“About Circle P.”
“Yes.”
“About Ash’s offer.”
“Yes.”
“You agree too much.”
“Trying something new.”
Lou moved closer.
Emmett went still.
She could feel the space between them.
Weeks of almost.
Kitchen lamplight.
A thorn.
Storm rain.
Arguments.
Dust.
His coat over her in the barn.
“We may lose the contract.”
“Yes.”
“We may lose the ranch.”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Ash may still beat us.”
“Yes.”
Lou looked at his mouth.
“Stop agreeing.”
“All right.”
She leaned forward.
Emmett did not move.
“Coward,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Lou kissed him.
For one heartbeat he remained perfectly still.
Then one hand came carefully to her waist.
Not pulling.
Asking.
Lou answered by moving closer.
The kiss lasted only seconds.
Maybe ten.
Maybe a lifetime.
When they separated, Emmett rested his forehead against hers.
“You still angry?”
“Yes.”
“Fair.”
She smiled.
“Do that again.”
He did.
Morning brought reality.
They had no time for romance.
Winnemucca remained eighty miles away.
Three days before the contract window closed.
The herd was tired.
So were the horses.
Ash was behind but gaining.
Lou set a pace that frightened even her.
Emmett challenged her before noon.
“Too fast.”
“We need distance.”
“We need cattle alive.”
“They can rest tomorrow.”
“They won’t reach tomorrow if you burn them today.”
Lou snapped, “My herd.”
“Yes.”
The answer stopped her.
He was not trying to win ownership.
Only judgment.
Lou looked across the steers.
Foam on several mouths.
Heads low.
He was right.
She hated that.
“Two hours.”
Emmett nodded.
They rested.
Ash gained six miles.
But Bitter Brush cattle recovered.
By evening they traveled stronger than Circle P.
Lou learned something she should have known already.
A race was not always won by the fastest movement.
Sometimes the most dangerous urgency was refusing to stop.
On the final night before Winnemucca, disaster came quietly.
No storm.
No sabotage.
No dramatic enemy.
One lame lead steer.
Then another.
Then six.
Tomás examined hooves.
“Stone bruise.”
Emmett checked the ground.
The trail ahead crossed twelve miles of broken volcanic rock.
They could continue and cripple animals.
Or detour eight miles east to softer soil.
Eight miles might cost the contract.
Lou stood over the map.
Ash’s dust appeared ten miles behind.
Perch said nothing.
Everyone waited.
This was her decision.
Emmett did not advise until asked.
That mattered.
Lou looked at him.
“What do you think?”
“East.”
“We lose time.”
“Yes.”
“Ash passes.”
“Maybe.”
“And if we stay?”
“We could arrive first with cattle nobody wants.”
Lou closed her eyes.
Winnemucca paid by accepted head.
Sound cattle.
Weight requirement.