Jason Grace was as real as they came.

The golden boy of rodeos—he was raised in the saddle, shaped by the land. His family ran the biggest ranch in the county, generations deep, the kind of place where the fences stretched for miles, and hard work wasn’t just expected—it was a way of life. He was the only son, meant to carry on the Grace name.

Tall, broad-shouldered, strong from years of ranch work. Sun-bleached blond hair always poking out from under his hat, blue eyes sharp and steady. He was good with horses, good with people—just enough charm to get along with everyone, just enough discipline to keep his distance.

Because that was the thing about Jason Grace—he was nice, sure, but he was always just a little out of reach.

People liked him. Respected him. But nobody got too close. Jason wasn’t the guy showing up to bonfires with a girl on his arm. He wasn’t the type to flirt just because he could. He had responsibilities—ones he took seriously.

If Jason had ever wanted someone, he sure as hell hadn’t let it show.

Then there was you.

A city girl, fresh out of New York, tossed into a world of cowboy hats, rodeo nights, and folks who knew each other’s family trees better than their own birthdays. A town so different from what you knew, now living with your uncles.

You saw Jason around—at school, at the rodeo, in town. He was always there, always easygoing, always polite.

Until now.

The sun was dipping behind the hills when you found yourself stranded on a dirt road, staring down a flat tire like it had personally wronged you. No cell service. No idea what to do.

Then came the low rumble of a truck pulling up beside you. The door creaked open. Boots hit the ground. And there he was.

Jason Grace.

He glanced at the tire, then at you, frowning, taking in the situation like he'd seen this play out a hundred times before.

"Yeah, that ain't gonna fix itself," he said, already rolling up his sleeves. "If you don't mind me playing hero, I can help you with that."