Chapter Fifteen
It’s Monday.
I’ve only been at this job for a week, and somehow, it already feels like I’ve put in a year’s worth of work. My body doesn’t know what day it is anymore—just that it hurts in places I forgot could hurt. My shoulders stiff. Hands calloused over.
Darby’s promise not to be too hard on me feels pretty damn thin right about now. If last week was considered not too hard, I’d hate to see what his version of hard actually looks like.
The first week of October tiptoes in like it’s being polite—mornings growing colder by the day, afternoons still warm enough to trick you into forgetting what’s coming.
But the ranch doesn’t forget. It never does.
As soon as September shuts the door behind it, everything shifts into winter-prep mode whether you’re ready or not.
So, we gather and wean calves. We move herds down to lower pastures, where the snow won’t bury them alive come December.
We prep winter feeding and shelters, check fences that always seem to fail at the worst possible time.
We run cattle through for health checks—vaccinations, deworming, assessing body condition.
Hands move automatically now, muscle memory taking over while my brain lags somewhere behind, still surprised I’m here at all.
Today, we seed and fertilize pastures, the tractor humming beneath me while the smell of dirt and diesel hangs thick in the air.
We check winter water sources, heaters, pumps, anything that’ll keep water flowing when the temperature drops below zero and stays there for three straight months.
Equipment gets serviced, greased, tested.
There’s no such thing as prepared—only ready enough.
By the time Darby finally calls it for the day, the sun is already sinking low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink that don’t last nearly long enough.
My shoulders ache. My hands are blistered despite gloves.
I welcome the exhaustion the way I welcome sleep—because there’s something satisfying about putting in a hard day’s work.
Momma took Ruby with her this evening to the ladies’ group down at her church.
Something about a fall festival planning meeting, which Ruby took very seriously when it was explained to her, nodding like she’d been appointed to an important committee.
That gives me a small window of time to myself—something that still feels strange after two and a half months of never being alone.
So, instead of heading straight to town, I point my truck toward Wildhaven Storm.
We’re moving into the cabin tomorrow. The little place is tucked just far enough away from the main house and the barns of the ranch to feel like it’s in its own world, close enough that I won’t be burning gas every morning.
I took Ruby by it last night, showed her around, lifted her up so she could see out the bedroom window that was hers.
She was excited.
“This one’s mine?” she asked, spinning in a slow circle, like the walls might disappear if she didn’t keep an eye on them.
“All yours, bug.”
She nodded, thoughtful, then looked up at me with those big baby blues that cut straight through me. “Can I still sleep with you though?”
She’s never slept alone. Not once. Every place she’s ever lived, every couch, every bed, she’s been right there beside her mother or me. I haven’t cared. Keeping her close has been a comfort to the both of us.
But standing there in that cabin, looking at my little lady, I knew it was time to try.
So, I made a deal.
I told her if she was brave enough to ride a horse, she was definitely brave enough to sleep in her own bed. And if she tried—really tried—to stay in her room like a big girl, I’d let her start barrel racing lessons.
Her eyes went wide. “Tomorrow?”
“I can’t promise tomorrow. I have to talk to Shelby and set it all up first. But soon.”
That sealed it.
Momma’s been bringing her down to the round pen every afternoon at lunchtime so she can ride Honey while I walk alongside them. Every day, her confidence grows a little more—her back straighter, her hands steadier on the reins. She laughs now, relaxed instead of clinging.
When she agreed to the deal, all serious and solemn, like she was signing a contract, I texted Shelby.
Actually, I texted her three times.
I didn’t get a single reply.
So, here I am, pulling into Wildhaven Storm Ranch, dust kicking up behind my tires.
I spot Shelby and Charli near the barn, standing with a man I don’t recognize.
They’re close enough that whatever he’s saying has Shelby smiling, which, for some reason, tightens something in my chest that I don’t bother unpacking.
I park and climb out of the truck.
Charli sees me first.
Her expression darkens instantly.
What the fuck? Why does every Storm woman look at me like she wants to punch me?
Charli breaks away from the other two and meets me halfway, arms crossed, posture defensive, like she’s a bouncer at a bar and I just flashed a fake ID.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“Well, hello to you too, Charli,” I say mildly. “I’m here on business. Came to speak to your sister.”
“Matty isn’t here,” she says. “She had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”
“Yeah, I meant Shelby.”
Her eyes narrow. “What do you want with Shelby?”
“I just need to talk to her about something we discussed last week.”
Her eyes flash. “Last week?”
“Yeah. My daughter and I ran into her at the café. She went shopping with us and helped us pick out some stuff for Ruby.”
Charli turns sharply toward her sister. “Oh, she did, did she?” she calls out, loud enough that Shelby—who is still pretending very hard not to be listening—can definitely hear her.
“Um, yeah,” I say, thrown off by the sudden edge in her voice.
“Well then, let’s go talk to her,” Charli says, spinning on her heel and marching ahead like she’s decided to supervise this conversation personally.
Shelby turns as we approach, her smile fixed but wary. “Hey, Waylon.”
“Hey, Stormy.”
“Stormy?” the guy beside her asks, brows lifting.
Shelby sighs. “It’s an old nickname. One I outgrew when I was twelve,” she says pointedly in my direction.
He chuckles. “It’s cute.”
He turns to me and sticks out his hand. “Dixon Fisher.”
“Waylon Ludlow,” I reply, shaking it.
“Ludlow? As in Holland Ludlow?”
“Yep. He’s Waylon’s dad,” Charli answers for me when I don’t.
Dixon nods. “I worked at Ironhorse for a couple of summers before taking a position at the Boardman Ranch.”
“And now he’s the town’s sexy farrier,” Charli adds.
I don’t miss the wink she throws Shelby, whose cheeks are definitely pink now.
He laughs. “I don’t know about the sexy part, but I am a farrier. I’m scheduled to be out at Ironhorse next week.”
“Nice to meet you, Dick,” I say, shaking his hand again. Gripping it a little harder than necessary.
“Dixon,” he corrects.
“Right.”
His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen. “That’s the office. I’d better take this. Tell Matty I’ll be back next week to check on the draft horse again.”
They say their goodbyes, and he climbs into his truck, tires spitting gravel as he pulls away. The second he’s gone, both sisters turn back to me.
“What are you doing here, Waylon?” Shelby asks.
“You haven’t returned any of my texts,” I say.
“Texts?” Charli echoes, looking between us.
“I’ve been busy,” Shelby says.
“For three days?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s busy here every day,” she hisses.
I quirk a brow. “Too busy to talk to clients?”
“You’re not a client.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “I’m trying to be.”
Charli’s head snaps back and forth between us like she’s watching a tennis match. “A client for what?”
“I’m trying to get Shelby to train my little girl.”
Charli blinks. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” I say. “And she’s being stubborn about it.”
“Stubborn?” Shelby snaps.
“Seems like it to me.”
She lets out a little growl that I think she means to be intimidating, but it’s adorable as hell. “I told you I’d have to think about it.”
“You still thinkin’?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Well, do you think you could speed it up? Because I promised Ruby if she slept in her own bed, I’d get her lessons.”
Shelby’s eyes go wide. “You did what?”
“I was desperate, okay? She’s never slept alone, and she’s scared. I told her if she was brave and tried, I’d let her take barrel racing lessons.”
“Bartering with a four-year-old?” Charli says.
“Yep.”
She shrugs. “Not a bad plan.”
Shelby cuts her a look. “It was a bad plan because I hadn’t agreed.”
Charli sighs dramatically. “Come on, Shelby. If it was just Waylon asking for something, I’d say tell him to kick rocks. But it’s for a little girl.”
Shelby’s jaw tightens, but I can see it—the crack in the armor.
“Besides,” Charli adds, “you can make him pay double your rate.”
“Deal,” I say immediately, grinning.
“You said triple,” Shelby quips.
My smile only widens. “That I did.”
She exhales sharply, eyes lifting to the sky, like she’s asking for patience from a higher power. “Fine. We’ll give it a shot. But you’ll need to be here for the lessons, and if I decide she’s not ready, then you will respect that decision.”
I extend my hand. “Yes, ma’am.”
She eyes it like it might bite her, then finally takes it.
“I’ll have Matty put her on the schedule. She’ll call you with the details.”
“Pleasure doing business with you, Stormy,” I say.
We stand there for several beats before a throat clears.
“Y’all ’bout done?” Charli asks.
Shelby’s eyes flit from mine down to our hands. My fingers are still wrapped around hers.
“Can I have my hand back now?”
I slowly release her.
“Yeah, I need to go. Gotta hit the Bed & Bath Barn before it closes, or we’ll be sleeping on bare mattresses.”
As I climb back into my truck a few minutes later, the tension in my chest eases for the first time all day.
One thing checked off the list. One promise kept.
I pull out onto the road toward town, headlights cutting through the dark.
Tomorrow, we move into the cabin. Tomorrow, Ruby sleeps in her own bed. Tomorrow might be hard.
But tonight, I’ve done what I could.
And that feels damn good.