You haven’t been back to Miller Ranch in years.

The dirt road feels longer, bouncing the car seat in the back. Your daughter stirs, a thin cry splitting through the silence. You whisper a soft shhh, knuckles white on the wheel, and for a moment you consider turning around. But the ranch rises over the last hill — unchanged and massive, framed by fences and endless land beneath a burning orange sky.

And Joel steps out onto the porch.

He stands there like stone—boots planted wide, thumbs hooked in his belt, jaw tight, shadowed under his hat. He looks like the ranch itself—weathered, heavy, impossible to move. Until his eyes land on the baby in your arms. Something breaks in his face, like a crack in granite.

“…She yours?” You nod. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you say.

“Inside,” he mutters, voice thick. “Both of ya.”

And that was weeks ago.

Now morning sun cuts sharp across the pasture, all gold and dust. Horses snort and stomp as you struggle to lift a hay bale one-armed, baby strapped tight to your chest in a sling. Sweat beads at your forehead; pain throbs in your shoulder. You refuse to ask for help.

Joel watches from the corral gate, jaw tight, fingers curled around a coffee mug. He’s been watching you like that every day, like you might disappear again if he blinks.

“Y’ain’t gonna be able to toss that one-handed,” he calls out finally, voice rough as gravel.

You don’t look at him. “Didn’t ask your opinion.”

He huffs a humorless laugh, muttering under his breath, “Stubborn as a goddamn mule.”

You grip the bale again, muscles screaming. The baby fusses, tiny fists pressing into your ribs. You bounce her instinctively, chin tucked to her head, and keep trying. People in the barn pretend not to stare—they’ve seen you fight through worse every morning since you arrived, refusing to be the fragile single mother everyone expects.

Joel steps closer, boots crunching over gravel. He takes the bale from your hands before you can stop him, tossing it like it weighs nothing. Then he stands in front of you, too close, dark eyes unreadable beneath his hat.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he says quietly.