I set the house rules that keep this windswept ranch from falling to ruin, and Prudence obeys every single one without question. Her yielding in the dust-choked corral at dawn turns the tally rope and the branding into something far more intimate than work, pulling me toward commands I should never give a woman who needs the protection of my control.

She fears being cast out with nothing left. I fear watching another home collapse under my watch, though I mask it behind the commands that draw her closer with each passing order and every measured correction that binds her to me.

The hayloft is where I collect on the rules. I tell her to stay exactly where she stands, and my hand reaches for the rope on the hook.