Chapter 3
I wake to the rooster crowing sound, same as every morning for the past few years. The clock on my nightstand reads 5:17 AM—too early for most, but standard operating hours on a ranch.
My ankle throbs dully as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, a reminder of yesterday's overexertion.
Yesterday. The woman. Luisa.
I pause halfway through pulling on my jeans, listening for any sound from the guest room across the hall. Nothing but silence. Is she still asleep? Or already gone, slipping away in the night like a ghost?
For some reason, the thought of her leaving without a word sits uneasily in my chest. Not that I have any claim on her—she's a stranger with her own troubles. But that kid, Miguel, with his solemn eyes and chocolate-smeared smile, deserved at least a decent night's sleep and a proper breakfast.
I finish dressing quietly, careful not to let my bedroom door creak as I step into the hallway. The guest room door remains firmly closed, the house still except for the distant sounds of Jackson in the kitchen. He's always first up, getting coffee started for the rest of us.
I hesitate outside Luisa's door, hand half-raised to knock. What would I even say? 'Good morning, still running from mysterious danger?' Instead, I continue down the stairs, the familiar scent of fresh coffee pulling me toward the kitchen.
Jackson looks up from the newspaper spread across the table, coffee mug in hand.
"They still here?" he asks without preamble.
"Don't know," I answer, pouring myself a cup. "Door's still closed."
He nods, returning to his paper. That's what I appreciate about Jackson—he doesn't push when it's not his business. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he folds the paper and stands.
"Need to check on that mare before feeding time. She was restless yesterday." He rinses his mug and places it in the dish rack. "Sarah's coming by early to help with the new therapy horses. Thought you should know."
"All good. I'll handle breakfast," I tell him. Jackson claps me on the shoulder as he passes, silently acknowledging my unspoken concern for our guests.
Once alone, I start gathering ingredients for pancakes. It's been a while since I've cooked for anyone but my brothers, but some skills you don't forget. Mom made sure all of us could feed ourselves properly before she passed.
I'm mixing batter when I hear it—the slight creak of the third stair from the top. I don't turn immediately, giving her space to retreat if she wants to.
"Good morning," I say, still facing the counter. "Coffee's fresh if you want some."
"Thank you."
Her voice is closer than I expected. I glance over my shoulder to find her standing in the doorway, Miguel balanced on her hip. She's wearing Sarah's borrowed clothes—gray sweatpants and a faded blue T-shirt that's too big for her small frame. Her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, her face clean of yesterday's smudges. She looks younger in the morning light, but no less wary.
Miguel, on the other hand, looks around the kitchen with curiosity, fully awake and alert.
"Morning, buddy," I say, offering him a smile. "Hungry?"
He nods enthusiastically but looks to his mother for permission before answering. "Yes, please."
Luisa sets him down but keeps hold of his hand. "We don't want to impose. I was just hoping for a glass of water before we go."
"Not imposing if I'm already cooking," I reply, turning back to the batter. "Making pancakes. More than enough for everyone."
I hear her soft inhale, like she's about to refuse, but Miguel tugs on her hand.
"Pancakes, Mama! Like at the dinner, remember?"
Something in his innocent excitement must convince her, because she sighs softly and says, "That would be nice. Thank you."
I gesture toward the coffeemaker. "Mugs in the cabinet above. Milk's in the fridge if you want it."
She hesitates, then moves around the island to fix herself a cup. Miguel climbs onto one of the barstools, his feet dangling well above the floor as he watches me pour batter onto the griddle.
"You know how to make shapes?" he asks, his voice small but eager.
"Sure do." I adjust my pour to create a rough circle with two smaller circles on top. "Mickey Mouse okay?"
His eyes widen as he nods, and I catch a glimpse of the carefree child beneath the solemn exterior. From the corner of my eye, I see Luisa watching us, her expression unreadable over the rim of her coffee mug.
"So," I say casually as I flip the pancake, "any plans for today?"
Luisa tenses slightly. "The bus station, I suppose. What time does it open?"
"Eight," I answer. "But there's only three buses today—9:15 to Meridian, 11:30 to Springfield, and 4:45 to Grantsville."
She absorbs this information with a slight frown. "How far to Meridian?"
"About four hours." I slide the Mickey Mouse pancake onto a plate and hand it to Miguel, who beams at me. "Springfield's further—maybe six. Grantsville's closest but smallest. Not much there except the train station."
She nods, and I can almost see her weighing options in her head. I pour more batter, this time making a regular round pancake.
"I could drive you," I offer, keeping my tone neutral. "Save you waiting around all day."
"Why are you being so kind to us?" She asks once more, her voice low enough that Miguel, happily drowning his pancake in syrup, doesn't notice the tension.
I consider deflecting but opt for honesty instead. "Because you needed help, and I was there. That’s what we do here. I told you"
"It's not that simple," she counters, setting her mug down with a soft click against the countertop. "People don't just help strangers without wanting something in return."
The bitterness in her voice tells me more about her past than she probably intends.
"My family does," I say simply, flipping another pancake. "It's how we were raised."
Before she can respond, the back door swings open, and Sarah steps in, her cheeks flushed from the morning air.
"Morning, Cole," she calls, then spots Luisa and Miguel. Her smile doesn't falter, but I notice how she softens her movements like she does around the skittish rescue horses. "Hi! In case you forgot my name, I'm Sarah."
"Luisa," comes the cautious reply. "This is Miguel."
Miguel waves with sticky fingers. "I got Mickey pancakes."
Sarah's smile widens, genuine warmth lighting her eyes.
"Those are the best kind." She moves toward the coffee pot, giving them plenty of space. "Cole makes the best pancakes on the ranch, you know. His secret ingredient is vanilla."
"It's not a secret if you tell everyone," I grumble, but there's no heat behind it.
Sarah winks at Miguel as she pours her coffee. "Do you like horses, Miguel?"
The boy's eyes grow impossibly wider. "Real horses? Like in my books?"
"Exactly like in your books," Sarah nods, leaning against the counter. "We have fourteen of them here. Some big, some small. I work with them every day."
"Wow," Miguel breathes, looking to his mother with pleading eyes. "Mama, can we see them? Please?"
Luisa stiffens, her knuckles whitening around her coffee mug. I can almost see her internal struggle—the desire to keep moving, to stay on guard, battling against her son's excitement.
"Maybe another time, baby," she says gently. "We have a bus to catch, remember?"
Miguel's face falls, but he nods with a resignation no four-year-old should possess. "Okay, Mama."
Sarah catches my eye briefly before turning back to Miguel. "You know, the horses usually get their breakfast right after we have ours. If you finished your pancakes, you could come watch me feed them before you need to leave. It only takes about fifteen minutes."
"Can I pet them?" Miguel asks, sitting up straighter.
"Buttercup loves being petted," Sarah confirms. "She's very gentle."
Miguel turns to his mother, hope restored. "Please, Mama? Just for a little bit? I'll be super good on the bus after, I promise."
Luisa looks cornered, glancing from Miguel to Sarah to me, then back to her son. I can see the exact moment her resistance crumbles.
"Just for a few minutes," she relents, her voice tight. "And you stay right with Sarah, understand?"
"Yes!" Miguel shoves the last bite of pancake into his mouth and climbs down from the stool. "I'm ready!"
Sarah sets her barely-touched coffee on the counter. "We won't go far—just to the near paddock. You can see us from the kitchen window the whole time."
The reassurance seems to ease some of Luisa's tension, but not all. She nods stiffly.
"I'll take good care of him," Sarah adds softly, and something in her tone—professional but compassionate—seems to reach Luisa.
"Alright." She kneels to Miguel's level, straightening his shirt. "Listen to Miss Sarah, okay? And come right back if I call."
"I will!" He throws his arms around her neck for a quick hug, then bounces toward Sarah, his earlier caution forgotten in the face of promised horses.
"There are boots by the door that might fit him," I tell Sarah. "Lucy's old ones, I think."
Sarah nods, already guiding Miguel toward the mud room. "We'll find them. Back in fifteen."
The back door closes behind them, leaving Luisa and me in sudden silence. She stands immediately, moving to the window where she can watch their progress toward the paddock.
"Sarah's great with kids," I say, flipping the last pancake onto a plate. "She runs an equine therapy program on a ranch nearby. Works with veterans and children who've been through trauma."
Luisa doesn't respond, her eyes fixed on Miguel's small figure as Sarah helps him climb on the lowest rail of the fence.
"He'll be fine," I add, sliding a plate of pancakes across the island toward her. "Eat something while they're gone. You'll need your strength."
She turns from the window reluctantly and looks at the food. For a moment, I think she'll refuse, but then her shoulders slump slightly.
"Thank you," she says, taking a seat at the island. She cuts a small piece but doesn't lift it to her mouth. "I don't know why I'm even here. This wasn't the plan."
I lean against the counter, giving her space. "Plans change sometimes."
Her laugh is short, humorless.
"Yeah. Mine certainly did." She gestures vaguely at herself—the borrowed clothes, the bare feet. "Three days ago I was supposed to get married. Now I'm running for my life with my son, wearing a stranger's clothes, in a state I've never been to."
"Whoever he is," I say carefully, "he won't find you here."
She looks up. "You don't know that. You don't know him."
"No," I agree. "But I know this town. Folks here mind their own business. And I know this ranch—six hundred acres, five brothers who know every inch of it. No one comes onto Covington land without us knowing."
She studies me for a long moment, weighing my words. Finally, she takes a bite of pancake, chewing slowly as if buying time to think.
"It's not just about finding a safe place to hide," she says finally. "It's about... starting over. Somewhere he'd never think to look." She shakes her head. "I took the first bus I could without even checking where it was going. All I could think was to get as far away as possible. Miguel's father... he has connections there. Powerful ones."
I connect the dots carefully. "The kind of connections that make police reports disappear?"
Her eyes meet mine, sharp and assessing. "The kind that make people disappear."
"That why you didn't want to call the police yesterday?"
"Police can't help me," she says flatly. "They're either on his payroll or too scared to cross him. And I know here might be different, but I don’t want to risk it."
Outside, Miguel's delighted laugh carries through the open window as Sarah leads Buttercup closer to the fence. Luisa's gaze shifts toward the sound, her expression softening.
"He deserves better than this," she whispers. "Running, hiding, always looking over our shoulders. But staying would have been worse."
"You did right by him," I say firmly. "Getting him out."
She looks back at me, surprise flashing across her face, as if she expected judgment instead of support.
"Most people would say I should have tried harder to make it work," she says. "For Miguel's sake."
"Most people haven't seen what a bad situation can do to a kid," I counter. "My best friend growing up—his dad was bad news. His mom kept saying they needed to stay together 'for the family.' All it did was teach him that fear was normal."
Luisa absorbs this, taking another bite of pancake. "Where is he now? Your friend."
"Prison," I answer honestly. "Followed his dad's footsteps right into trouble. Couldn't break the cycle."
She closes her eyes briefly, pain crossing her features. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."