Page 21 of Lost in the Reins

"From becoming exactly what I am now." The admission comes out rougher than intended. "All work, no time for anything else. She used to say I'd work myself into an early grave if she let me."

Paisley's quiet for a moment, just the sound of rain and sizzling cheese between us. "And now you're the glue."

It's not a question. I glance at her, caught off guard by the understanding in her eyes. There's no pity there, just a clear-eyed recognition that makes my chest tight. "Someone has to be."

"But it's more than that." She studies my profile like she's reading between lines I didn't know I was writing. "You're not just running the ranch; you're trying to preserve everything Sarah built. The family she held together. It's like you're trying to be both yourself and her at the same time."

The truth of it hits like a physical blow. I flip the sandwich with more force than necessary, sending tiny butter droplets flying. "Ranch needs running. Emma needs raising. Not much to analyze there."

"Says the man who's been up since four, analyzing feed costs." Her hip bumps mine again, intentionally this time. "You know, it's okay to admit you're carrying a lot. Even Sarah probably had days where she wanted to lock you all in the barn and run away to join the circus." She smiles, but her eyes stay serious. "My point is, even the glue needs a break sometimes."

"I'm fine." The words come out automatically, worn smooth from repetition.

"Mm-hmm. And I'm Martha Stewart in the kitchen. We all have our delusions."

"I'm fine.”

She laughs—that real, unguarded sound that keeps sneaking past my defenses. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"So I've been told." I slide the finished sandwich onto her plate, definitely not noticing how her fingers brush mine as she takes it. "Usually by people who think they've got me figured out."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." She takes a bite, closing her eyes in appreciation. “Though I will say you’ve been holding out on us with these grilled cheese skills.”

“Family secret.”

“Like the Jenny Martinez story?”

I groan. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” Her grin is pure mischief. “I’m a writer, remember? Uncovering stories is what I do.”

“Some stories are better left buried.”

“Like how you and your brothers ended up running this place?” She sets her plate down, expression turning serious. “Emma mentioned your dad passed recently. That couldn’t have been easy, taking over everything while dealing with Sarah’s accident, too."

The memory hits hard—Dad's quietly determined face as he signed over the ranch, just weeks before the cancer took him. How he'd made me promise to keep the family legacy alive, to take care of Emma, to be the man he knew I could be.

"Wasn't about easy." I start another sandwich, needing the distraction. "Was about doing what needed doing."

"That seems to be your life motto."

"Better than being one of your cowboys in tight jeans.”

She laughs again, but there's a thoughtful edge to it. "You know, I used to think I understood what it meant to run a ranch. Write about the romantic parts: sunset rides, saving the farm, love conquering all." She takes another bite of her sandwich. "But it's the quiet parts I never got right. The way a family builds something generation by generation. The weight of those promises."

I look at her then, really look at her. She's got a smudge of cheese on her chin, her borrowed flannel rumpled from a morning of chores, looking nothing like the polished city writer who showed up on my porch. But it's the understanding in her eyes that catches me—like she's seeing past all my careful walls to the weight I'm carrying.

"Some things," I say finally, turning back to the griddle, "can't be written into a romance novel."

"No," she agrees softly. "Some things have to be lived."

Chapter Ten

Wes

Icatch Paisley trying to sneak past the geese pen, those designer boots moving with exaggerated care like she's diffusing a bomb instead of delivering feed. I've been watching her from the barn, pretending to check feed levels while she attempts her first solo chore—feeding the geese.

Jake thought she could handle this one on her own.

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