Chapter 1 #2
"That's it," he said. "I tried jumping it. No go. I need to run into town for a new one before the guests arrive."
I looked out the window toward the yard, where the ranch truck sat like a stubborn brick.
Of course. Fine. We could handle a dead battery. That was a problem with a solution.
"Take my car," I said, reaching into my pocket for my keys.
Hank's eyes narrowed. "Rose—"
"Take it," I repeated. "Get the battery. Bring the receipt. I'll deal."
He hesitated like he wanted to argue, then took the keys.
"Trails are checked," he said, giving me one less thing to worry about. "We cleared the fallen branches after the last wind. Everything's good."
I nodded, swallowing my own tension.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
Hank's expression softened. "You'll be fine today."
I didn't answer, because if I said what I actually felt, it would come out like: I'm always fine until I'm not.
Instead I turned back to my checklist and pretended the inside of my head was as organized as the guest mugs.
By noon, I'd done everything twice.
I was halfway through rechecking the linen closet when Kaya appeared in the doorway.
Kaya was not just another employee. She was also one of the few people who could call me out without getting stabbed with a clipboard. Twenty-four and fearless, she had a talent for saying the truth like it was a casual observation about the weather.
"You're spiraling," she said without preamble.
I froze with a stack of towels in my arms. "I'm preparing."
Kaya's mouth twitched. "You're preparing like the guests are the FBI."
"They're clients."
"They're hikers with money," she corrected, walking in and leaning against the doorframe. "They're here for horseback riding and fresh air and whatever Scottish people do for fun."
"Drink," I muttered.
Kaya nodded solemnly. "True."
I shoved the towels into the closet with more force than necessary. "I need everything to be perfect."
Kaya's expression softened. "Because if it's perfect, nothing can get in."
The words hit too close.
"Don't psychoanalyze me," I snapped.
Kaya lifted both hands. "I'm not. I'm just saying… you can't out-check life, Rose."
I stared at her. "I'm fine."
Kaya sighed like she'd heard that sentence too many times. "Okay. Then be fine and eat a sandwich."
"I don't have time."
"You have time," she said, stepping closer. "Your brain just likes the illusion of urgency because it keeps you from thinking."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it, because she wasn't wrong and I hated that.
"Fine," I muttered. "I'll eat."
Kaya nodded like she'd just won a war. "Good. Also, Denise texted. She's bringing over a binder of the guest itinerary and waivers."
Of course she was.
Denise loved binders. Denise loved systems. Denise loved anything that made it look like the ranch ran like a business and not like a one-woman anxiety project.
Kaya paused. "And Taylor's out by the cabins. Checking the routers or whatever."
A flicker of irritation sparked in my chest.
"I told her not my cabin," I said.
Kaya raised a brow. "Then maybe you should tell Taylor."
I stared at her.
She was right.
Kaya pushed off the doorframe. "Eat something," she said again, like it was a spell.
She left before I could say something too honest.
I grabbed a granola bar out of a welcome basket, because I was apparently the kind of woman who ate guest snacks.
The front door opened before I could take a bite.
Denise came in carrying two things: the binder she'd promised Kaya, and a brown paper bag from Milly's Diner in town.
"Don't tell me you're eating guest snacks again," she said, spotting the granola bar in my hand.
I shoved it behind my back like a child.
"I brought you real food." She set the bag on the counter. Green chile and pork and that specific grease from Milly's griddle that no amount of rebranding could make healthy. "And before you say you're not hungry, I refuse to let you meet international clients on a granola bar."
"You drove into town for this?"
"I was already there." She waved a hand. "Had to grab Taylor's dry cleaning."
That was a lie. The dry cleaner was on the east side of town. Milly's was on the west, past the feed store and the stoplight that never worked. She didn't pass Milly's on the way to anything except Milly's.
But I didn't call her on it, because the burrito was warm in my hands and Denise was already pulling out a chair and sitting down across from me like she had all the time in the world.
Which she didn't. She had the same list I had, plus the website updates and the waiver signatures and a dozen other things she'd been handling since five a.m. because Denise didn't sleep before big bookings either.
She just didn't admit it.
"Eat," she said.
I unwrapped the burrito. Took a bite. The green chile burned the roof of my mouth in the best way, and the knot between my shoulders loosened a fraction.
Denise watched me eat with the particular satisfaction of a woman who believed food solved problems. She wasn't wrong. At least not about this one.
"You're spiraling," she said after a minute.
"Kaya already told me that."
"Kaya tells you with love. I'm telling you with authority." She opened the binder and spread it on the table between us, but she didn't look at it. She looked at me. "Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about. Guests arrive at three. Everything needs to be perfect."
"Everything is perfect. The cabins are spotless, the welcome baskets could be in a magazine, and Hank has the trails so clean you could eat off them." She tilted her head. "So what's the real issue?"
I set the burrito down. Wiped my hands on a napkin. Fixed my attention on the table because looking at Denise when she was being perceptive made me feel like an open wound.
"What if they hate it?"
"They won't."
"What if something goes wrong and I can't fix it fast enough and they leave a bad review and the whole season tanks because one group of Scottish tourists thought my ranch wasn't worth the flight?"
Denise didn't laugh. She didn't roll her eyes. She just sat there, letting the fear exist in the room without trying to sweep it into a corner.
"Do you remember the Caldwells?" she asked.
I groaned. "Don't."
"The Caldwells," she repeated, ignoring me. "Our very first paying guests. Summer, five years ago. The ranch had been open for three weeks. We had four horses, one functional cabin, and a website built in an afternoon that looked like a Craigslist ad."
"It was a fine website."
"It was a crime against design, Rose. The font was Comic Sans."
"It was not Comic Sans."
"It was a cousin of Comic Sans. A font that had Comic Sans energy.
" She stretched her arms overhead, crossed them behind her neck, smiling.
"And the Caldwells showed up, this sweet retired couple from Phoenix, and within the first hour Mr. Caldwell's horse spooked at a plastic bag and threw him into a creek. "
I covered my face with both hands. "He was fine."
"He was soaking wet and his wife was filming it for their grandchildren. And you, Rose Gracen, stood in that creek in your boots and helped a seventy-two-year-old man out of the water and apologized seventeen times and then personally led his horse back to the barn like you'd committed a felony."
"I thought they were going to sue me."
"They left a five-star review. They called it 'the most authentic ranch experience in Colorado.' Mrs. Caldwell sent you a Christmas card."
"She still sends me Christmas cards."
"Because you're good at this." Denise's voice dropped, losing the playful edge.
"Rose, listen to me. You built this place out of nothing.
I watched you dig postholes and paint fences and sleep in your truck because the cabin wasn't finished yet.
I watched you learn to run a business with no training and no safety net and nothing but pure stubbornness. "
My eyes burned. I stared at the burrito wrapper because looking at her was too much.
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. Her grip was warm and firm and real. "And if something does go wrong, I'll be here. Same as always. That's the deal."
The words settled into me like a hand on a wound. Not fixing it. Just holding pressure until the bleeding slowed.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay." She released my hand and tapped the binder. "Guest itinerary. Take a look at it later. I’ll go check on Taylor."
Then she was gone. Door swinging shut behind her, keys jingling as she took the porch steps two at a time.
At one-thirty I returned to my cabin.
My private cabin was small and simple. Two rooms, a porch, a view of the pasture I could see from my bed. It was the only part of the ranch that was entirely mine. No guests. No staff. No curated rustic vibes.
Just me and the faint, constant hum of my brain trying to anticipate disaster.
I walked up the steps and paused, fingers brushing the keypad lock Taylor had installed last month.
Denise's idea.
"Guests like keypads," she'd said brightly. "It's more modern. More… seamless."
Taylor had assured me it was secure. He'd shown me the app. He'd told me I could check the lock status any time.
I punched in my code. The lock beeped. The deadbolt clicked.
I stepped inside, turned and locked it.
I showered fast, scrubbing the morning off my skin like it was something I could wash away. The hot water helped remind my body it wasn't in danger right this second.
When I turned the shower off, steam filled the bathroom and fogged the mirror.
My face stared back at me through the blur.
Tired eyes. A line between my brows that hadn't been there two years ago. Hair still damp and curling at the ends.
I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped out into the main room, my mind already on the guest arrival in ninety minutes.
I needed to change into something professional. Something that said competent ranch owner, not woman who sleeps four hours a night and has to talk herself into calm.
I walked toward my dresser.
And then I saw him.
A man.