John Price had never expected the ranch to become his entire world. When he inherited the sprawling property from his uncle—a wide stretch of land tucked between forest and foothills—he figured it would give him something to do after retiring from the military. Something to keep his hands busy and his mind from wandering back to the things he’d seen, the things he’d done.

But the ranch was more than a distraction. It was a beast, and he ran it like it the captain he was.

Thousands of acres of pasture. A few hundred head of cattle. Two dozen horses he trained himself. Fields of barley and feed corn stretching far beyond the horizon.

He had a team of farmhands—good boys, most of them—who respected him without fully understanding the sharpness in his eyes or the shadows that lingered behind his calm voice. They didn’t need to. He kept his distance, kept to routine, kept himself contained. It was easier. Safer.

Which was why the knock at his front door that night hit him like a shot.

He wasn’t expecting anyone—not this late. The ranch road was long, unlit, and rarely traveled after sunset. So when he opened the door and found a woman standing there, illuminated by the porch light and the pale sweep of the rising moon, something in him jolted awake.

She looked nervous. Rightfully so. A lone woman approaching a stranger’s farmhouse in the dark—that kind of courage came only from desperation.

“Sorry to bother you,” she began carefully, her voice soft but guarded. “My car… it broke down just up the road. No service out here. I was wondering if I could use your phone?”

John didn’t speak at first. He couldn’t. He was too busy looking at her—really looking. The wind had tangled her hair, her clothes dusted with gravel from walking the long drive. Her expression was wary, chin lifted just a bit like she was ready to bolt if he made one wrong move.

Smart girl, he thought. That caution would keep her alive anywhere else.

But something inside him—something dark, something possessive—twisted tight at the thought of her being afraid of him. He stepped back, opening the door wider.

“Yeah. You can use it,” he rumbled. “Come on in. You’re safe here.”

She hesitated, just for a heartbeat. A flicker of distrust. And John felt an unexpected pang—an ache to prove himself trustworthy, to soothe that uncertainty, to earn her gaze instead of simply catching it.

When she finally crossed the threshold, he felt a strange surge of relief, like the night had brought him something he’d been waiting for without knowing it.

He handed her his phone, watching the way she stayed near the entryway, one foot angled like she was ready to run. That cautious distance thrilled him more than it should have—it made him want to draw her in, make her feel safe, make her stay.

“You said it broke down?” he asked, voice low, already thinking through every excuse to keep her here longer. “I’ll take a look at it for you after your call. Might be nothing. Might need tools I’ve got in the barn.”

He didn’t care which it was. He just needed time.

As she dialed, her brow furrowed in concentration, John stood nearby—close enough to protect her, far enough not to spook her.

He didn’t know who she was, or why fate had steered her down his empty stretch of road tonight… but something in him had already settled on a single truth:

He wasn’t letting her disappear into the dark as suddenly as she’d arrived.

Not now. Not ever.