Page 82 of Lost in the Reins

I don’t hesitate. “No.”

A flicker of something crosses her face. “Why not?”

My fingers tighten into fists against my thighs. She’s making me say it. Making me lay it all out, raw and real.

I take a breath. “Because I love you.” The words come out steady, firm. “And I don’t want this ranch without you in it.”

Paisley doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move. Then, finally, she sets her coffee down on the porch, tilts her head, and says, “Took you long enough.”

That breaks something in me.

I let out a breath of laughter, shaking my head. “Yeah. It did.”

Her lips twitch like she’s trying to fight a smile, but her eyes are too soft to hide what she’s feeling. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, mirroring me. “So… what now?”

I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “You tell me.”

She squeezes my fingers, voice quieter now. “I love you, too, Wes.”

The relief that rushes through me is staggering. I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, holding her there for a long moment.

“So… does that mean you’re staying?” I ask, my voice rough with hope.

Paisley tilts her head, pretending to think. “Well…Yellowstonewith a gift shop does have a nice ring to it.”

I groan, but I’m smiling. “I take it back. I should never have listened to you.”

She grins, tugging me closer. “Too late, cowboy. You’re stuck with me now.”

And just like that, everything that felt uncertain—everything I thought I might lose—settles into something real. Something lasting.

For the first time in a long, long time, I let myself believe in us.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Paisley

One Year Later…

I'm pretty sure algebra wasn't this complicated when I was in school. Then again, I was too busy writing stories in my notebook to pay much attention. The kitchen smells like cinnamon and coffee—Martha's special blend that she now packages withAs Seen on 'Montana Hearts’ stickers, much to Wes's dismay and my endless amusement.

Emma's brow furrows as she stares at her homework, her pencil tapping against the kitchen table in a rhythm that perfectly matches Bernard's indignant honking outside. Her math book is splayed open beside a half-eaten apple and three different colored highlighters—a studying technique she picked up from Jake, who swears color-coding saved his life in high school.

"The tourists are back," she announces without looking up from her math, circling something with her neon green marker. "Bernard's doing his territorial display again."

"As long as he doesn't steal any more selfie sticks," Wes mutters from behind his coffee mug—the blue chipped onethat somehow survived the renovation despite my attempts to replace it with something that doesn't look like it fought in the Civil War. "We're running out of places to store them."

"The gift shop could use them," I suggest, stirring honey into my tea. "Authentic Bernard-approved memorabilia. We could charge double."

Wes gives me that look—the one that says I'm both the best and most troublesome thing that's ever happened to him. "Don't encourage him."

Through the window, I can see the line of fans gathered at the designated viewing area—a safe distance from both Bernard's jurisdiction and the actual filming happening in the east pasture. The movie's been shooting for three months now, and the crowds have only grown. Turns out, people really will travel across the country to watch attractive actors pretend to be cowboys. The actor playing Wes—a perfectly nice man from Vancouver with suspiciously white teeth—can't actually ride a horse without looking like he's being electrocuted, but the fans don't seem to mind.

"At least Kevin's enjoying the attention," I say, watching our resident peacock strut past the crowd like he's auditioning for his own spinoff series. He's developed a signature move where he flares his tail feathers precisely when cameras start flashing—a natural-born star. "I'm pretty sure he's more dramatic than any of the actual actors."

"Kevin understands his audience," Colt says, wandering in from outside. His boots leave little clumps of mud on the new kitchen floor—something that would have sent Wes into conniptions a year ago, but now barely earns a raised eyebrow. Progress. "Unlike some people who shall remain nameless but rhymes with Rake."

Right on cue, Jake bursts through the door, face flushed with excitement. "They want to use Thunder for the final scene! Thedirector said he's got better screen presence than the trained horses they brought in."

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