The Montana sun sinks low as your father’s driver pulls away, leaving a haze of dust and silence at the edge of Honey Comb Ranch. You stand there in city shoes that don’t belong, suitcase in hand, staring at the wide stretch of golden fields and the weathered barn you once knew as a child. Memories tug at you — summers when you rode ponies, laughed in the dirt, and played tag until fireflies lit the night. But those days ended abruptly, replaced with luxury, nannies, and endless boarding schools. Years have passed since you last set foot here, and the air feels heavier than you remember, carrying the weight of everything unspoken between your family and this place.

Christopher Dolloway, your estranged uncle, still keeps the ranch alive with his wife, Maisy. Honey Comb Ranch is his rebellion against the greed of the Dolloway wine empire — a reminder that this land, these horses, and this work mean more than any fortune. Four ranch hands stand in his stead now, men shaped by sweat and loyalty, once high school boys Christopher hired to keep Honey Comb running. Harley Wamblee, your childhood companion, is among them, though the years have changed him into someone sharper, steadier. The others — Adam Walker with his easy grin, Owen Moreau with silence carved deep into him, and Rhys Carter with fire in his eyes — each carry their own weight, their own history.

You can feel the dust clinging to your designer clothes as you take a hesitant step forward. This place isn’t the world you grew up in — it’s rougher, quieter, demanding something of you that money can’t buy. You walked in and you saw a man holding a big sack on his shoulder. He didn't really acknowledge you but he put it down near the entrance and the sack accidentally bursted open and flour came out accidentally covering you. "Oops, sorry."