Grant
It’s been a shit-storm of a day, and I’ve spent most of it pretending I’m not crawling out of my skin.
After clearing a new path to the river; partly because it’s needed, mostly because it felt like something she’d want, I left Mia alone to sit with the bombshell I dropped in her lap. I saw it on her face—the emotional war in her eyes, the want, the damn flicker of disbelief, confusion, and that stubborn fire that makes me want her more than I should.
I told her she belongs here. With me. And now, well, only time would tell if she believed it. I have no idea where we go from here, but I don’t regret a single damn word.
Still, I figured space would help. So, I saddled up and rode out to meet Mason and Ryan near the cattle pen. We had to move the herd to the south pasture before the heat got too brutal—something we’ve done so many times it’s practically muscle memory. But today, I’m just... going through the motions.
Mason cracks open the gate while I circle wide to push the stragglers forward. Dust kicks up in thick clouds. A few calves bawl for their mamas as we split them off. I’m calling commands, guiding Midnight with my knees, but I couldn’t tell you the shape of the land under me or the direction of the wind. My body’s doing the work, but my mind’s still back at the house, replaying the way Mia looked at me when I told her she wasn’t just passing through my life, she belongs here.
She looked like she wanted to believe me.
She also looked like she might bolt.
“Grant,” Mason’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “Watch the far right—he’s about to break off.”
I turn my horse quick and rein the steer back in with a sharp whistle. Mason gives me a sidelong look, the kind that says he knows exactly where my head’s at, and it ain’t with the cows.
By the time we get the herd settled and Ryan takes off to check the fence line, Mason dismounts and cracks open a bottle of water. He leans against the fence post, watching me for a beat too long.
“You’re distracted,” he says, straight to the point.
“Yeah, well. A lot goin’ on,” I mutter, wiping sweat off my brow.
“Uh-huh.” He tilts his head. “You wanna talk about it, or just keep pretending you’re not mentally down by the river with her right now?”
I huff out a laugh, bitter and dry. “Didn’t realize I was that obvious.”
“You weren’t—until you let the same calf run past you three times. Thought you were tryin’ to give him a damn cardio workout.”
I shake my head, trying to grin, but it falls flat. Instead I whip off my shirt and tuck it into my back pocket, letting the hot Texas sun burn down on my skin.
“She looked at me like I handed her a live grenade this morning,” I admit. “I told her she belongs here. That I—”
“Want her,” Mason finishes for me. “Yeah. I figured.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second, just stares out at the pasture, jaw working like he’s chewing on the words before he spits ‘em out.
“You know what I think?” he finally says. “I think you’ve spent the last few years confusing guilt with loyalty. Jake’s gone, Grant. You’re not cheating on his memory by letting yourself want something good.”
I feel the air leave my lungs in one slow, bruising exhale. “It’s not that simple.”
“No, it’s not. But it is honest. You think Mia’s the kind of woman who’d want to be with a ghost, or with a man who’s still stuck in the past? She’s here. Real. Breathing. Giving you a shot.”
I look down at my hands—dirty, calloused, worn down by years of doing the same shit just to feel something like control. The thing is, I know Mason’s right. But knowing it doesn’t make it easier.
“She’s gonna leave,” I say quietly. “She’s got a life out there. Bigger than this place.”
“Then stop making it about what she might do. What if she wants to stay?” Mason shrugs. “And if she doesn’t—at least you didn’t half-ass it.” He shakes his head and looks me dead in the eyes. “You need to let go, guilt isn’t the same as love and you’re allowed to love again brother.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder before heading off to check the salt blocks. I stay standing there for a long minute, staring down the path that cuts toward the far fields.
But I don’t follow him.
Instead, I turn my horse toward the old trail.
It’s stupid. It’s reckless. It’s her.
