It was just after nine when I nished with the evening chores: feeding and watering all the animals, bringing the sheep in from the pasture, putting Gretchen and George back in their stalls, and dealing with an animal that refused to listen. I was done much later than usual because I had to prep for shearing. My sheep were sheared once a year, and it was a grueling task that I never looked forward to. Pulling my shirt up to my face, I wiped the sweat from my brow and made my way up the porch steps. I hadn’t seen Grace since this morning and wondered what she had done all day. My mind kept going back to her, no matter what chore I was doing. Cutting the grass, Grace. Cleaning the horse stalls, Grace. Fixing and fortifying a shed, Grace. She was staying in my home and living in my mind. I was consumed by her.

I slid o my work boots before going inside. An unfamiliar smell invaded my nose as I pushed open the door. Earthy and sweet and acidic and meaty. It de nitely wasn’t anything I had ever cooked. I strolled into the kitchen and found Grace at the stove, dressed in those leggings she was wearing earlier today. She was swaying her hips while stirring a wooden spoon in a frying pan. A country song played softly on the radio, and a glass of wine and an open bottle sat on the counter beside her. She clearly hadn’t heard me come in, and I was appreciating the time I got to watch her, to examine her. Goddamn, she looked good in those leggings.

Leaning against the wall, I dusted my shirt o so I was somewhat

presentable.

“Whatcha doing, Grace?”

She jumped a little, turning around quickly. Her mouth was partially open but she forced it into a smile. Grace set the wooden spoon down and grabbed her glass of wine, bringing it to her lips for a slow sip.

“I’m cooking you a proper meal.” She raised one eyebrow just over the rim of her glass.

“Is that so?” I slipped a hand in my front jeans pocket. I was never sure what to do with my hands when I was around Grace because I wanted to put them on her.

“Oh, it is,” she said, setting the glass down.

“I thought the meal I prepared for you last night was pretty proper. But I’m intrigued, Miss Grace. What’s a proper meal to you?” I smirked.

“Come here, and I’ll show you.” She beckoned me with her hand and returned to stirring one of the pots.

Just as I started walking over to Grace, I heard it. Clucking that grew louder, faster, and more persistent. Immediately, I realized the grave mistake I had made.

“Shit,” I yelled, running into the living room. I grabbed the -gauge shotgun from the replace mantel and slipped on my work boots.

“What’s wrong?” Grace called out. I heard her footsteps padding behind me as I burst through the screen door onto the porch. ere was no time to explain, so I didn’t answer.

e chickens and ducks were huddled in a group o to one side of the pond, moving in sync. e ducks practically screamed and the chickens clucked nonstop. I took o running toward them, spotting a couple of chickens on the other side of the pond, lying still. Heads were completely ripped o and blood pooled around their open necks. A light shined behind me, and I turned quickly to nd Grace just a few yards back with a ashlight in hand. Smart girl, I thought. She moved it in all directions as I got closer to the pond.

I held the shotgun up, ready to shoot, as I looked for the creature that did

this. Technically, I had a hand in this too. Grace was only a couple of steps behind me now, and she gasped when she spotted the dead chickens. Death was something you just got used to way out here. Too many predators. Finally, there it was, chomping on the head of a chicken. ree feet long from nose to tail and weighing at least thirty- ve pounds. e creature’s eyes lit up like yellow orbs. e body of the chicken laid a couple of feet away. I held the gun steady and red o a round, missing by a few inches. Lucky bastard. e raccoon quickly scampered o . e second shot missed too. Shit. ere was no time to reload. e animal was gone, and four of my chickens were dead. I had gotten lucky too though. A raccoon could kill a ock in minutes.

I let out a deep breath and lowered the shotgun, wiping the sweat from my brow.

“Are you okay?” Grace asked. She was standing beside me, looking up at me with those blue, blue eyes.

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head.

Grace was clearly confused by my answer and my body language. I was ne, but I was pissed at myself for making such a careless mistake. What if this had happened to one of my more valuable animals? It could have cost me everything.

“I forgot to put the chickens and the ducks in their coop, which is the equivalent of ringing a dinner bell out here for predators.” e birds were much quieter now that the animal was gone.

“I can’t believe a raccoon did this,” she said as her eyes scanned over the bloody carcasses.

I looked over at Grace, drawing my brows together.

“ ey may look cute and cuddly but don’t let them fool you. ey’re vicious killers.”

Her eyes met mine. “What do you do now?”

“I’ve gotta get rid of the dead chickens. ey’ll just draw in more predators, and there’s no shortage of those around here. en, I gotta get the rest of them

secured in the coop.”

“I can help.” She didn’t even hesitate to o er.

“I’ve got it. You go in and eat.” I waved a hand dismissively.

“No, I want to help, and then we can have that proper dinner together,” she said. Grace didn’t smile, but it was like her eyes did.

I nodded and returned the smile she hadn’t given me. Most women couldn’t stomach the harsh reality of ranch life. But Grace clearly wasn’t most women.

I showered after we took care of everything outside. Grace got the chickens and ducks back in the coop while I disposed of the dead ones. She had surprised me again by staying out and helping me with the worst part of ranching. Walking down the hallway dressed in a clean tee and sweatpants, I could smell that sweet, acidic, earthy scent again. It was late, and I had told her she didn’t have to wait up for me while I showered, but she insisted on sitting down for dinner.

In the kitchen I found Grace taking her seat at the table. She set two glasses

of red wine beside two plates that were already served. “It smells amazing,” I said.

She looked up and smiled. “It tastes even better. Take a seat.” Grace gestured to the chair across from her.

“What do we have here?” I asked while I sat down.

Grace pointed to the plate. “ ese are balsamic-and-honey-glazed brussels sprouts with bacon. I picked them myself.”

“You know how to pick brussels sprouts?” I raised an eyebrow in a teasing way.

“Of course. ey sell them by the stalk at the farmers markets in the city.”

I let on a grin and nodded.

“ is right here,” she pointed, “is honey-glazed salmon with a spicy soy sauce.”

I laid a napkin in my lap, never taking my eyes o of her. “You are an impressive woman.”

“ anks.”

“Cheers.” I held out my glass.

She picked hers up and tilted her head. “What are we cheers-ing to?”

“To proper meals and good company.” I wanted to add that lasts forever but I left it out. Coming on too strong was a quick way to get shot down. I knew from experience.

Grace smiled and clinked hers against mine. “Cheers.”

I watched her bottom lip press against the glass as she swallowed the liquid, and then I took my drink. I wanted that bottom lip. It was plump and begged to be bitten or sucked on. I ran my tongue against my teeth and imagined sinking them into her.

“Almost forgot. Shall we say grace rst, Grace,” I said, extending my hand out to hers.

She shook her head and looked awkwardly at me and then at her plate. “I’m

not religious.”

I retracted my hand. “Yeah, me neither. I just like tradition. My mistake.” I grabbed my fork and dove into the brussels sprouts rst, just to get them out of the way. If I still had my dog, I’d have “accidentally” tossed these things on the ground for him to eat. But he passed last spring. Most things didn’t survive this ranch. I was the exception.

Grace watched me, waiting for my reaction.

“ ese are fantastic,” I lied through a mouth full of food. “Hands down, best sprouts I’ve ever had.” e second part wasn’t a lie. I had eaten a single one when I was a child and immediately spit it out. I gulped red wine, forcing those fart-smelling, poor excuse of a vegetable down my throat.

She smiled wide. I’d lie to Grace every day to keep her happy. “Okay, now

the salmon . . .” she pointed at my plate.

I sliced through the corner of it and scooped it onto my fork. e refreshing taste of the sh mixed with the sweetness of the honey, the saltiness of the soy, and the spiciness of the hot sauce melded together perfectly. “Incredible,” I said in between bites, and I meant it.

Grace beamed and then proceeded to nally start eating. She was pleased that I was pleased. I liked that about her.

“You feeling all right after the chicken incident?” I asked. I hoped that hadn’t scared her away but she seemed to have already put it behind her.

“Yeah,” she said, tilting her head. “I’ll admit, it was quite jarring, but I understand things like that happen out here.”

“I lost the whole ock when I rst took over the ranch. Coop wasn’t secured enough and a weasel got in there.” I shook my head and sipped my wine.

“A weasel? Aren’t those tiny little things?”

“Yep. ey don’t weigh more than a pound, but they’re killers. ey can slink through something as small as the diameter of a wedding ring.” I shoveled a forkful of salmon into my mouth.

Grace took small bites and chewed many times before she swallowed. “How’d you know it was a weasel?”

“From how they kill. ey bite the base of an animal’s skull. Two bites and it’s dead. ey stack the carcasses up neatly too like some sort of ritual. And they’ll only eat part of one or two chickens but will slaughter the rest of them for fun.”

“ at’s awful.” Grace brought her glass of wine to her lips and took a slow sip.

“It is, but that’s ranch living.”

“Well, I don’t deal with any of that in the city. e only predators that live there are other humans,” she said with a forced laugh.

“I’ll take a weasel and a raccoon over that any day.” I smirked.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, stealing glances from one another. I was

drawn to Grace. We were from very di erent worlds, but deep down, I felt like

we were alike in some way—not sure which, but I knew we were. And I think she liked my world.

“I didn’t see ya until late, what did ya do all day?” I asked.

e corner of her lip perked up. “I went out and got myself some ‘proper Wyoming wear,’ as you put it.”

“I’d love to see you in that.” I let out an awkward cough, realizing how forward that was. Grace dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and I quickly moved the conversation along.

“Did you meet Betty?”

She nodded and stirred the food around on her plate like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to say it. “Did you mention her to me?”

I thought back to my conversations with Betty. I couldn’t recall if I did or not. “I’m sure I did. I talk to Betty about everything. She’s like a second mom to me.” I took another bite of salmon.

Grace nodded slightly and gave a tight smile. I’m not sure what that was about, but I assumed there was something about Betty she didn’t like. Betty meant well. She was a woman that spoke her mind and sometimes it didn’t come o all that great. But she didn’t have a mean bone in her body . . . at least that I knew of. Or perhaps Grace looked down on us country folks, and she was just being polite toward me. Maybe I was reading her all wrong. I held my head a little higher and took another bite of her nasty brussels sprouts.

Grace paused her eating and furrowed her brow. “Do you know anything about cars?”

“Not really my specialty. What’s up?”

“ e check engine light came on when I was leaving Betty’s store, and it started shaking when I drove back. Like when I accelerated.” She let out a sigh.

at must be what’s got her acting tense. I suppose I’d feel the same way if I was staying in a strange place so far from home with a shoddy car.

“Well, my brother Joe is real good with cars. He’ll be over here this week, and I can have him take a look at it.”

Grace took a long sip of her wine. “ at’d be great.”

I wondered why she hesitated. Maybe she didn’t like accepting help— typical city girl type of thing.

“You said you moved back to take over the ranch. Your brother, why didn’t

he do it?” Grace asked.

I shoveled a forkful of salmon into my mouth and chewed slowly. “Mom and Dad wanted me to. It was in their will, and I respected their wishes.”

She tilted her head and looked at me like she was looking into my soul. “You must have really loved them to do that, to give up your life and come back to live theirs.”

I sipped my wine while deciding how to respond. I didn’t like talking about them. Even though they were gone, their presence was here, heavy and dark.

I set the empty glass down and looked to Grace. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Standing, I grabbed my plate. “You done?” I asked.

Grace nodded, pushing her dish toward me. Over at the sink, I turned on the faucet.

“Let me help you clean up,” Grace said, half standing.

I icked my hand at her. “Nonsense. You cooked. I’ll clean,” I said, closing the drain and squirting Dawn dish soap into the basin.

Grace smiled and took her seat. She re lled both our glasses and brought hers to her lips. “I could get used to this,” she said, taking a sip. Her eyes peered over the glass, running up and down my body.

“I could too, Grace.” I gave her a coy smile and slid the pans into the dishwater. If I’m being honest, I was already used to it. Grace would be a hard habit to break. Nearly impossible.