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Dawn was still fighting off the dark when Lando swung into the saddle for his usual morning ride. He needed the quiet while he could get it; around the farm, Wednesday meant all hands on deck from sunrise to nightfall.
Just like every Wednesday at first light, it was just him, his horse, and the empty stretch of dirt road swallowing up the silence.
But today, the dust kicked up a different story.
He was off somewhere in his own head when the heavy, rhythmic beat of a second horse thundered in from the left. Squinting through the pale morning haze, he caught sight of her—a woman pushing her mount through the quiet dawn.
She wasn't from around here—Lando knew every face in this valley. Around these parts, folks were separated by hundreds of acres, but nobody was a stranger.
“Mornin’!” she called out as soon as she spotted him, reining in her horse. “I hate to break your peace, but I’m turned all the way around. Can you point me toward the Russell place?”
The Russell place wasn't more than a short ride out, but the thick pine canopy made a maze of these woods. Navigating those tangled trails was a tricky piece of business for anybody who didn't grow up breathing this dirt.
“Just straight up the trail,” Lando said, his voice low and gravel-rough from the early hour. “Right next to the Norris place.”
His place. The Norris farm was his family's pride, sweat, and blood.
“I can lead you there myself, if you’ve a mind for the company,” he said, giving a slow shrug.
“Appreciate it,” she smiled, “but I’ll get by. Thanks, cowboy.”
Lando always bristled at being called cowboy—it felt cheap, like something out of a store-bought paperback. But the way the word rolled off her tongue made his chest tighten and his stomach take a sudden, unbidden drop. Her voice was soft, laced with just enough sweet provocation to leave him rooted right where he sat.
He didn't hold with love at first sight—that was a fool's notion. But there was no denying she was a strike-me-blind sight to behold. He sat frozen as she kicked her horse into a trot, twin braided pigtails bouncing against her back as she broke through the treeline toward the Russell place, right beside his own land. And right then, Lando knew one thing for certain: he was going to have to hear that voice again.
“Where in the hell have you been?” George asked, casting a slow, critical eye over the woman in front of him. She wasn't just his younger cousin—she was one of his best mates, too, though right now he was silently tearing her appearance to shreds. Stray hairs wisped wildly out of her braids, dust was caked thick across her thighs, and her boots were buried in fresh trail mud. She was late for the quiet breakfast gathering thrown for George and his fiancée, Carmen, ahead of their wedding in a few days.
“Go get cleaned up,” he grunted, shaking his head.
She took off toward her family's designated cabin for the week, taking the steps two at a time to get cleaned up. The Russell place was sprawling—they had money to burn—with compounds of ranch houses lined up across the estate, built specifically to hold the endless stream of kin and guests brought in for big family gatherings.
While she got cleaned up, Lando made his way inside. He was running late himself, though he'd had the sense to give George a heads-up beforehand. Stepping through the doors of the glass greenhouse—now outfitted as a grand dining hall—he was hit with the warm scent of fresh blooms mingled with something rich and sweet: fresh-baked biscuits, courtesy of his mother's pre-dawn hours in the kitchen before he’d hit the trail.
“Lando!” Mrs. Russell called out, a warm smile cutting through the room’s chatter as he crossed the threshold. “Glad you made it in time. Come on, take a load off.”
She steered him toward an open chair beside his buddy Alex and Alex’s wife, Lily. All around them, the hall was alive with noise—a pack of young Albon kids, George’s nieces and nephews, darting between tables alongside a handful of other children, likely distant kin from either George or Carmen’s side of the line.
Plates of food were passed down to Lando from every angle, mostly piled high by Mrs. Russell. She’d always had a soft spot for him and Alex, having watched the pair raise hell alongside George since they were all barely big enough to sit a horse. Chatter filled the room, but the chair directly to Lando's right remained vacant—likely saved for one of the kids currently tearing through the greenhouse.
Then, someone slipped into the empty seat beside him. Instantly, the heavy smells of coffee and fresh biscuits were cut by something soft, clean, and floral—a scent entirely foreign to the dust and pine of the valley.
“What’d I miss?”
That same soft, sweet voice cut through the room’s chatter right into his ear. Lando came damn near close to tipping his head back in pure gratitude, muttering a quiet “thank you” up toward the heavens.
“Nothing major,” George says, who is now standing between and behind the woman and Lando.
“Lando, meet my baby cousin, the one we visit up in the city,” George says, laying his left hand on Lando's right shoulder. “YN, this is Lando, one of my best friends and best men.”
George had two best men for his wedding, because he can do that. Lando and Alex.
“Don't call me a baby, I'm twenty-one—but we’ve met,” YN said, giving George a brief nod before turning her gaze directly to Lando. “Crossed paths on the trail.”
Her eyes locked onto his, holding them with a quiet, steady challenge.
“So that’s why the two of you were late?” George asked, his brow furrowing as he connected the dots.
“No,” Lando shot back before the words could even settle. “Told you already—the stables needed tending first.”
“Uh-huh,” George grunted, letting his hand slide off Lando’s shoulder.
YN turned her focus to the food in front of her, striking up a quiet conversation with Carmen. But George didn't miss the way Lando’s eyes drifted sideways, tracking his little cousin. Recognizing that look all too well, George jabbed a finger in his direction—half playful, half dead-serious.
“You,” he warned under his breath. “Behave.”
Lando rolled his eyes, taking a slow sip from his mug. “I’m not doing a damn thing.”
“No,” George said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not yet, anyway.”
With a final, knowing smirk, George turned to greet a few lingering relatives before heading back to take his place beside Carmen.
The next few days bled into one another, marked by a quiet, simmering game of cat and mouse. Lando watched YN with intentional, heavy eyes, and she threw the look right back with a deliberate, teasing edge. At one point, Lando nearly snapped. She knew damn well what she was doing to him, and she was thoroughly enjoying every second of it—mostly because he couldn't do a single thing about it under George's sharp, eagle-eyed watch.
It was an unwritten law around these parts: you don't mess with a friend’s family. And for YN, you don't mess with family friends. Nobody wanted the bitter fallout if things went south, so you kept your hands to yourself and your mind off the temptation.
But then again, you weren't a true Norris if you didn't bend a few rules—and you sure as hell weren't a Russell if you didn't get exactly what you wanted.
Not a single word passed between Lando and YN after that morning on the trail. Not through the rest of the week, not during the wedding, and not even now, as the festivities wrapped up and YN’s family readied their cars to head back out in the city. The air between them remained thick, charged with everything left unsaid.
YN caught sight of Lando across the yard while she was loading the last of her family's bags into the car. He was already watching her, his gaze steady and waiting. Closing the distance between them, she walked over until she stood just across from him, nothing separating them but the wooden rail of the fence.
“Safe trav—”
Lando's words were cut short as YN reached across the rail, tangling one hand in the nape of his neck while the other threaded deep through his dark curls. Pulling him down to her height, she captured his mouth with hers, closing the gap in a single, sudden kiss.
Lando's hands slammed against the fence rail to catch his balance, his boots sliding in the dirt as the sudden pull caught him off guard. Thank God the yard was empty—and thank God George was already miles away on his honeymoon, nowhere near enough to catch them.
What started as something sweet and alluring quickly turned deep and hungry. The second Lando’s mind caught up to what was actually happening, any lingering restraint vanished. He brought his hand up to cup the back of her head, anchoring her close, desperate for more of her lips, more of her taste, more of everything she was offering.
When YN finally pulled back, Lando instinctively leaned in to chase her lips, only for the wooden rail of the fence to press hard against his chest, halting him in his tracks. Breathing heavily, he looked down at her, his eyes drifting straight to her lips—swollen, glistening, and thoroughly wrecked by his own.
“Had to make the move myself, or you never would’ve,” YN said, a bold, knowing grin breaking across her face. She backed away toward the car, her gaze never leaving his. “Goodbye, cowboy.”
She turned and walked away, timing it just right as her family emerged from the house to load up. Lando stood by the fence, watching her every move—the way she climbed into the driver’s seat, the way she rolled the window down to blow him one last, subtle kiss, and the quiet grin on her face as she finally pulled off the farm, kicking up a trail of dust as she drove back toward the city.
Lando was down bad—completely and utterly hooked. Standing by the fence with the dust lingering in her tire tracks, he knew right then and there
that he needed to find out what else she was capable of.
And just how far she was willing to take this.