I still remember the way my heels sank into the dirt as I stumbled up the long drive of Calloway Ranch, my wedding dress torn at the hem, my veil caught on a barbed wire fence behind me. I’d run three miles barefoot after ditching the limo, my mind numb, my chest raw from crying. When the door opened, he filled the frame—tall, broad-shouldered, face shadowed by a Stetson. Dust clung to his boots, and his hands were rough, veins standing like ropes across his knuckles.

'You lost?' he asked, voice low, unimpressed.

I shook my head, gasping. 'I need help. Please.'

He looked me up and down, then stepped aside without another word. Inside, he handed me a towel and pointed to the bathroom. 'Clean up. Then talk.'

I did. And when I came out, wrapped in one of his flannel shirts, he was waiting. 'Why'd you run?' he asked.

I swallowed. 'Because saying yes felt like dying.'

He nodded slowly. 'Then you ain't looking to go back.'

'No,' I whispered.

'Good. Because out here, we don’t hide from who we are.' His eyes held mine, dark and unreadable 'But you’ll earn your keep. Starting tomorrow.'