Page 21 of Branded By the Cowboy

“Not yet,” I mutter. “But keep talking.”

“I’m thinking that someone’s trying to screw us enough to make it look like we’re mismanaging the land. And maybe get us desperate enough to sell.”

Dad grunts. “That’d make sense if they weren’t going after the wrong targets. This ranch doesn’t fall apart over a little trouble.”

“They’re not trying to break the land,” Henry says quietly, crouching to inspect the pipe. “They’re trying to breakus.Wear us down. One busted line, one broken fence panel at a time.”

Tom shoves his hands in his pockets. “Classic boiling frog. Turn up the heat slowly and no one notices until you’re soup.”

I give him a sidelong look. “Why do you know that metaphor?”

“Why don’tyou?” he shoots back.

Dad stands, brushing off his gloves. “All right, we play it smart. Angus, you and Tom check the south boundary after breakfast. Take photos of everything—footprints, tire tracks, gum wrappers, I don’t care. Anything out of place, I want to know.”

I nod once. “On it.”

Dad looks toward the house. “Luna settling in?”

“She’s fine,” I say too fast.

Tom perks up. “Oh? You two holding hands yet? Braiding each other’s hair?”

I give him a look of disgust. “She’s not here for that. It’s a contract.” The words sound forced as they leave my mouth.

“Right,” Tom says, dragging the word out like he’s chewing it.

Henry doesn’t say much. He just crosses his arms and watches me with that unreadable expression he’s mastered since we were kids. I know he’s wondering if I see the writing on the wall yet. If I’ve noticed that I listen when Luna talks. That she’s already adjusted to life here like she was grown from the soil itself.

I have.

But I’m not ready to admit it to anyone else.

Not when everything around me is already out of my control.

* * *

Back at the house, Luna is in the kitchen with Shay, sleeves rolled to her elbows, apron dusted with flour. She laughs at something Shay says—bright and unguarded.

It stops me cold in the hallway.

Because I haven’t heard her laugh like that since she arrived. Warm andalive.Full-bodied and unfiltered. It echoes in my chest, sneaking past my ribs and settling somewhere I don’t expect.

And I know—God help me, I know—I want to be the one who earns it next time.

That thought troubles me more than it should because it means I’m not simply noticing her. I’mlistening for her.

I shake my head and go to the mudroom to remove my wet boots, muttering when I realize the heel is coming loose. Another thing on the list.

Another thing falling apart—along with my ability to keep Luna at arm’s length.

* * *

Later, I find Luna in the barn, feeding the goats. She’s humming. Not a song I know, but a low, steady tune that sounds more like memory than music.

“You ever think about leaving?” I ask, surprising both of us.

She looks up, startled. “The ranch?”

---