4. Chapter 4
Ty
Kayla has been in my house for nine days and I am in trouble.
Not the obvious kind. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s clean, considerate, and mostly quiet. She buys her own groceries. She cleans up after herself. She goes to work, comes home, reads on the couch, and disappears into her room at a reasonable hour.
The trouble is that I like all of it.
I like her boots by the door. I like the blue mug on the counter.
I like the sound of her moving around the kitchen in the morning before she’s fully awake, the way the floorboards creak with someone else walking on them.
I like the plant on the windowsill that she can’t identify and refuses to research.
I like her laugh. She laughs more than I expected. Usually at me.
This morning I’m at the kitchen table before six. Coffee made. Back door open because the air is cold and clean and I like the way the ranch smells before dawn.
Kayla comes out at six thirty. Hair down. She’s in leggings and a sweatshirt that’s too big for her and she looks half asleep and she walks straight to the coffee maker like the house could be on fire and she’d still pour the cup first.
“Morning,” I say.
“Mm.”
She’s not a morning person. I’ve learned this. She becomes a person around seven. Before that, she’s a body that requires caffeine.
She sits across from me at the table. Two chairs now. Both pulled out. She wraps her hands around the mug and stares out the window.
“Caldwell wants us out there tomorrow, if you’re available,” I say.
She blinks. “Tomorrow?”
“He wants to show you the east acreage. We’d ride out.”
“Ride.”
“On horses.”
“I understood the word.”
“Have you ridden before?”
She takes a sip. “I took lessons for two years when I was twelve.”
“And since then?”
“I have ridden recreationally. I will not fall off.”
“Good.”
“I might be slow.”
“That’s fine.”
“Do not put me on something fast.”
“I have a mare named Coco. She’s steady.”
She considers this. “Coco.”
“She likes women.”
“Smart horse.”
I almost smile. Kayla catches it. She’s gotten good at that. She watches my mouth like she’s keeping score.
“Stop that,” I say.
“Stop what?”
“Tracking my facial expressions.”
“I’m not tracking anything. I’m drinking coffee.”
“You’re doing both.”
She hides her smile behind the mug. “It’s early. I’m bored.”
She’s not bored. Neither am I.
Tuesday morning. I saddle Coco and my gelding, Hank, and bring them around to the front of the barn. Kayla comes out of the house in jeans, boots, and a jacket. Her hair is in a braid.
She looks at the horses. Then at me. “Which one is mine?”
“The bay mare. Coco.”
She walks up to Coco and puts her hand on the mare’s neck. Coco drops her head and leans into it. Kayla scratches behind her ear. “She’s beautiful.”
“She knows.”
Kayla looks at the saddle. She puts her foot in the stirrup and swings up with more confidence than I expected. Her seat is decent. Her hands are quiet. She wasn’t lying about the lessons.
“Your stirrups are long,” I say.
“They feel fine.”
“They’re two inches too long. You’ll lose your balance on a downhill.”
She looks at me. “Are you going to be like this the whole ride?”
“Like what?”
“Bossy.”
“Probably.”
“Great.”
I adjust the stirrup, one hand against her calf while my shoulder brushes her knee. She goes still. So do I, for half a second before I catch myself.
“Better?” I ask.
“Yes.” Her voice is slightly higher than normal.
I mount Hank. We ride out.
The trail to the Caldwell acreage follows the eastern fence line and then cuts through a stand of aspens that are bare now, the branches white against the gray sky. The morning is cold. Frost on the grass. The horses blow steam.
Kayla rides well enough. She sits balanced and doesn’t fight Coco’s mouth. She’s cautious on the uneven ground, which is smart. The trail drops along a creek bed before climbing to the ridge where the Caldwell boundary starts.
“You’re quiet,” she says.
“I’m always quiet.”
“Quieter than usual. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“I’m riding.”
“You can talk and ride.”
“Can.”
“But won’t.”
“I’m watching the trail.”
“It’s a straight line.”
I glance at her. She’s grinning. She looks good on a horse. Better than she should for someone who last rode recreationally. The braid, the posture, the way she moves with the mare instead of against her.
“What?” she says.
“Nothing.”
“You were looking at me.”
“I was checking your seat.”
“My seat is fine.”
It is. I look forward.
We climb the ridge and the Caldwell acreage opens up below us.
Four hundred acres of grassland running down to Elk Creek, the water catching light even in October.
The north tree line is dark and solid, a natural windbreak that protects the whole valley.
Cattle move in the distance. My cattle, still on his land for now.
Kayla is quiet for a minute. Looking.
“This is what you’d lose,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
She looks at me. “How long has your family been here?”
“My father bought the home property when I was six. He ran cattle here until he died. I took over at twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three.”
“He didn’t plan on dying young.”
She’s quiet. I don’t elaborate. She doesn’t push.
“Your mom?” she asks.
“Phoenix. Moved after he died. Too many memories here, and her sister’s out there. She likes the weather better.”
“You see her?”
“Couple times a year. She doesn’t love flying and I don’t love leaving the ranch.”
“But you go.”
“She’s my mother.”
Kayla smiles. “Good answer.”
We ride in silence for a minute.
“What about you?” I ask. “Family?”
“Parents are in Ohio. Younger brother in Denver. We’re close but not geographically.”
“How’d you end up here?”
“The lodge had an opening. I needed a fresh start somewhere that wasn’t Ohio.” She pauses. “Wylde Mountain felt far enough.”
“Far enough from what?”
She looks at me. “A life I was done living.”
She doesn’t elaborate. I don’t push.
We ride down the ridge toward the creek. The trail narrows and I go first. Coco follows Hank without protest. At the creek crossing, the water is shallow but the rocks are uneven.
“Let her pick her way,” I say. “Don’t steer. She knows the footing.”
“Got it.”
Kayla loosens the reins and lets Coco choose her path. The mare crosses clean. Kayla looks pleased with herself.
“Good job,” I say.
“Was that a compliment?”
“It was an observation.”
“From you, I’ll take it.”
We ride the fence line along the creek. I check posts as we go, a habit I can’t break even though the land isn’t mine yet. Kayla watches me.
“You already take care of this place like it’s yours,” she says.
“I’ve been managing it for nine years.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I know what she means. I don’t respond.
Caldwell meets us at the gate to the south section. He’s on his ATV because his knees don’t allow horseback anymore. He waves us over.
“Morning,” he says. He looks at Kayla on Coco and smiles. “You ride?”
“I stay on,” Kayla says. “We’ll see about the rest.”
Caldwell laughs.
Caldwell drives the ATV along the fence while Kayla and I ride beside him. He talks about the land. The water rights. The seasonal patterns. Where his father planted the windbreak trees and why. I can tell this is something he loves and is preparing to let go of.
Kayla listens. She asks questions. Good ones. About the soil, the creek levels, the grazing rotation I run. Caldwell answers every one and I can see him liking her more with each question because she’s not pretending to be interested. She is interested.
When we reach the far boundary, Caldwell stops his ATV. “This is where the developer wants to put the access road.”
We all look at the ridgeline. It’s pristine. No road. No stakes. Just grass and sky and the mountains beyond.
“Over my dead body,” Caldwell says quietly. Then he looks at me. “I’ll be in touch, Ty. Soon.”
He drives back toward his ranch. Kayla and I sit on our horses and look at the land.
“He wants to sell it to you.”
“Maybe.”
“No, I think he does. He just needs to convince himself he can turn down the other offer.”
I look at her. She’s looking at the valley with the wind pulling loose strands from her braid and her cheeks red from the cold and I think about the fact that this woman moved into my house a little over a week ago to solve a logistics problem and she’s sitting on my horse looking at land that could be mine and I want her to be part of it. Not for Caldwell. For me.
I don’t say any of that.
“We should head back,” I say.
“Yeah.”
We ride home.
That evening, Kayla is on the couch with her laptop. I’m at the kitchen table going over feed invoices. The house is quiet in the way I’m getting used to, which is not actually quiet because Kayla hums when she works. She doesn’t know she does it.
Her phone buzzes. She glances at it. Her face changes.
Not a lot. Her mouth goes tight and she sets the phone face-down on the couch cushion without responding. She goes back to her laptop but she’s not reading anymore. She’s staring at the screen.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Fine.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
She looks at me. “My ex. He texts sometimes.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can.”
She picks the phone back up. She deletes whatever the message was. She puts the phone on the coffee table and goes back to work.
I go back to my invoices. I don’t ask again. She said she can handle it. I believe her.
But she doesn’t hum for the rest of the evening.
Sunday night. We’re on the couch. Not together. She’s on one end. I’m on the other. There’s a full cushion between us and we are watching something on her laptop that she chose because I don’t own a television, which she finds unbelievable.
“You don’t own a TV.”
“I don’t watch anything.”
“That is not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“The point is that a television is a basic household item. Like a toaster. Or more than seven forks.”
“I have a toaster.”
“You have a toaster and no TV. Your priorities are fascinating.”
She props the laptop on a stack of books between us. It’s a show about people renovating houses. I don’t care about the show. I watch Kayla watch the show. She talks to the screen. She has opinions about countertops. Strong opinions.
“Granite,” she says. “They should know better.”
“What’s wrong with granite?”
“In this day and age? Quartz exists.”
“I have no opinion on this.”
“That tracks.”
She shifts on the couch. Her foot touches my thigh. She doesn’t move it. I don’t move either. Her sock is gray with a hole near the toe and I am aware of that foot against my leg in a way that suggests I have lost all perspective.
The show ends. She closes the laptop. We’re sitting in the dim light of the living room and her foot is still against my thigh and she’s looking at me.
“Today was good,” she says. “The ride. Caldwell.”
“Yeah.”
“I liked it.”
“The ride or Caldwell?”
“Both.” She pauses. “You’re good on a horse.”
“I’ve been riding since I was six.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I look at her. The lamplight is catching one side of her face. Her braid is loose now, blonde hair falling around her shoulders.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You’re different out there. More... yourself.”
“I’m myself here too.”
“Here you’re careful.”
She’s not wrong. I am careful here. I’m careful because she lives in my house and she trusts me and I will not make her regret that.
“Careful is fine,” she says. “I’m just noting the difference.”
She pulls her foot back and stands up. She takes the laptop and heads toward the hallway.
“Goodnight, Ty.”
“Night.”
She starts to walk past me. She’s close. Close enough that I can smell her shampoo and feel the warmth coming off her skin. She stops.
She turns around.
“This is a bad idea,” she says.
“What is?”
“What I’m about to do.”
She leans down and kisses me. Her hand lands on my shoulder. Her mouth is warm and soft and tastes like the tea she was drinking and she kisses me like she’s been thinking about it all day.
I kiss her back. My hand comes up to her hip. She leans into me and I pull her closer and she makes a sound against my mouth, a small quiet exhale, and I feel it everywhere.
She puts one knee on the couch beside me. Then the other. She’s in my lap. Her hands are on my chest and her thighs are on either side of mine and she is kissing me and I am holding her hips and this is happening in my living room where two weeks ago I sat alone watching cattle through the window.
My hands slide up her back under her sweatshirt. Her skin is warm and smooth and she arches into my touch and I want her so badly I can feel it in my teeth.
She rolls her hips against me. I groan against her mouth and grip her hips harder and she does it again and I am losing the ability to think clearly.
I pull back. “Kayla.”
She looks at me. Her lips are swollen. Her eyes are dark. She’s breathing fast. “What?”
“You live here.”
“So?”
“This doesn’t change anything about you staying here.”
She’s quiet. She looks at me for a long time.
“You’re a very decent man,” she says.
“I’m trying to be.”
“It’s annoying.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She puts her hand on my jaw. “But for the record, the restraint thing? Where you stop kissing me to make sure I feel safe?”
“Yeah?”
“That is doing the opposite of what you think it’s doing.”
“What is it doing?”
She leans in close. Her mouth is next to my ear. “Making me want you more.”
She climbs off my lap. She walks down the hallway. Her door closes.
I sit on the couch. I can still feel her weight on my thighs and her hands on my chest and her breath against my ear.
I am in so much trouble.