Page 121 of 11 Cowboys
“You lied,” he says, voice low and razor-sharp.
“No—I didn’t. Conway, I swear to you, I didn’t writethat—”
“They’re our secrets, Grace. These are our lives laid out for the world to digest,” he cuts in, deadly calm. “You told them our business. About Corbin and Sadie. About Nora. About Levi.”
I flinch. “Not like that. I never thought they’d twist it like that. I didn’t even send my notes. They went into my private cloud files and rewrote the final draft. They changed it—”
“And they published it under your name.”
Silence.
He doesn’t shout. His voice gets quieter. More disappointed. “You said you wouldn’t do this to us. You said we could trust you. And then you made us believe you cared. You made the kids believe it. You made us hope and want—”
My throat burns. “I do care. I love—”
He shakes his head, eyes flaring. “Don’t. Don’t say it. Not now.”
I step forward, reaching for him like an apology could fix this. Like if I can show him how much my heart is breaking right now, and how guilty I feel, he’ll believe I never meant for any of this to happen.
But he steps back. “You’re worse than the other women who didn’t stay,” he says. “At least they were honest. You played house. Let every one of us believe that what we felt was real. That you might be worth hoping for and committing to.”
The breath punches from my chest.
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” I whisper.
“But you have.”
I blink hard against the tears. “What do you want me to do?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Pack your things. Be gone before the others get back.”
That hurts. It hurts worse than anything. How can I leave without saying goodbye?
I turn without another word and make my way upstairs, through the homely kitchen and past the stairway of family photos that have brought me so much joy to study, each step heavier than the last. I pull my suitcase out, moving in a daze. My pink cowboy boots are by the bed. I perch on the edge and stare at them, breathing hard. My first gift. Their first promise.
I press my lips together so the sobs that wrack my body don’t make a sound.
I can’t take my boots with me. Not after this.
I pack in a daze, brittle as old parchment. When I wheel my bag downstairs, I leave the boots and my hat neatly by the door.
The house is quiet. Too quiet. I feel every creak in the floorboards like a stab through my heart.
Beau watches me as I pass. He wags his tail and slowly follows me, and his big, soulful eyes seem to plead with me to stay. I can’t bring myself to say goodbye to him, so I let the door close before he can follow me outside.
The dust whips around my jean-clad legs as I heft my suitcase into the trunk of the rental car I haven’t touched since I arrived. I glance back at the house, catching sight of Conway leaning against the doorjamb, his hat low so his face is shadowed, with Beau at his side. I look away quickly, shame and hurt like barbs in my chest.
I start the car in a daze and pull away, gravel crunching under the tires. My chest feels like it’s caving in as tears burn hot trails down my cheeks, and then, before the bend in the road that hides the ranch from view, I glance in the rearview mirror.
The men are returning.
Dylan, Corbin, and Harrison. Jaxon walking beside Levi, Lennon at the back, McCartney laughing at something Cody says, and Nash trailing quietly behind. Brody’s missing.
They’re dust-streaked and heading home after early chores.
Home.
It felt like that. It did. I don’t know how it happened, but this place, this family, got under my skin and into my heart and made me believe that I could belong.
