Adam straightened, rain pouring off the brim of his hat. “Because someone has to.”
“Yep, and that’s solid. Maybe the pretty Hollywood lady is looking for solid. Might as well give her a real chance,” Hawk said quietly.
Adam didn’t answer.
Hawk pressed on. “You make sure the town’s okay. You make sure neighbors are okay. You make sure I’m okay. And then you go home alone and act like that’s just how it is.”
Adam scoffed and barely kept from reminding Hawk how hard he’d fought against loving Dawn. The entire town had finally gotten involved and brought the moron to his senses. “So now that you’re settled, everyone else has to follow suit?”
Hawk smiled faintly. “I’m not saying everyone. I’m saying you deserve the option.”
Adam shook his head hard. “No way. Bianca isn’t—” He stopped, exhaled. “She’s not staying. She likes momentum. She likes what comes next. That’s fine. But it’s not this.” He gestured at the fence, the land, the soaked morning pressing in around them. “It’s not here.”
Hawk watched him for a long moment. “Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be real.”
Adam looked away, out toward the trees blurred by rain. “Real still leaves.”
Before Hawk could answer, the sound of hooves cut through the rain.
Adam turned as two riders came over the rise along the fence line. Both rode easy and confident, their horses picking the way through the mud without hesitation, heads low, ears flicking, accustomed to bad weather and worse ground. Oilskin coats were darkened nearly to black by the rain, and the cowboy hats were pulled low with their brims dripping steady streams of water.
“The Nevins are out early,” Hawk noted, leaning on a shovel.
The Nevin land ran along the other side of Adam’s place for miles in rolling pasture broken up by stands of cottonwood and creek-fed lowlands. The Nevins had been there for generations. People said eons, only half joking. Their great-grandfather had driven cattle across this same ground before fences existed to argue about. They ran cattle first and foremost, but they’d learned early not to put all their faith in one thing—rotating crops through the flatter stretches, barley and hay mostly, keeping the land working and productive without stripping it bare.
Thatcher Nevin swung down first. The eldest twin was tall, broad-shouldered, and built thick through the chest and arms, the kind of man who looked carved rather than trained. His dark hair curled at the edges beneath his hat, rain plastering it back, green eyes sharp and assessing even when relaxed.
Pike followed a heartbeat later, leaner and faster, already grinning as his boots hit the ground, dark hair cut shorter, blue eyes bright with humor and curiosity. Fraternal twins, unmistakable but never confused. Thatcher was steady and deliberate, Pike restless and quick, and both solid as the land they worked.
They’d been rodeo stars once and now ranched hard.
“Hell of a morning for fence work,” Thatcher called, voice carrying easily through the rain.
Hawk smiled. “You boys lost?”
“Heard you were hurt.” Pike hopped across the sagging wire without breaking stride. “Figured we’d come see how bad.”
Thatcher’s gaze went straight to Hawk’s cast. “You look like hell.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” Hawk said.
They crossed the boundary line without hesitation. The edges of all ranches in the area were blurred by decades of sharedwork, shared water rights, borrowed equipment, and favors that were never written down. Thatcher nodded at Adam. “Hey. Good to see you.”
“Morning,” Adam said.
“I heard that you’re already dating the Hollywood lady,” Pike added cheerfully.
Adam shot Hawk a look. Hawk lifted his good hand. “Wasn’t me.”
Thatcher chuckled. “The town is awash in joy at the thought of a new romance.”
“Jealous?” Adam asked dryly.
Pike laughed. “Maybe a little. Mostly impressed.” He rolled wide shoulders. “We sat in the back during the town meeting. That gal is pretty.”
“Very,” Thatcher agreed.
They grabbed spare gloves and fell into the work without being asked—taking posts, tightening wire, moving with the easy coordination of men who’d fixed fences their whole lives. Thatcher worked methodically, testing each repair twice. Pike talked while he worked, cracking jokes, asking questions, keeping the mood light without slowing anything down.