Chapter One—Butch
“Riven Blackstone!”
My voice roars through the crisp April morning like a cannon shot, scattering birds from the weathered barn roof and making the distant horses toss their heads in alarm.
The golden sun is just cresting the horizon, washing Oregon in hues of honey and amber. Prairie grass bends gently in the morning breeze, rippling like waves against the backdrop of the rolling hills of Blackstone Ranch.
The ranch that cost us so much just getting here.
My boots stomp clouds of dust as I cross the yard, eyes narrowed on Riven in his leather jacket, leaning casually against a fence post beside the paddock.
He’s standing near a striking black-and-white leopard Appaloosa that beats a hoof impatiently into the soft earth. Someone’s hidden behind the animal, but I’m too damn mad about Noemi’s reckless riding to give whoever it is a second thought.
He’d married the seventeen-year old-girl to save her life—a selfless move typical of the stubborn bastard I call a boss.
Saved all our damn lives. All ten of us cowboys.
Just over a year ago, me, Buck, and Riven had traveled all the way from Independence, Missouri down to New Orleans, Louisiana to sell cattle. One night, in a dimly lit hotel tavern thick with smoke and the stench of cheap whiskey, a grungy, desperate man had shoved his seventeen-year-old daughter, Noemi Hulley, into the tavern. Her blue, wide-eyed innocence made her look as fragile as a porcelain doll, but never scared. Her filthy father, drunk and pathetic, offered her up to the highest bidder like she was nothing more than a piece of fancy artwork, patrons offering no more than two hundred.
Riven couldn’t stomach the sight of her being pawed at by men circling like vultures. Without a second thought, he bought out every greedy, leering bastard in that tavern and gave the poor girl a chance at a decent life.
Two weeks later, she stepped off a train in Independence, pale-faced and quiet, looking like she couldn’t hurt a fly.
Truth be told, I didn’t hold out much hope for her.
But damn, she’d proven me wrong.
She’d taken that hard-hearted boss of mine and made him fall in love. Softened him in ways none of us could’ve imagined possible after the war. And not only that, but she’d proven she was as tough as any cowboy I’d ever ridden beside on the journey of the Oregon Trail.
And along the way, she wormed her way into all of our hearts. One of us even giving our life to protect her from harm.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing letting that girl run wild?” I snap, heat rising in my chest. “Noemi’s out there tearing around on Sweet Tooth like it’s a goddamn tornado ripping through—and that damned yappin’ dog is causing chaos right along with her. She just lost a baby, Riven! You letting her run amok is nothing short of—”
Riven’s mouth curls into a smug smirk, pride shining clearly in those cool storm gray eyes. “And what exactly is the problem, Butch? Looks to me like she’s feeling just fine.”
I jab my finger toward the distant fields, ready to unload another volley of anger when the Appaloosa shifts restlessly, sidestepping just enough to reveal who’s standing behind its neck.
The world around me seems to stop dead.
She steps forward, movements fluid and confident, emerging like some wild, graceful spirit from the shadows cast by the morning sun. The first thing I see are her eyes, striking and gold as firelit whiskey, framed by thick, black lashes. They hold my gaze steady, fierce and utterly unafraid, as though challenging me to keep yelling.
Her long, raven-black hair cascades freely over her shoulders, shimmering in the sunlight like polished obsidian. Feathers and beads woven through the strands catch the gentle breeze, dancing around her neck and face. Smooth skin, bronzed from hours beneath the open sky, glows softly as though the sun itself chose her.
She’s dressed simply but beautifully in that traditional Cayuse clothing I’ve seen Riven’s aunt stitching together, layers of buckskin and soft fabric accentuating curves that knock every bit of anger right out of me. Her slender neck holds a necklace of turquoise stones, stark against the warmth of her skin, the delicate hollow of her throat drawing my eye down to the gentle swell beneath it.
I stare, speechless, breathless.
A man struck dumb.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to not throw a temper tantrum around a horse, cowboy?” Her voice is velvet-wrapped steel, calm but edged with a clear warning. Her eyebrow lifts slightly, and she tilts her head just enough to imply she’s seen tougher men lose their nerve.
My mouth opens, closes, opens again, closes, and nothing comes out.
Riven chuckles quietly, clearly amused at my stunned silence. “Butch, meet Dyani. She’s an old friend of mine. Best healer west of the river. Dyani, meet Butch. The ranches foreman.”
Dyani folds her arms, appraising me with an expression caught somewhere between disdain and intrigue. “You could paint a picture, it’ll last longer,” she states plainly.
A wave of embarrassment and fascination washes through me. My gut twists at her fierce independence and the quiet threat of rejection. I’m drawn like a moth to flame—ready to be burned alive if she’d just let me look at her a bit longer.
Dyani’s lips twitch into the ghost of a mischievous smile, as if she’s just read every foolish thought passing through my head.
“Well,” she murmurs, voice sultry with amusement, “looks like the bossman finally ran outta words.”
I watch like a mute idiot as Dyani steps into Riven’s arms. Not a long hug, not a soft one either, but one of those tight, familiar squeezes like two warriors swapping strength. She smells like sage and earth and sunlight, and I’m not even close enough to breathe her in, yet somehow I know.
“Take care of that girl,” Dyani murmurs into his shoulder.
Riven nods. “Always. And think about my offer.”
She pulls back just as a sharp whistle slices through the morning air, followed by the thundering beat of hooves. I twist my head just in time to catch a streak of onyx racing across the open field. Sweet Tooth and Noemi. Her silver blonde hair is flying loose, her legs locked tight around the barrel body of that black Arabian who gleams like obsidian set loose with wings.
Mopsey, the yellow lab mutt, races alongside her, barking like she’s trying to keep up with the wind itself. Noemi lets out a wild whoop, and I flinch as Sweet Tooth cuts dangerously close to the fence before bolting toward the pasture gate like a shot from hell.
Girl is going to fucking kill herself and I’ll be left to pick up the pieces of Riven.
Dyani’s horse snorts and stomps the ground, his black-and-white spotted coat shimmering like a war-painted shadow. He tosses his head and beats his front hoof into the earth like he wants to chase after her too, or maybe just remind us he’s alive and ready to go.
I open my mouth, heat rising again in my chest, the words on the tip of my tongue already forming—something about recklessness, about danger, about Goddamn it, Riven—but then Dyani swings up into the saddle, and just like that, my brain short-circuits.
Her backside’s right there, round and perfect in that worn buckskin, and it takes every scrap of decency I own not to make a sound. I think my jaw actually hinges locked and shut.
I catch myself gawking and grinding my teeth, but it’s too late. She’s already caught me red-handed.
With the reins held loosely in one hand, Dyani nudges her horse into a slow circle around me.
A predator’s pace.
A dance.
Her sharp, knowing smile could turn blood into honey and set bones to shaking.
She doesn’t look away, not once.
I stay rooted like a goddamn fence post, unable to move anything but my head to follow her slow, deliberate loop.
“You’re absolutely right, bossman,” she says, her voice like warm whiskey laced with steel with the way she speaks. “The girl did just lose a baby.”
I blink before nodding.
“But maybe,” Dyani continues, tone turning thoughtful as she taps her fingers against her chin, “just maybe... riding around like a hellion helps her heal. Spiritually, I mean.” She leans slightly in her saddle, that smile growing as she studies me. “So let the damn girl ride in chaos.”
Her words slam into my gut harder than any punch I ever took in the war.
I open my mouth to argue with the woman. Nothing. My hands curl into fists at my sides. She circles once more, then gently taps her heels into her horse and rides toward the far ranch arch, feathers trailing behind her like smoke from a fire I can’t control.
Riven’s watching me with that damn smug look again, causing his scarred flesh on his neck to stretch.
I turn, growl low in my throat, and stomp across the yard. “I’m going into town,” I mutter. “Need to grab a few things.”
“Yeah?” Riven calls after me, amusement thick in his voice. “You want me to have Dyani write you a list?”
I shoot him a glare over my shoulder but don’t stop walking. Because hell if I don’t know what I’m going to town for.
All I know is I’ve never wanted to get away and stay in the same damn place so bad in my life.
I stomp toward the horse barn like a man on a mission, or maybe just one trying to walk off the heat crawling under his skin like fire ants. Damned if I know which. Every bootfall kicks up dust and agitation in equal measure, Dyani’s voice echoing inside my skull like a damn sermon I never asked for.
So let the damn girl ride in chaos.
Hell, I’ve been through war, watched men gutted on battlefields, buried my brothers in shallow graves, and not once did I feel as unbalanced as I do now. All from one look. One woman. One lap around me like I was her prey.
The girl did just lose a baby.
That one hit like a cannon to the chest. Like she’d reached in and yanked the wind clean outta me.
I shove the barn door open with more force than necessary, the hinges creaking in protest. Inside, Kaesee and Ames are bent over their saddles, tightening girths and checking straps. Two of the most immature ranch hands on this ranch. Barely dry behind the ears but quick with a rope and even quicker to run their mouths.
Kaesee glances up, his boyish face smudged with dust. “Hey, Butch. We were just fixing to head to Baker. Rain finally let up and the roads are all slop, figured it was a good time to grab—”
“Good,” I cut him off, voice clipped. “You’re coming with me.”
Ames, taller and lankier, pauses mid-cinch. “With you? What for?”
“Supplies. Tools. Rope. Whatever the fuck I feel like we need. I don’t feel like hauling it all back myself so you’re coming.”
Kaesee straightens, reading something in my tone. He nods fast. “Sure thing, boss.”
Neither of them asks questions. Smart boys, for once. I grab a rope off the wall, head to Junkyard Dave’s stall, and run my hand down the big rose gray Appaloosa’s neck. He snorts, flicks an ear back, and gives me a look like even he knows I’m wound up.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, “don’t start with me too.”
He’s saddled in record time. I’ve done it so often I could do it blindfolded, but I don’t rush. I need the rhythm of it. The leather. The buckles. The quiet.
By the time I swing up into the saddle, Kaesee and Ames are already at the barn entrance, mounted and waiting with empty saddlebags and curious glances they’re too respectful to let settle on me for long.
Or scared.
We ride out without a word. The silence hangs heavy, but I’m grateful for it. Words feel dangerous right now, like they might crack something I’m not ready to look at too closely.
The long dirt trail stretches out ahead, lined by fence posts and fresh puddles from the melted snow. The ranch arch stands like a sentry up ahead, bold and familiar. Then I spot movement to the left, and my heart does something real stupid in my chest.
It’s her. Dyani.
She’s riding back toward the ranch at an easy gait, Noemi at her side with that same wild grin on her face, wind tangling silver hair around her cheeks. Mopsey trails them both, tongue out, tail wagging like she’s herding royalty.
I yank the reins just short of the arch. Junkyard Dave tosses his head in protest, but I don’t move. Not yet. Kaesee and Ames barely manage to pull up in time, almost bumping into my flanks.
“Shit—Butch, what the hell—”
But I don’t answer. My eyes are locked on Dyani.
She rides like she was born in the saddle, loose and easy, her back straight, feathers trailing behind her like ribbons in the wind. Her eyes meet mine in passing, gold and gleaming like they hold every secret I don’t want her knowing, and that same goddamn smile curls at her lips.
Not a word. Not a wave. Just that look. That knowing.
Rage coils tight in my chest.
Not at her. At me. For letting her get under my skin so damn fast. For how my heart jumped at the sight of her, then burned with fury watching her ride off like she didn’t just gut me with a few well-placed words.
“Everything alright?” Kaesee asks, brow cocked.
I shake my head, more to clear it than to answer, and kick Junkyard Dave into a full canter. “Let’s ride.”
We tear down the dirt road, hooves kicking mud behind us. The sound of it drowns out everything else.
Especially the memory of her voice.
Especially that goddamn smile.
The ride north toward Baker stretches out like a ribbon of mud and shadow, winding between bare-branched cottonwoods and pockets of lingering snow that haven’t quite surrendered to spring. Every few yards, the hooves of our horses sink into soft earth, sucking and squelching like the ground itself wants to hold us back. The scent of wet grass and thawed manure drifts on the breeze, mixing with the sharper tang of leather and sweat. Overhead, clouds bunch like bruises in a pale sky, but the sun keeps trying to break through, casting fractured light across the landscape.
Junkyard Dave moves steady beneath me, his gait smooth and familiar, like the beat of a war drum I’ve always known. Kaesee and Ames ride just ahead, their horses weaving side by side down the rutted trail, saddlebags bouncing lightly at their flanks.
Neither boy dares ask about Dyani, and I’m grateful. I let the rhythm of the ride settle into my bones, let it try to scrape off the remnants of her voice like burrs on a boot heel.
Still, nothing shuts her out.
Not her face.
Not her fire.
Not the way she looked at me like I was the fool for trying to cage the wind.
About thirty minutes into the ride, Kaesee finally speaks when he shows a bit, his voice carrying back over the quiet clip of hooves. “So you’re really going through with it, huh?”
Ames lets out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Yeah. Soon as they’re back from their honeymoon, we’re leavin’. Amara’s set on exploring the world and saving those who need saved.”
Kaesee whistles low. “You gonna marry her?”
Ames doesn’t answer right away. I can tell by the way his shoulders stiffen that the thought rattles him. “Maybe. If she still wants me after a summer of isolation on the trail.”
“Hell,” Kaesee grins, “if she puts up with your smell, you better marry her.”
They laugh, the sound light and careless like wind rustling dry leaves.
I don’t laugh. Don’t smile.
Instead, I watch the road. Trees thin, giving way to open flats where the wheat fields will soon rise green and thick. Fences stretch in long, slouching lines along the horizon when they do appear, and a red hawk circles overhead, tail fanned like fire against the gray.
Ames leaving shouldn’t matter. Boys come and go. But something about it adds weight to the saddle pressing into my back.
Everything’s shifting. Everyone’s moving.
We started with eleven of us if we’re counting Riven, and we’ve already lost one on the trail to get from Missouri to Oregon. With Ames leaving, we’ll be down to nine.
And I’m still right where I always am, riding away from something I don’t understand, toward something I ain’t even sure I want.
All I know is, I hope to God Baker’s got something strong to drink and a great selection of diamonds.
