The call ends before I can decide if I’m annoyed or just tired.
I stare at the phone, my heart thudding with something I can’t name. Guilt? Frustration? That old ache I thought I’d learned to ignore—that I’m twenty-four years old and still trying to be the daughter Dad wants instead of the woman I truly am.
Dad doesn’t ask for much, but he doesn’tseemuch, either. Not the scraped knuckles or the long hours spent keeping this shop afloat. Not the way I’ve carved out a life that fits me or the pressure that comes with being the sheriff’s daughter simply because I share his last name.
Dad looks at me like I’m a truck with a busted alternator, as if all he has to do is tighten a few bolts to get me running the way he wants. He wants a version of me that’s quieter. More agreeable.
Too bad I’ve never been that girl.
I try, though. Ireallydo. But I’m still too messy. Too stubborn.
The roar of an approaching engine pulls me from my thoughts.
A dust-covered ranch truck pulls up, and Tom Sutton hops out, knocking his hat back on his head, a half-smirk already in place. The morning sun catches in his sharp blue eyes, full of that easy charm that makes half the women in town swoon and the other half warn their daughters about him.
Not that it’s ever worked on me.
Tom is one of the Sutton brothers—he and his older brothers, Henry and Angus, run Havenridge Ranch alongside their dad, Ben. Ben has been best friends with my father since the Stone Age, which means I’ve known the Suttons my entire life. They’re practically family, even if they drive me half-crazy some days.
Tom is a friend. Always has been. He's the kind of guy who flirts because it’s second nature, not because he means anything by it. We rib each other, trade insults, and sometimes split a beer after a long day, but that’s as far as it’s ever gone—or ever will.
Henry’s been married to Shay for several months now. Angus got hitched more recently to Luna. Both women were “mail-order brides,” if you can believe that. Set up because of some clause in their late mother’s will. But I’ll say this: Shay and Luna fit into that ranch like they were made for it.
Me? I don’t fit so neatly. I fix their tractors, keep their hay balers running, and rebuild half their equipment from scrap. They even built me a workshop out past the barn—something they claimed was a ‘business decision,’ but felt a hell of a lot like family.
“Morning, George.” Tom leans against the truck, arms crossed, biceps flexing beneath his rolled-up denim sleeves. “Hope you’ve got time to work your magic. One of our tractors is coughing up black smoke like The Rusty Spur’s poker room on whiskey night.”
I smirk, wiping grease off my hands. “Sounds like you’ve been rough on her again, Tom. No wonder you’re single if you treat your women like you treat your equipment.”
He grins, slow and lazy—the kind of grin that’s gotten him out of trouble and into it more times than I can count. “Never had any complaints.”
I raise a brow. “Glad to hear you're not catching that wedding fever like your brothers. When did marrying a stranger after two weeks become Havenridge Ranch’s favorite pastime?”
Tom gives me a sheepish look. “Actually…”
My eyes widen. “You’re kidding!”
He shakes his head. “Nope. My bride should be arriving in a few weeks.”
“Your mom sure knew how to tuck a marriage of convenience into a will, huh?”
Tom snorts, pushing off the truck and walking toward me, that damn crooked grin of his still in place. “She always said we’d never settle down on our own. Guess she decided to make sure we did.”
I laugh, wiping my hands again as I lean against the workbench. “You realize you’re about to marry a stranger?”
“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you know what? Henry and Angus did it. And they look... I dunno, lighter. Happier. Maybe there's something to this whole mail-order madness.”
I cross my arms. “And you think lightning’s gonna strike three times?”
Tom gives a half-shrug, half-smile. “I don’t know what I think. But the ranch needs saving, and if this is the price to pay, well, there are worse things than waking up next to a pretty woman who agreed to take a chance on me.”
“Yeah, maybe there are,” I say thoughtfully, falling quiet for a minute.
“So, you gonna tow the tractor in, or am I making a ranch call?”
“Ranch call. You know I’d rather limp it home than see her on the back of a tow rig.”
“She’s not a parade float, Tom. She’s a tractor.”
