instead I said, “That’s okay, sweetie. I’ll heat up leftovers from last night.”

She smiled, kissed my cheek, and announced she was going upstairs to soak in a hot bath.

I nodded and watched her go, thinking, Yeah. Wash it all away.

When she left, I ate cold fried rice, downed two more beers, and retreated to the den. I flipped channels until an old movie caught my attention, then sat there staring at the screen without seeing it.

Janice returned about half an hour later and sat on the couch until the movie ended. When the credits rolled, she stood and stretched.

“I’m tired,” she said. “Heading to bed.”

“Tired,” I echoed under my breath.

I told her I’d watch the news and join her later.

My mind wasn’t on the TV. It was on Monday, because I couldn’t do much until then. So I endured the weekend—worked in the yard Saturday, played golf Sunday, smiled at the right moments, acted normal.

Monday morning, I called my broker and had everything liquidated.

Being in upper management gave me flexibility; I cashed in my 401(k) swiftly. Penalty be damned. This wasn’t retirement planning. This was survival.

By Thursday, I was ready.

That night, I came home and told Janice there was an emergency situation at work. I’d be flying out for a week on company business. I packed two suitcases—everything important to me had always been mine alone anyway, stored neatly because it didn’t match her taste.

Most of the furnishings were hers. I didn’t care about them. We were renting, which meant I had no financial anchor tied to the house.

I’d recently sold my condo. We’d been “looking” for a house to buy, but “right” meant right by her standards, and none of the houses met her criteria. Looking back, maybe that was my subconscious stalling for time.

Friday morning, I kissed her cheek one last time, carried my suitcases out the door, loaded them into my Lexus, and drove away without a single backward glance.

My first stop was an old buddy’s place—Jake. I trusted him implicitly. He stared at me like I’d lost my mind when I proposed trading titles for his older but rebuilt four-wheel-drive vehicle.

Then I told him what I’d overheard.

An hour later, I was headed west in his SUV. I doubted anyone would connect me to it, and Jake promised to keep my Lexus hidden in his garage for a while.

For the next four days, I paid for everything in cash. I canceled all our credit cards to avoid leaving a trail. The majority of my money was safely tucked away in an offshore account thanks to my broker. We had a system to arrange transfers when needed.

I had enough cash hidden in the SUV to last a while.

The nights alone in motels were the hardest—not because I missed the house, but because silence makes you replay every choice you ever made. I’d been too busy executing my plan to reflect on what had happened to me personally, but now, alone, the truth kept returning like a bruise you can’t stop pressing.

I had loved Janice. I wouldn’t have married her if I hadn’t.

I played through “what if” scenarios until my head hurt. But the conclusion was always the same: even if I’d known Brandon returned, I doubt I could have kept them apart.

Either she never truly loved me, or she loved what I provided more than she loved me.

And it was my fault for being foolish enough to confuse being wanted with being valued.

On the fifth day away from home, I found myself sitting in a mom-and-pop diner in a small town in Montana, staring at coffee that had gone cold. I wondered what Janice was doing by now—what she’d done when she realized the credit cards were canceled and the bank account was empty.

My thoughts were interrupted by an older couple at the next table. The man looked late fifties, solid, broad-shouldered, the kind of build that comes from work, not gyms. His wife’s red hair caught the diner light when she turned her head.

The man was talking softly about needing an extra hand on their farm. “We can’t afford to hire anyone until the calves are ready for market,” he said. “And even then, finding someone willing to work for what we can pay…”

I finished my meal, stood, and approached their table.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t help overhearing. But I might be able to help.”

The man scrutinized me. “I don’t see how,” he said. “You heard me. I can’t pay you.”

“What if I just need a place to stay,” I offered, “in exchange for my labor?”

His eyes narrowed. “Colleen,” he said to his wife, “excuse us a moment.”

Outside in the parking lot, he turned to face me.

He was about my height—six feet—built lean and strong, with not an ounce of fat. His hair was mostly gray now, his face carved by years outdoors.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked. “You part of that Wilson Ranch?”

I lifted my hands. “No, sir. I don’t know anything about any Wilson. Four days ago I was living in Texas. I just got here this morning. I thought maybe we could help each other.”

“If what you say is true,” he said, “why would you want to help us? I can’t pay. What’s in it for you?”

He studied me like he was looking for a lie in my posture.

“If you’re on the run from the law,” he added, “we don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“I’m probably on the run,” I admitted, “but not like you mean.”

Then I told him. I kept it simple—unfaithful wife, divorce threat, money at risk, need to disappear. I told him I hadn’t hurt anyone, that I wasn’t looking for trouble, just a place to stay for a while.

“If you don’t think I’m any help,” I finished, “I’ll be on my way. No hard feelings.”

He studied my face.

Finally he said, “If what you’re telling me is true, I’d be a fool not to at least give you a shot.”

Then he warned me. “The Wilsons have been trying to get me to sell my land to them. They haven’t done anything underhanded yet, but I wouldn’t put it past them. You might be biting off more than you can chew.”

“I’ll take the risk,” I said.

He asked about my experience. I told him the truth: a few summers on my uncle’s place in Texas, but I wasn’t a cowboy. He extended his hand.

“Bill,” he said.

I shook it.

Back inside, his wife stood and offered her hand. “Colleen,” she said warmly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I replied.

“The last name is Buckman,” she said. “But just call me Colleen. We don’t do much formality out here.”

Before leaving town, Bill pulled into a general store and told me I’d need proper clothes for ranch work. A coat and a pair of western boots were enough for the moment.

From there it was a twenty-minute drive to the main gate, arched with the name Rocking B Ranch—Bill’s brand. Another mile down a private road brought us to the main house, a well-maintained two-story perched on a rise. Behind it, a barn and several outbuildings came into view.

Their pickup was loaded with groceries—weekly supplies. I followed them inside, helped unload, then Bill showed me a small cabin behind the house for my stay. One big room, a bed, a table, a potbelly stove, and a bathroom with a stone shower. Not luxurious, but clean, and right then it felt like shelter.

Bill took me on a tour of the ranch: nearly six thousand acres, grazing land, winter feed fields, and a back section that climbed into hills and forest toward mountains with a stream cutting through the property.

“Used to have three full-time hands,” he said. “Tough times. Now it’s just Sam.”

Sam had been working the ranch for nearly thirty years. During roundups, they hired extra help.

Before Bill drove away, he nodded at my laptop. “I’ve got satellite internet. Supper’s in the main house at six.”

Within thirty minutes I’d settled in and connected to the network. I checked my email and found a message from Jake: Janice had reported me missing, and the police were investigating.

Jake was the only one who knew I’d left. Even he didn’t know where I was going. I’d mailed my resignation to my employer, but hadn’t said a word in person.

Just before six, I walked to the main house and knocked. Bill called me in. Colleen was preparing food. Bill stood talking with a man I assumed was Sam.

“Sam,” Bill said, waving me over, “this is Carson—the new hand I mentioned. At least for today. We’ll see tomorrow how he feels after a day’s work.”

Sam smiled and shook my hand. He was a big man—six-three—built from decades of labor, with strength that sat quietly in his grip. One detail stood out: he was African-American, and the way Bill and Colleen spoke with him made it obvious he belonged here.

“Well,” Sam said, “let’s hope you like it. I could use the help.”

“At twenty-eight,” I replied, “I plan to give it my best shot.”

Colleen called us to the table. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, homemade biscuits. “We don’t eat fancy,” she said, “but there’s plenty.”

“It looks great,” I told her, and meant it.

Over dinner, I asked Bill if he’d been here all his life.

“Yep,” he said. “My grandfather started this ranch. Passed it to my father. Now it belongs to me and Colleen—though when I was younger I wasn’t sure she’d be part of it. I had to fight off every man around to get her.”

Colleen smiled. “Now Bill,” she said, “you know you were the only man I ever had eyes for. I just had to make sure you wanted me enough.”

Bill’s eyes softened. “My wife’s responsible for the three happiest days of my life,” he said. “The day she agreed to marry me, the day she did marry me, and the day she gave birth to our daughter, Caitlyn.”

I must have looked curious, because Colleen explained Caitlyn was away finishing her doctorate in veterinary science at South Dakota State. She’d be home in a couple months.

After dinner, I tried to help clear dishes, but Colleen insisted it was her job. Bill said breakfast was at 5:30 and work started at 6:00.

As Sam and I headed out, I noticed the day’s New York Times on the counter, likely picked up in town.

“Mind if I borrow the front page?” I asked.

Bill shrugged. “Sure.”

Outside, I asked Sam to step into my cabin. I pulled out my digital camera, showed him how to use it, and had him take a close-up photo of me holding the front page. He looked curious, but didn’t ask.

Back at the laptop, I drafted an email to the police in my former hometown. I attached the photo and wrote that I was alive, well, and had left of my own free will. Choosing a national paper instead of a local one kept my location ambiguous. I sent it to Jake with instructions to forward it from a coffee shop with free internet, using my old work email if necessary, so it wouldn’t create an obvious trail.

That night, I slept soundly.

The next morning I was up at five, showered, dressed, and ready. Sam put me to work replacing fence posts in the hills. He handed me a horse and saddle; I did my best not to look like a man who’d only played cowboy in summer.

We loaded fence posts and a post-hole digger onto mules and rode out. Bill joined us carrying a Winchester Model 94 in a saddle scabbard, explaining it was mainly for rare occasions—sick cows and ugly necessities.

We followed the creek up into the hills. Sam showed me which posts needed replacing—roughly every third one. He stayed for the first couple to make sure I did it right, then told me to work until around four and follow the stream back down so I wouldn’t get lost.

By noon my arms burned. Colleen had packed pork chop sandwiches for my saddlebag. I ate, returned to work, and pushed through until my watch beeped.

On the way back I found a natural pool where the stream flowed in and out, a quiet, serene spot that made the world feel larger than my heartbreak.

Back at the barn, I unsaddled and fed the animals, washed up, and joined them for supper. Steak that night. I was too exhausted to talk much. Sleep came quickly.

The next morning I woke sore all over—hands aching, shoulders throbbing, legs stiff. There’s a difference between a two-hour gym session and a full day of digging holes in rocky earth. Bill and Sam chuckled at the way I limped into the kitchen; even Colleen had to hide her grin.

Still, I ate like a starving man.

“Another day of fencing?” Bill asked.

I groaned. “Yes, sir.”

Bill laughed. “Give it a rest today. Ride the rounds with Sam.”

We cleaned stalls, replaced hay, filled feeders, then drove out to inspect the ranch—checking cattle, making sure none were down or separated. Sam’s knowledge of the land was instinctive after thirty years.

At the far end of the ranch, something caught his eye. He handed me binoculars and pointed. I spotted two calves alone.

“Their mothers?” I asked.

Sam gestured toward two cows near the tree line. “Over there. Calves wandered into the trees and kept going. We’ll bring them down.”

We radioed Bill, returned for horses, and rode up. We eased behind the calves and pushed them slowly back down. When the calves saw their mothers, they ran to them with loud relief and latched on like the world made sense again.

That night at supper was fried chicken, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes. I talked more than the night before. Colleen told me her parents immigrated from Ireland when she was five and came to Montana because her father loved tales of the old West. The trace of Irish in her speech suddenly made perfect sense.

The next day I went back to fencing. It was easier now; I’d learned tricks, learned rhythm. Over the following days, I helped repair buildings, set more posts, rode the ranch, got stronger. Two months flew by. We settled into a schedule—Sam took Saturdays off, Bill took Sundays, Mondays were my days off for laundry and errands.

I grew fond of everyone at Rocking B. Sam was easygoing, and we’d talk after supper. I respected Bill; honest men are rare. Colleen was sweet but had fire too, and together she and Bill made a steady, real partnership.

Then one Friday morning, Colleen announced at breakfast that Caitlyn would be coming home in a week.

That day I rode into the wooded section to check cattle. After four, I found myself back at the pool below the waterfall. I took off my shirt, knelt by the water, and washed sweat from my face and neck.

Hoofbeats approached downstream.

I looked up and saw a rider coming in—a younger version of Colleen, with the same crystal-blue eyes and red hair. It could only be Caitlyn.

She stopped several feet away and asked coldly, “Who are you, and what are you doing on this property?”

“The name’s Carson,” I said. “I work here.”

“I don’t believe you,” she snapped. “My dad said he couldn’t afford another hand.”

Despite her beauty, her tone scraped my nerves. “Yeah,” I said, “I heard that too.”

Then I teased, because sometimes teasing is the only language stubborn people understand. “Guess that’s why I laugh all the way to the bank every payday.”

She glared, kicked her horse forward, and rode off.

Later I learned there’d been a miscommunication. Bill and Colleen thought Caitlyn was coming home next week. Instead she arrived that day—a couple hours after I rode out. She spent the morning and early afternoon with her parents and then rode to her favorite spot: the waterfall and pool.

After two months, I was old news, and they’d forgotten to mention me.

Back at the barn, Caitlyn’s loud voice carried.

“Who is that man who was up at the waterfall?”

Bill paused. “That must’ve been Carson.”

“He said he works here, but last time I was here you told me you couldn’t afford another hand!”

Bill’s voice sharpened. “He does work here. What he gets out of it isn’t any of your business. I still run this ranch, young lady.”

“But he said you pay him so much he laughs all the way to the bank!”

By then, I’d walked into the barn. Caitlyn didn’t see me yet, but Bill did. He grinned at me.

“Is that true, Carson?” he called. “If you think you’re overpaid, I can fix that.”

Caitlyn spun, locked eyes with me, and glared like she wanted to burn me down.

I took my hat off and scratched the back of my head. “I’d hate to take advantage of you, Bill,” I said. “How much are you thinking of cutting my wages?”

Bill and I cracked up laughing. Caitlyn kept glaring, missing the humor entirely.

“Sweetheart,” Bill said, “Carson stays in the cabin next to Sam’s. He eats your mother’s cooking. That’s it.”

“So you’re saying you aren’t paying him,” Caitlyn demanded. “Why would he work for nothing?”

“He has his reasons,” Bill said. “Not my place to tell you.”

I added, “Working for a chance to taste your mother’s cooking is worth a lot. And I don’t think she’d like hearing you call it nothing.”

Caitlyn shot me one more glare and stormed out. Bill shook his head and said she reminded him of Colleen when she was young.

At supper that night, Caitlyn joined us. She sat next to Sam, across from me, and gave me another sharp look when I entered.

I waited until everyone had food before speaking. “Your mother tells me you’ve finished your doctorate in veterinary medicine.”

“Yeah,” Caitlyn answered without looking up.

“Sam says there’s only one other vet in the area,” I continued. “And he’s over thirty miles away. You’ll be a big asset out here.”

She glanced up, and I thought her eyes softened for a moment. “That would be Dr. Harrison,” she said. “He has more business than he can handle.”

Colleen nodded. “Carson’s right. You’ll provide a great service.”

Caitlyn talked with her parents and Sam through dinner. She didn’t address me, and I kept mostly quiet. It was her homecoming.

That night I checked my email and found one from Jake. He’d asked a friend on the police force whether I was still considered missing. The case had been dropped after they received my email and picture.

Jake also reported Brandon had dumped Janice as soon as he realized I’d disappeared with the money. Janice couldn’t afford the rent and had moved into a city apartment, working as a waitress. She didn’t have the money to hire anyone to chase me.

I couldn’t help the bitter irony: she’d married me for money. Brandon wanted her for money too.

Mine.

Life on the ranch continued. I worked fence posts every third or fourth day, now closer to the barn where I could use the pickup instead of mules. One morning I forgot my lunch. Colleen usually made sure we had meals if we were away all day, but I’d spaced out.

About half an hour later, one of the ranch trucks approached. Caitlyn stepped out holding a sack.

“Mama said you forgot your lunch,” she said, shoving it at me.

I took it. “Thank you, Caitlyn. That was kind.”

I offered her a sandwich; she refused. I sat on the tailgate and ate. She stood a few feet away staring.

Finally she asked, “Why are you here?”

I decided to mess with her. “Don’t tell anybody,” I said. “I robbed a bank and I’m hiding out here until the heat dies down.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “You’re a clown,” she huffed, turning away.

I called her name. She stopped and turned back.

So I told her the truth: I married a woman who never loved me, only wanted what I could provide, and I ended up here because I needed to get away from everything I knew for a while.

Caitlyn stared, measuring me, then nodded once and left.

That night at supper, she talked with her parents and Sam again. I didn’t feel slighted. She didn’t know me.

Then a knock brought one of her callers—tall, dark-haired, handsome. Caitlyn hugged him, clearly excited. Minutes later, another knock brought a fair-haired man who got the same warm greeting.

I recalled Bill’s words about having to fend off every man around to win Colleen. Caitlyn had that same magnetic pull.

I excused myself and returned to my cabin, wishing those guys luck, even if I envied them a little.

The next day, riding the ranch, Sam and I noticed the herd count didn’t feel right—like we were short. We saddled up the next day, rode hilly areas, found stray herds, but we still suspected we were missing cattle. We told Bill and agreed the only option was to stay vigilant.

On the fifth day after the suspected loss, I rode the west boundary near the Wilson Ranch. Halfway to the corner, I spotted three fresh sets of horse tracks crossing from Wilson’s side onto ours. The fence wire looked intact, but the staples had been loosened on several posts—just enough to lower the wire, cross, then raise it again so it looked normal.

I followed the tracks toward the stream and found three horses tied near the waterfall. Bootprints led down.

My instincts turned sharp. I tied my horse, took the rifle from its scabbard, and crept to the edge.

Below, Caitlyn was in the pool—and three men were moving through the trees, creeping closer from both sides.

Whatever they intended, it wasn’t harmless.

I fired into the dirt near the first man’s feet—close enough to warn without harming him—then fired again near the others. Caitlyn screamed, the sound echoing off trees and rock.

I stood so they could see me. “On the ground! Face down! Now!”

One flinched like he might run. I fired again, bark exploding from a tree beside him, and he dropped flat. The others followed. I ordered their hands behind their heads.

Then I told Caitlyn to get out, get dressed, and leave the area. She protested, furious and terrified, but my tone ended the argument. She got dressed quickly and rode away.

Only then did I breathe.

I bluffed for time, demanded the truth, and the smallest of the three cracked. Yes, they’d taken cattle. Wilson ordered it—breaking Buckman would secure his land.

Forty-five minutes later, Bill and Sam galloped into view. Bill demanded what was happening. I explained what I’d seen and forced the confession again in front of him.

Bill tilted his hat back, grin tight. “Back in my grandfather’s day,” he muttered, “they’d hang horse thieves and cattle rustlers. Justice was simpler.”

We marched the rustlers to the barn, separated them, called the sheriff. Within hours, a convoy headed to Wilson’s property. By day’s end, nearly a hundred stolen cattle were found with the Rocking B brand.

Wilson and his men were arrested.

It was past nine when we finally ate supper. Caitlyn sat quiet, gaze fixed on her plate. Bill asked what she’d been doing out there. She admitted she’d gone for a swim, then shot me an accusing look like I’d invaded her privacy.

I kept my voice calm. “I wasn’t spying,” I said. “I followed tracks. And you should consider what might have happened if I hadn’t been there.”

Colleen went pale. “Thank goodness you arrived,” she said softly.

We finished quickly. Early start the next day.

As I headed toward my cabin, Caitlyn snapped, “So did you enjoy the view today?”

I didn’t give her the satisfaction of anger. “I’m glad you’re safe,” I said. “That’s what matters.”

She stormed off.

A few days later, the cattle were returned. Life steadied again. Caitlyn waited for her license approval and helped on the ranch. I’d catch her eye at meals and grin just enough to make her blush, and she hated that she reacted.

Two weeks after the waterfall incident, we ended up in the barn alone. I teased her about swims. She stepped close, eyes flashing, called me a jerk. I called her a bee. She tried to slap me. I caught her wrist. She tried again. I caught that too, and for a heartbeat we were too close, too charged, breathing fast.

Then I let go and walked away, because I’d just escaped one disaster and I refused to sprint into another one just because it burned.

Bill approached me the next day, twinkle in his eyes. Caitlyn had told him. He didn’t threaten me; he welcomed me. He said Caitlyn didn’t know what to make of me because I wasn’t chasing her like the others, and she was used to having men wrapped around her finger.

On my day off, while I did laundry and chatted with Colleen, Caitlyn unexpectedly asked to ride into town with me. When I stepped outside later, she appeared in a turquoise sundress that made her look like she’d walked out of a magazine and wanted me to notice.

During the drive, she confessed she thought I was going to kiss her the day before. I told her I didn’t force affection on someone who acted unreceptive. She stared at me the rest of the drive like she wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

At the diner, three of her admirers showed up and crowded her table like they owned her attention. I quietly moved away, paid for the meals, and let Caitlyn shut them down herself. She followed me out, angry, called me a jerk again.

Back at the ranch, Colleen smiled like she saw right through both of us.

Later that day, I rode to the waterfall, sat at the edge of the falls, watched the calm pool below. Caitlyn rode up. Instead of leaving, she climbed to where I sat. She called me a jerk again. I called her a bee again.

And then I kissed her—one decisive moment that shut both of us up.

She grabbed my arm. Pulled me back. Kissed me again like she’d finally stopped pretending. We stayed there a long time in the sound of water and wind, letting something honest take root.

That night at supper, Caitlyn sat beside me instead of across the table. Bill and Colleen exchanged glances. Caitlyn smiled sweetly and said nothing.

Later, she came to my cabin. We talked in the quiet like adults instead of combatants, and something settled between us that felt frighteningly like peace.

In the weeks that followed, Caitlyn stopped entertaining the constant stream of local men. When one asked her for a “drive,” she calmly called me her boyfriend and kissed my cheek in front of her parents. Bill and Colleen’s approval showed in their smiles. Sam grinned like he’d been waiting for it.

I helped Caitlyn with her plans, too. She wanted equipment for her veterinary business, but the bank wanted collateral, and she didn’t want her father risking the ranch. So I built a quiet solution with my offshore funds—structured like a small philanthropic loan—because Caitlyn was too proud to accept a handout. She earned her degree through hard work, and she wanted to succeed on her own terms.

When her license was approved, she bought a van and turned it into a mobile vet office. Calls began coming in from ranchers across the area. Many nights, Caitlyn stayed with me in my cabin. Bill and Colleen didn’t object. She was twenty-seven—old enough to choose her life.

Three months after Wilson’s arrest, he went to trial. The smallest rustler cooperated and avoided prison. The others got time. Wilson, as the mastermind, received ten years and a heavy fine.

Once he was taken away, I investigated him and his ranch. He was single, no family nearby, and with his hands incarcerated, nobody was left to run the place. That sparked a plan—one I kept mostly to myself.

But first, I had unfinished business.

I needed my divorce finalized.

I couldn’t accept Janice getting half my money. So I called Jake and offered Janice a settlement: $50,000 in exchange for a clean divorce. If she refused, she’d never hear from me again—and she’d receive nothing.

When Jake revealed I knew about Brandon and her intentions, the charade ended. Janice, broke and struggling, accepted.

I returned to Texas long enough to hire a lawyer and finalize papers. Caitlyn hated the idea of me leaving, but I promised I’d come back. I called her every night. I never had to face Janice; she signed, took her first check, and that chapter closed.

I rented a moving van for my keepsakes—sentimental items I refused to abandon—and drove back to Montana with everything important to me.

When I pulled into Rocking B Ranch again, the welcome I got from Bill, Colleen, Sam, and Caitlyn felt like the kind of thing people spend their whole lives searching for.

With the first half of my plan complete, I began the second.

I visited Wilson in prison repeatedly until I persuaded him to sell me his ranch. I laid out the truth: he’d be locked up for years, his property would rot without care, his cattle would suffer, and even if he got out someday, he’d return to a place that wouldn’t welcome him.

Eventually he accepted.

I moved my money back into the country, negotiated a $5 million price—below true value—put down half a million, financed the rest, and registered the land under a corporation. I hired hands to manage it, harvested hay, began remodeling the five-bedroom main house.

I kept it secret from everyone except Bill and Caitlyn, telling them only that I had personal business tied to assets. Caitlyn grew frustrated and finally cornered me.

“Are you seeing someone else?” she demanded.

“No,” I swore. “There is no one else. I’m asking you to trust me. I’ll tell you soon.”

She searched my face, then nodded. “Okay. But tell me soon—or I’m going to kick your butt.”

Spring arrived. Calving season began. The remodeling was complete.

One afternoon, I took Caitlyn for a drive and told her I’d been thinking it was time for me to leave Rocking B.

Her eyes filled instantly. “But you promised you wouldn’t leave.”

I turned onto the private road of the former Flying Doll Ranch—Wilson’s old land.

“I’m not really going far,” I said.

When we pulled up to the renovated main house, I took her hand and led her inside. We walked through empty rooms waiting for her choices. The kitchen made her face glow like she was imagining a life she’d been too afraid to name.

Then I dropped to one knee.

“Wilson doesn’t own this ranch anymore,” I told her. “I do. And I want you to live here… as my wife.”

Her voice cracked. “You own this house?”

I nodded.

She whispered “Yes,” like she was both laughing and crying at once.

I pulled out the ring and proposed.

For a heartbeat I thought I’d misread everything—until she tackled me onto my back and covered my face in kisses, then shoved her hand out for the ring like she’d been waiting her whole life.

When it was on her finger, she ran from room to room, looking at everything with new eyes, then came back and threw herself into my arms.

“The house is beautiful,” she said. “I love it.”

I showed her two offices—one for her business, one for mine. Then I showed her the drawing of the new gate.

DOUBLE C RANCH.

“What does Double C mean?” she asked.

“Carson and Caitlyn,” I said. “Carson and Caitlyn Ranch.”

She cried again—real, unguarded happiness.

We returned to Rocking B just after six. Bill, Colleen, and Sam were waiting in the kitchen for supper. Caitlyn held up her left hand and squealed, “We’re getting married!”

Colleen rushed to hug her. Bill and Sam shook my hand and clapped my back. Sam grinned like he’d known this was coming.

Then Caitlyn, casual as ever, added, “Of course this means we’ll be moving.”

Bill, Colleen, and Sam all shouted “What?” at once.

I explained what I’d done: bought out Wilson, renamed the ranch Double C, and proposed a partnership—combine the ranches, run them together, split profits fifty-fifty, keep everything in the family, with Bill running operations because he was the experienced one.

Bill stood up furious at first, thinking the Flying Doll Ranch was trying to swallow his land.

I laughed. “It’s not the Flying Doll anymore,” I said. “It’s Double C. And the owners are sitting at this table.”

Colleen understood instantly. Bill stared, then looked at her. She nodded.

He stuck his hand across the table. We shook.

“Damn it, Carson,” he said, “this is going to take getting used to. But I accept.”

Everyone laughed when I joked that it meant I’d get to pull out all the fence posts I’d worked so hard to set on that side.

The following weeks moved fast: the new house furnished, the partnership began, the ranch life expanded, Caitlyn’s business flourished, Sam got a better home, and the community welcomed me not as an outsider but as family.

We married on Double C Ranch. Ranchers from miles around came. Bill’s family was respected and well liked, and that respect extended to me as his son-in-law and a partner in the land.

Later, we took a honeymoon trip, returned to work, and the year paid off well—cattle to market, profits steady, loans shrinking. Caitlyn stayed busy with her practice, traveling to help local ranchers, building something that was entirely hers.

A year went by.

Then my beautiful wife gave me the most fantastic news.

She was pregnant.

We were going to have a baby.

And I know there are people who would say I should have learned my lesson the first time—should have protected myself the way I didn’t with Janice.

But if you think Caitlyn is like Janice, you don’t know her.

She works hard. She takes care of our home. She is her mother’s daughter in the best sense of it—steady love, honest work, fierce loyalty.

Every day I look into her blue Irish eyes, I see that love.

And I don’t doubt it for a second.