Page 25 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

But there’s something about this part of ranch life that settles deep into my bones.

The rhythm.

The growth.

The work.

It’s honest.

It’s real.

And for someone like me—someone who’s been running from his roots most of his life—it’s a rare kind of peace.

I can feel it building.

Green things pushing through dark soil. New life coming.

It won’t be long now before we’re pulling up fat carrots and tender squash, tomatoes that drip sunlight, and more zucchini than anyone ever actually needs.

And my Bull?

He wants to see every bit of it.

Wants to stand in those rows and breathe deep and feel what we built grow beneath our feet.

Wants to watch something rise from the dirt that doesn’t scare him.

Something we made with our own hands.

And if I’m honest?

I want it, too.

The fact Max, our Alpha and primary owner here, gifted us each a stake in the place is just frosting. My Bull’s already tethered here, but now that my human side owns a piece, well, I feel something too.

An attachment. A reason.

And I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t scared of fucking it up.

But that is the thing about having a Crew at your back.

They won’t let me.

And thank God for that.

Dante finishes with one final swing, the post firmly back in place.

“Good. Thanks,” he mutters, brushing dirt from his hands.

“No problem,” I reply automatically.

He eyes me sideways.

And I know that look.

It’s that Bear Shifter curiosity, all honest and open in a way that somehow always manages to get under my skin.

“What’s eating you?”

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