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Her tone shifted, growing softer. “But no, I’m not missing the city. Sure, there are very few people I miss, very few, but the actual place? No. It would be a lie if I said I did.” She paused, her voice dipping lower, more sincere. “And lying to you isn’t something I plan on doing, Colton.”

Her words knocked the breath out of me. There was no teasing in her tone, no playful jab to ease the weight of what she’d said. Just honesty.

I swallowed hard, clutching the phone like it was the only thing keeping me tethered. “I’m glad to hear that,” I managed, my voice quieter than I’d meant it to be.

Talking to Eleanor tonight made one thing painfully clear: She was searching for something—something new, something different—and it hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. There was a hunger in her voice, a quiet yearning for change, and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking, What if that change is here?

The realization stirred something in me, something reckless and determined. I wanted to take that longing of hers and give it roots. I wanted to show her that everything she was looking for could be found here, in this life.

For the rest of our time together, I’d show Eleanor this is where she could belong. If she was already feeling conflicted about returning to the city, wasn’t this my chance? Wasn’t this the opening I needed to show her what she could have if she stayed?

But as much as I wanted to believe this would work, a sliver of doubt lodged itself in my chest. What if, in the end, she still chose to leave? What if all the effort, all the hope, wasn’t enough to change her mind?

I could never see myself living in the city.

Even then, at least I’d have my answer. At least I’d know I’d done everything I could. And maybe—just maybe—that would make letting her go a little easier.

Deep down, I already knew the truth: Letting Eleanor go wasn’t going to be easy. Hell, it was going to be damn near impossible. Because a woman like her? She was the kind you fought for. The kind you didn’t give up on, even when the odds weren’t in your favor.

And I’d be damned if I let her slip away without a fight.

Chapter 29

Eleanor

THREE WEEKS. THAT was all the time I had left before I’d be packing my bags and heading back to the city. Somehow, it didn’t feel like nearly enough.

Being out here was changing me in ways I hadn’t expected. It felt like someone had hit the reset button on my life, altering my brain chemistry and giving me a version of myself I hadn’t seen in years. I felt lighter. Happier. And the crazy thing? I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d felt this good.

There was something about the stillness here that worked magic on my soul. No honking cars, no constant buzz of people, no skyscrapers looming over me like concrete giants. Just fresh air, open skies, and the sound of my own breathing.

In the city, I was wound tight—a ball of tension ready to snap at any moment. But here? Here, I could exhale. I was different, and in the best possible way.

Maybe when I got back, I’d take this as a sign. A sign to actually use all that vacation time I’d been hoarding. I had the time, I had the money—so why didn’t I ever take advantage of it? Control. I hated relying on others to keep things afloat.

Though, since coming out here, things had been good. No red flags, no emergency signals calling me home.

This was my last night in Rusty Creek, Wyoming, before Colton and I headed to the next ranch. Another drive, another stretch of highway. I hoped this time it would be smooth sailing—no flat tires, no detours, no distractions.

Then again, maybe I did secretly hope for a delay. Just a little one. Something to slow down the inevitable, to stretch out these moments that felt like borrowed time.

I could scream for thinking this way, could kick myself for allowing myself to be this concerned with a man.

The bake sale had gone off without a hitch. Colton was there, present as ever, chatting with everyone and making his rounds. The turnout was better than I could’ve imagined—not just Stone Ranch guests, but locals who came out to support the cause. We raised a decent amount, and Colton being Colton, promised to match every penny.

I’d spent most of the event capturing moments on my phone—pictures, videos, little snippets I knew I’d want to look back on later and would perform well on social media, of course. I even made a post about the final donation amount, which reminded me: I needed to call Laney and have her connect with the organization about receiving the funds.

Colton had handled the actual phone call to deliver the news, though. I insisted he do it. Watching him stumble through the conversation was worth every second.

The woman on the other end of the line started crying—happy tears—and Colton froze. His eyes went wide, silently screaming for help. I, naturally, let him fumble his way through it.

“Uh, ma’am,” he’d said, his voice cautious, “are you okay?”

It was the funniest thing I’d seen all week, and it only made the day that much sweeter.

Now, I sat in the hot tub on the balcony of my room, watching the Wyoming sky bleed into shades of gold and purple for one last evening.

The mountains stood in the distance, and the cool evening breeze kissed my damp skin. A bottle of bourbon sat on the ledge beside me, courtesy of room service. Tonight, I was treating myself—to the view, the warmth of the water, and the sharp comfort of amber liquid over ice.