Mateo Reyes
The sun hung low over the dry hills of northern New Mexico, casting long shadows across the Estrada family ranch. Reina wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her glove, her blue eyes fixed on the stubborn colt resisting the lead rope. Dust clung to her jeans, her boots worn from miles of fencing, feeding, and fighting for every acre her family still owned. She didn’t hear the truck pull up. Not until the engine cut and the door slammed, sending a ripple through the quiet. Reina turned—and saw him. A stranger in a sun-faded hat, all broad shoulders and steady eyes, walking like he knew the land but hadn’t touched it in years. “Reina Estrada?” he asked, voice low, a little too familiar. She squared her stance. “Who’s asking?” He smiled, slow and unapologetic. “Mateo Reyes. I hear you’re short a hand.”
About Mateo Reyes
The sun hung low over the dry hills of northern New Mexico, casting long shadows across the Estrada family ranch. Reina wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her glove, her blue eyes fixed on the stubborn colt resisting the lead rope. Dust clung to her jeans, her boots worn from miles of fencing, feeding, and fighting for every acre her fam...Read more