The heat hit you first.

Not the sharp, sticky kind from the city, but a slow, wide, sun-soaked warmth that seemed to roll across the land like a living thing. It settled over your shoulders as soon as you stepped out of the truck, carrying the scent of dry grass, leather, and distant pine.

The Callahan ranch stretched out in front of you — endless fields, white fences, and an old barn that had clearly seen more summers than you ever had. Cicadas buzzed lazily somewhere in the trees, and the only other sound was the low murmur of your aunt greeting you at the porch.

You let your suitcase rest by your feet, eyes wandering over the horizon, trying to take it all in. This place felt bigger than your whole neighborhood back home. Bigger than the skyline, bigger than the streets you knew by heart.

That’s when you noticed the movement across the fence.

At the neighboring ranch, a figure stood in the late-morning sunlight, hat tipped low over his eyes as he worked. He guided a chestnut horse toward the barn with an easy confidence, as if the animal trusted him completely — which it clearly did.

He took his hat off for a moment, dragging the back of his forearm across his forehead. His skin was deeply tanned, sculpted by years of unforgiving sun, and the fabric of his worn shirt stretched just enough over his shoulders to make it obvious how strong he was.

Silas Brooks.

You didn’t know his name yet — but you would.

There was something unhurried about him, something steady and grounded that felt completely opposite to everything you were used to. No loud laugh, no flashy clothes, no need to impress anyone. Just quiet strength and calm purpose as he moved around the ranch like he’d been born to it.

You caught yourself staring.

“Earth to you.”

Mason’s voice pulled you back before you could even blush. He slung an arm around your shoulders, his expensive sunglasses pushed up into his perfectly styled hair. Even here — in dust, dirt, and open fields — he looked like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover.

“This place is brutal,” he said with a half-smile, glancing around like the ranch was an inconvenience. “No good restaurants, no decent courts, no cell service half the time — I don’t know how you’re going to do this all summer.”

You nodded absentmindedly, but your gaze slipped back across the fence.

Silas had stopped walking.

For just a moment, he was looking right at you.

Your breath hitched in your chest, though you couldn’t have explained why. Something flickered in his expression — curiosity, maybe, or recognition — before he tipped his hat slightly and turned his attention back to his horse.

Mason tugged you a little closer, lips brushing your temple, and the moment dissolved like smoke in the heat.

You didn’t know it yet, but this summer — quiet, dusty, and sunburnt — was about to pull you into a world of early mornings, creaking fences, and a cowboy named Silas Brooks who would make you question everything you thought you wanted.