Page 108 of Knotting the Cowboys

My breathing has steadied, the tears dried to salt tracks on my cheeks. Tomorrow, I'll have to face the ranch, the pack, all the messy complications of building something real with men who've already claimed pieces of my heart. But tonight, I'm here. On this hill, under these stars, with a cowboy who tastes like promises and calls me Dandelion.

For the first time in two years, I believe I might actually deserve this. Deserve them. Deserve the chance to be whole again, here where I've always been my truest self.

The first stars emerge, bright and steady, and River squeezes my hand once more before letting go.

"Ready to head back?" he asks softly.

I look out over the darkening landscape—my landscape now, my inheritance, my second chance—and nod.

"Yeah," I say, and mean it. "I'm ready."

We mount up in companionable silence, beginning the gentle ride back to where the others wait.

Back to complicated feelings and careful boundaries and the promise of what might be, once the restrictions lift and we can explore this thing building between us all.

But for now, this is enough.

This moment of understanding, of acceptance, of being seen and not found wanting.

The horses pick their way down the hill, sure-footed in the gathering dark, carrying us home.

Date Night In The Midst Of The Rodeo

~WILLA~

The kitchen light spills golden and warm through the doorway as I push inside, my body still humming from the ride—muscles loose, thighs tender where they gripped Willow's sides, and that deeper ache between my legs that has nothing to do with saddle soreness and everything to do with River's mouth.

The October night clings to my hair and clothes, but inside, the ranch house wraps around me like a blanket I didn't know I needed.

Austin sits in the old rocking chair near the window, Luna cradled against his chest in that effortless way he has with her, like she's an extension of his own body rather than a separate being requiring careful handling.

The sight of them together—his hand spanning her tiny back, her face peaceful against his heartbeat—makes something twist behind my ribs. He hums something low and wordless, a lullabywithout lyrics, and his hazel eyes find mine over her dark wisps of hair.

"Good ride?" he asks softly, not wanting to disturb Luna's milk-drunk doze. There's something knowing in his expression, like he can read the afternoon's activities in the windblown state of my hair or the way I'm moving just a little too carefully.

"The best," I admit, unable to suppress the smile that blooms at the memory. River enters behind me, bringing the scent of horses and evening air, and Austin's knowing look deepens into something that might be approval.

At the dining table, Mavi hunches over what looks like a cross between a spider and a small aircraft. The drone—because that's clearly what it is—sits partially disassembled, its guts spread across yesterday's newspaper while he adjusts something with a precision screwdriver. His green eyes flick up to track my movement across the kitchen, cataloging, assessing, before returning to his work.

"New toy?" I ask, moving to the sink to wash the trail dust from my hands.

"Security upgrade," he corrects without looking up. "Thermal imaging, motion detection, and a fourteen-hour battery life. Can patrol the entire ranch perimeter twice before needing a charge."

"Because we definitely need military-grade surveillance for the chickens," River teases, pulling an apple from the bowl on the counter. The knife appears in his hand with practiced ease, and he starts cutting precise slices.

"Chickens aren't the concern," Mavi mutters, making another minute adjustment. "Not with the recent territorial disputes in neighboring counties. Better prepared than caught off guard."

The protective undercurrent in his voice makes me think of this morning, the way he'd appeared from nowhere when I'd tried to slip out unnoticed. Always watching, always ready. Itshould feel suffocating, but instead, it makes me feel... safe. Valued. Like something worth protecting.

I lean against the counter, close enough to River that I can feel his warmth without touching—we're getting good at this careful dance of proximity without contact.

"So," I venture, remembering something Austin mentioned days ago, "I heard something about a rodeo dance?"

Austin's rocking slows.

"The Harvest Moon Rodeo Dance. Yeah, it's tomorrow night."

"Were you planning to go?" I try to keep my tone casual, but something in the room shifts. Mavi's hands still on his drone. River's knife pauses mid-slice.

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