Chapter 1 - Asher
The sun isn't even all the way up yet, but the Silver Cattle Ranch is already humming. I step off the porch of the main house, coffee in one hand, and watch my brothers wrangle the last of the fencing gear from the bed of Zach's beat-up pickup. Finn's cussing under his breath about something that probably has to do with tangled wire or the RV’s power tripping again. As I sip my coffee, I take in the view. Miles of golden fields, our worn but proud barns, and the distant ridgeline catching the first light. It's ours now. Finally.
The main house, still rough around the edges, feels like home. My home. It's not fancy, but it's solid, unlike the RVs parked nearby, where my brothers, Zach and Finn, are camping out like they're on some bachelor rodeo tour. They have rooms in the main house because Willy made sure of that when he sold us the place. He even bought all three of us new beds and everything.
We lasted only a month together under one roof before Zach and Finn wanted their own space. Most every night, we eat dinner together, though they choose to sleep on their own part of the property where they plan to build. I can't say I blame them, with all the hard work it took to get us here, I wouldn't want to sleep anywhere else than on my property either.
They claim the RVs are temporary. Just until we build out bunkhouses or maybe remodel the old cabin out back. For now, they're half-living out of duffel bags and plastic drawers, and they weren't even this happy when we lived in Mom and Dad's fancy cabin on the lake. I don't have to ask them why. This place is ours—worn and run down, sure, but it's all ours. And that makes all the difference.
"You gonna stand there all day, or are you planning to help?" Finn yells, squinting up at me like he already knows the answer.
"I'm supervising," I shoot back, grinning around the rim of my mug. Moving down the steps, I help finish loading up. Before we move the cattle to the front pasture, we need to check the fencing there.
It seems all we do lately is check fencing, but Finn was adamant that we check every line of fence ourselves since we bought the place, and I have to admit, he's been right. We have found more than one fence knocked down or weakened, and if we’d turned the cattle loose in there, we'd have been chasing them all over town.
Zach tosses me a pair of gloves. "Phantom's visiting again. Think he slept in the north pasture last night."
"Course he did," I mutter, tugging on the gloves. That damn horse roams freer than any of us. Town swears he belongs to everyone and no one, but lately he's taken a shine to our place. I don't mind. There's something about him I get.
We leave him food and water by the barn, and are friendly enough that he gets along with our livestock and lets us pet him. But the next day, I'll see him downtown being pampered with treats from locals, acting as if he's starving.
We're halfway through checking the perimeter fencing when Phantom makes his appearance. He steps out from the tree line, black mane whipping in the wind like he owns the place. Zach stops what he's doing and watches him with awe. Finn just shakes his head.
"Why do you think he spends so much time here? Think Willy would feed him, too?"
My chest tightens a little at the mention of Willy. I glance out at the horizon and remember the last time I talked to him, the day we signed the papers. He sat across from me at this very fence line, sipping sweet tea out of a mason jar, telling me why he chose us.
"You boys ain't just buying dirt," he'd said, his voice rough like gravel and wisdom rolled into one. "You're buying a promise. That you'll take care of this land like it took care of the generations before you. I've had offers from developers. Big ones. But they didn't look me in the eye. They didn't talk about cattle or long days or rebuilding fences by hand. You did. That's why it's yours."
It stuck with me. Still does. I think about that every time I see Phantom grazing like he belongs here as much as we do. It seems as if he's watching over the promise we made.
Without answering Zach, I grab an apple from the truck and walk over slowly. Phantom doesn't spook. But watches me, weighing my worth.
"Morning, old boy," I murmur, holding out the apple. He takes it, lips brushing my palm, then snorts and backs off, circling the edge of our land, checking that it's all still here, keeping watch over what’s ours.
The sound of tires crunching gravel pulls my attention. A sleek car I know too well pulls into the drive.
Kassi.
"Showtime," Finn mutters under his breath.
Kassi steps out, clipboard in hand, looking like she doesn't belong here, and yet... somehow she does. Boots that are too clean, jeans too fitted. Her brown hair pulled back tight, lips pressed in that fake, polite smile she uses like a weapon.
"Asher," she calls, voice too bright. "Morning."
"Ms. Carson," I say, walking toward her. I keep my tone steady, my expression unreadable.
"I have a new offer from Silver Rock Development. It's extremely generous. And this time, they've added relocation perks. I think you'll find it hard to refuse,” she tries to hand me the clipboard.
I cross my arms over my chest, meeting her gaze square. "Walker Lake doesn't need your kind of progress."
Her smile falters. "I think the town could benefit from modernization. Infrastructure, better schools, and expanded commerce."
"And bulldozed history. Sold-out heritage. Strangers who think land's just dirt with a price tag."
She takes a breath; it’s obvious she's trying to stay patient. "Not only do I believe in this project, I believe in what it could do for this community."
I take a step closer. "Do you? Or do you believe what they pay you to believe? Why are they so focused on Walker Lake? There are ranches bigger than this for sale in the surrounding communities. Why not go there?"
Her cheeks color. "I didn't come here to argue. Just to give you an opportunity."
"I know exactly who you work for, Kassi. And I'm not interested. You can tell your boss to stop wasting his time."
Her eyes flash, and there's something raw in them. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough. Three visits in one month, each offer sweeter than the last. And I know you're not a local. So, either you're really invested in a paycheck, or you're naïve enough to think those suits you work for give a damn about this town."
She looks like she's about to say something, then stops. Her hand clenches around the clipboard. "You're wrong about me."
"Maybe. I hope I am. Because if you actually believe you're helping folks by pushing this crap, then someone's done a real number on you."
For a moment, we stand there. Her breathing is shallow, and her eyes are hard. But behind it, there's a flicker of something else. Hurt. Confusion.
"I've got work to do," I say, turning back toward the fence.
"You'll regret not even looking at the terms," she calls after me.
"No, I won't."
She huffs, climbs back into her car, and drives off fast enough to kick up dust. I watch her go until she's nothing but a shimmer on the horizon.
Finn wanders up beside me. "She's pretty. Shame she works for the devil."
"Yeah," I murmur, eyes still on the road. "Shame."
Zach joins us, throwing his gloves on the fence rail. "You get that look in your eye every time she shows up. You sure you're not tempted just a little?"
"More like tempted to toss her clipboard in the stock tank. Maybe."
Finn chuckles. "Or tempted to ask her to dinner."
"Y'all done?" I mutter, but I can't hide the flush on my neck.
Zach nudges me. "Just saying, I've seen less fire from you even when a bull busted down the east fence line. She's got you riled up."
"She's dangerous."
Finn slaps my shoulder. "So is every woman worth the trouble. You be careful, brother. Just don't pretend you're not thinking about her."
They walk off toward the truck, still talking and ribbing each other, but I hang back. Watching the dust settle where she drove away.
Because the truth is, I’m thinking about her. And not just the way her jeans fit or how her voice gets sharp when she's trying to prove a point. I'm thinking about the way her eyes flickered when I called her out. The way she didn't deny what she was doing, but she didn't defend it either.
I'm thinking I might’ve been too hard on her. That she might actually believe she's doing something good. And if she does, then someone's selling her a pretty damn good lie.
What if I'm wrong about her? Or worse, what if I'm right, and she's just another piece in their game? Either way, I can't stop seeing her face. Can't stop wondering if maybe, just maybe, there's more to Kassi Carson than a job title and a clipboard.
And I hate how much I want to find out.
Grabbing the fencing pliers, I stomp back toward the stretch of wire we hadn't finished tightening. My hands move on instinct, pulling and bracing, driving in staples hard enough that my palms sting. Every tug of the fence feels like a way to work her out of my head, but it's useless. She's tangled in there now, like barbed wire around my thoughts.
