The Rancher’s Runaway Bride (The Mountain Man’s Mail-Order Bride #4)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

L ayla

Adjusting to ranch life isn’t just harder than I expected—it’s downright humiliating. My feet slide in the muddy chicken coop as I chase a rogue hen with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. The basket in my hand tips precariously, eggs threatening to tumble out. The hen flaps its wings, squawking loudly, and I let out a frustrated shriek.

“Need some help there, kitten?” Cal’s deep drawl carries from the barn door. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Nope. I’ve got it,” I snap, clutching the basket like it holds the meaning of life.

The smirk widens. “Sure looks like it.”

The hen darts between my legs, and I lunge forward, nearly losing my balance. My knees hit the dirt, but I manage to grab the slippery bird. Triumph surges through me as I hold it up, feathers ruffled and glaring at me like I’m the villain in its story.

“See?” I huff, shooting Cal a glare. “Under control.”

He chuckles, low and deep, shaking his head. “Under control, huh? You’re covered in more dirt than the chickens.”

I glance down at my once-pristine leggings, now smeared with mud, and bite back a curse. “You’re welcome for the fresh eggs,” I retort, shoving past him toward the house.

“Don’t forget to wash off that city attitude while you’re at it,” he calls after me, laughing.

Later, in the kitchen, I’m attempting to cook breakfast for the second time this week. The first attempt ended with a smoke detector and a very unimpressed Cal. This time, I’m determined to get it right. Pancakes should be simple, right? Just mix, pour, flip.

Easy.

Except the batter is lumpy, the first pancake burns before I can flip it, and the second one oozes across the pan like a crime scene.

“You trying to set off the smoke alarm again?” Cal’s voice startles me, and I whirl around to see him leaning in the doorway, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.

“Don’t you have a horse to wrangle or something?” I snap, waving the spatula at him.

“This is much more entertaining.” He steps into the kitchen, sniffing the air. “Smells... unique.”

I glare at him. “It’s called effort. You should try it sometime.”

He chuckles, reaching around me to grab a mug from the cabinet. His proximity sends a shiver down my spine, and I hate the way my body reacts to him—like it’s forgotten he’s an infuriating, grumpy know-it-all.

“Effort’s great, but edible’s better,” he teases, pouring himself coffee.

I grit my teeth, flipping another pancake. It lands slightly crooked in the pan but doesn’t immediately burn, so I count it as a win.

“Why are you even in here?” I ask, desperate to shift the attention off my kitchen failures.

“Just checking to see if the house is still standing.” His tone is light, but his gaze lingers, studying me. “You’re determined. I’ll give you that.”

Before I can respond, the sound of a truck engine cuts through the air. Cal glances out the window. “That’ll be the guys.”

“The guys?”

“You’ll see.”

The "guys" turn out to be Cal’s closest friends—Ridge, Zane, Slate, Grady, Fox, and Liam. They spill into the house like a tidal wave of testosterone, their laughter and teasing filling the space. Duke weaves between their legs, tail wagging like he’s just hit the jackpot.

“You must be the famous mail-order bride,” Ridge says, flashing a charming grin as he holds out a hand. “I’m Ridge.”

I shake his hand, ignoring Cal’s grumble behind me. “Layla. Nice to meet you.”

“So, what do you think of Cal so far?” Ridge asks, winking. “Grumpiest cowboy in Devil’s Peak, right?”

“Grumpiest? That’s being generous,” I quip, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Cal glares at me, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes. Amusement? Maybe even pride? It’s hard to tell with him.

By early afternoon the men have settled in for a game of poker. I linger at the edge of the room, unsure if I should stay or retreat. Zane notices and pats the chair beside him. “Come on, Layla. Sit in. You can’t be worse than Slate over here.”

“Hey!” Slate protests, throwing a chip at Zane.

I laugh, taking the seat. “I’ve never played poker.”

“Perfect,” Zane says. “You’ll fit right in.”

The game starts, and I quickly realize that poker is less about the cards and more about the banter. The men are relentless, teasing each other over every bet, and I can’t help but get caught up in the energy.

“Raise,” I say, pushing a stack of chips forward.

“You sure about that, princess?” Cal’s voice cuts through the noise, low and challenging.

I glance at him, meeting his steady gaze. “Positive.”

He smirks. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?”

He leans forward, his presence commanding. “You’ve got tells, Layla.”

“Do I?” My heart pounds, the intensity between us crackling like a live wire.

“You blink too much when you’re nervous,” he says, his voice dropping. “And you’re chewing your lip.”

I stop mid-chew, heat rising to my cheeks. “Maybe I’m just distracting you.”

The men erupt into laughter, Ridge slapping the table. “She’s got you there, Cal.”

Cal shakes his head, chuckling. “We’ll see.”

When the hand ends, I win—more out of beginner’s luck than skill—but the look on Cal’s face is worth it. His eyes narrow, a mix of frustration and admiration. I grin, basking in the rare victory.

Later that evening, the group moves outside to a campfire. The stars are bright overhead, the air cool but not cold. I sit on a log, sipping a beer that Zane handed me earlier, while the men exchange stories about their ranching days and military adventures.

Cal stays mostly quiet, his gaze flicking to me every so often. It’s not until the conversation turns to the topic of mail-order brides that he speaks up.

“You know,” Ridge says, smirking at Cal. “I think you got the best deal, Cal. Layla here’s got spunk.”

“She’s got something, all right,” Cal mutters, taking a swig of his beer.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t strain yourself with the compliments.”

The men laugh, and Ridge adds, “Don’t let him fool you, Layla. Cal’s a softie underneath all that gruff.”

“Is that right?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at Cal.

He glares at Ridge. “You planning on shutting up anytime soon?”

“Not a chance.”

The banter continues, but I can’t help noticing the way Cal watches me, his expression softer than before. Maybe Ridge is onto something.

As the fire crackles and the night deepens, I realize something unexpected—I feel at home here, surrounded by these people and their warmth. It’s not what I expected when I showed up at Cal’s ranch, but maybe, just maybe, it’s exactly what I needed.