6. Chapter 6
Ty
Caldwell calls on a Tuesday morning while I’m checking the fence on the west pasture.
“Ty.”
“Walter.”
“I told the developer no.”
I stop walking. I’m standing in the middle of my own property with the phone against my ear and the mountains behind me and Walter Caldwell just said the four words I’ve been waiting to hear.
“You sure?” I say.
“My daughter’s furious. She thinks I’m sentimental.”
“You are sentimental.”
“I’m making the right decision.” He pauses. “I want to sell to you, Ty. I’ve known that for a while. I just needed to see a few things first.”
“And you’ve seen them?”
“I’ve seen enough.” Another pause. “Meeting Kayla didn’t hurt.”
My chest tightens.
“She asked me about the water table. Nobody asks about the water table. The developer sent a man in a suit who talked about access roads and lot sizes. Kayla asked about the creek.”
He tells me he’ll have his lawyer draw up the papers and send them over. He says he wants the price fair but not foolish, which is Caldwell’s way of saying he’ll take less than the developer offered because he trusts me more.
I thank him. He tells me not to get emotional about it. I tell him I wouldn’t dream of it.
I hang up. I stand in the pasture and look east toward the Caldwell acreage. Four hundred acres. Mine. Or close to it.
I should feel relief. I should feel satisfied. Years of work and patience finally paying off.
Instead, I feel dread.
Because the arrangement had an end date. The fake relationship lasts until Caldwell decides. That was the deal. Kayla’s words, not mine. Clean break.
And Caldwell just decided.
I don’t tell Kayla immediately.
Not because I’m hiding it. Because I need to figure out what I’m going to say after I tell her, and I don’t have that part yet.
I go about my day. I check cattle. I repair a section of fence near the creek.
I work with the farrier on two horses that need trimming.
I eat lunch on the tailgate and look at the mountains and think about a woman who moved into my guest room to solve a logistics problem and is now sleeping in my bed every night and I have not once asked her to stay because asking her to stay means she might say no.
After lunch, I walk through the house. I don’t know why. I just do.
Her books are on the shelf I moved into her room. Her robe hangs on the bathroom door. Her laptop charger is plugged in by the couch. There’s a list on the fridge in her handwriting. Groceries, but also reminders. Call Mom. Confirm vendor delivery Thursday. Ask Ty about barn paint color.
She’s thinking about my barn paint.
I open the hall closet. Her jacket is there. Her rain boots. A scarf I haven’t seen her wear yet but she hung it on the hook like it belongs.
It does belong. She belongs.
I close the closet and go back outside.
Kayla comes home at five thirty. She walks through the door and I know immediately that something happened after I left. Her face is set in the expression she uses when she’s holding herself together through professional willpower.
“Hey,” I say.
She puts her bag on the counter. She doesn’t look at me.
“Kayla.”
“Dylan came to the lodge.”
I go still. “Today?”
“Walked right up to the desk and asked for me like we had lunch plans. Apparently he drove sixteen hours because I won’t answer him.”
“You tell him to leave?”
“Several times.”
“Did he?”
“Eventually.” She drops into a chair. “He’s staying in town.”
I don’t like that. I don’t like any of it.
“I told him I don’t want to see him, Ty. I don’t know what part of that he thinks is negotiable.”
She looks at me. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about what you want me to do.”
“I want you to not go find him.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Your knuckles are white on that counter.”
I look down. She’s right. I loosen my grip.
“I want him to leave me alone,” she says.
“Then that’s what happens.”
“I don’t need you to fix this.”
“I know.”
“But if he comes to this house, I want you here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She nods. She’s quiet for a minute. Then she stands up and walks to me and puts her arms around my waist and presses her face against my chest. I wrap my arms around her and hold her and she breathes against my shirt and I can feel her heartbeat, fast and angry, gradually slow down.
“I hate that he’s here,” she says into my chest.
“I know.”
“I hate that he made me feel this way in your kitchen.”
I press my mouth against the top of her head. I hold her tighter.
We stand there for a while. I don’t rush her. She breathes. I hold her. The kitchen is quiet except for the clock on the wall and the wind outside and her heartbeat against my ribs.
I hold her and think about a man who drove sixteen hours after she made it clear she didn’t want to see him.
I’m not angry. Anger would be easier. What I feel is colder. If Dylan comes to this house, I’ll give him one chance to leave.
“This is your kitchen too,” I say.
She goes still. She pulls back and looks up at me.
“What?”
I didn’t plan to say that. But I’m not taking it back.
“This is your kitchen too,” I say again. “Your coffee mug is on the counter. Your plant is on the windowsill. Your grocery list is on the fridge. This stopped being just my kitchen three weeks ago.”
Her eyes are searching my face. “Ty.”
“Caldwell called this morning.”
She blinks. “What?”
“He’s selling me the land. He turned down the developer.”
I watch her process this. I can see the exact moment she understands what it means. The arrangement had an end date. The end date just arrived.
“That’s amazing,” she says. “Ty, that’s everything you wanted.”
“Yeah.”
“So the fake relationship is done.”
“The fake part is.”
She’s quiet.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I say. “And I know that’s not what we agreed to. I know you said clean break. I know you moved in because you needed a place to stay and I needed Caldwell to believe something that turned out to be true.”
“Turned out to be true?”
“I’m not pretending, Kayla. I haven’t been pretending for a while. I think you know that.”
She looks at me. Her hands are still on my chest. We’re standing in the kitchen where three weeks ago there was one mug and a quiet that went on for eleven years.
“I know,” she says.
“Stay because you want to. Not because you need housing. Not because of Caldwell.”
Kayla looks around the kitchen.
“I am here because I want to be.”
“That mean you’re staying?”
She looks back at me. “It means I’m not packing my boxes tomorrow.”
“Now,” she says, pulling back. “About Dylan.”
“What about him?”
“If he comes here, you let me handle it.”
“I will.”
“Unless he touches me.”
“If he touches you after you tell him not to, I’m stepping in.”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
She looks at me. “You’re being very calm about the fact that my ex-boyfriend drove sixteen hours to show up at my workplace.”
“I’m calm on the outside.”
“And on the inside?”
“On the inside, I would like to have a conversation with him.”
“A conversation.”
“A short one.”
She smiles. “Down, cowboy.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your jaw is doing the thing.”
“I don’t have a jaw thing.”
“You have a thing. It’s very attractive and very transparent.”
I take a breath. “I’ll let you handle it.”
“Thank you.” She stands on her toes and kisses my jaw. Right where the thing apparently is. Then she pulls back and opens the fridge.
“I’m making dinner,” she says. “Sit down.”
“I was going to cook.”
“Sit down, Ty.”
I sit. She cooks. And the house is full.