Chapter 12 – Teagan
The drive back to Ashwood Ranch buzzes with conversation as I recount to Wilder my sister Shawna’s recent pool day with her friends and her increasingly over-the-top requests for her wedding in just two weeks.
“Okay, but we live on a dairy farm,” I say, shaking my head.
“She knows that. She grew up there, just like I did. And yet, she’s still asking my dad to somehow make it not smell like cow manure.
Do you realize how impossible that would be?
That’s like asking the sun to stay down, or for no birds to fly over the ceremony while they are getting married. ”
Wilder’s deep laugh rumbles through the cab, and I can’t help but smile as I glance over at him. He’s grinning, wide and easy, and I like the way it softens his features, smoothing out the harshness of the frown that he normally wears.
The wedding’s taking place back in rural Pennsylvania, on the dairy farm where I grew up. My dad’s trying hard for Shawna’s big day, but the odds of him eliminating the constant stench of manure?
Slim to none.
With that said, I still intend on it being one of the most magical days of my sister’s life.
She means everything to me, is my best friend and closest confidante, and if she wants it to smell a little less like shit, well maybe I’ll need to plant some scented candles around the property and clean the manure up myself.
I lean back against the headrest, my laugh fading into a thoughtful silence. The idea comes out of nowhere, dropping into my mind as if it had been waiting for the right moment: What if Wilder came to the wedding with me?
It’s ridiculous, really. I hardly know him—this weekend has been a whirlwind of firsts—but the thought of having him there, his calm energy, his quiet presence, feels strangely comforting.
The idea of going back to the farm without a buffer between me and some of my family fills me with dread.
I haven’t been back in four years, not since I left for college.
And I know what’s waiting for me there: the weight of old memories I’m not ready to face and everything that I lost.
But would he even consider it? Would he see it as too soon, too much, or just plain unnecessary since this thing between us is only supposed to last the weekend?
The thought lingers as we pull into the ranch, the truck rolling to a stop near the barn.
He opens the door for me, and I hop out and make our way across the property toward the 4-wheelers parked nearby, his steady stride matching mine.
For now, I tuck the wild idea of inviting him back for the wedding away, unsure what to make of it—or how things will feel when this weekend inevitably ends.
“You ever driven one of these before?” Wilder asks, nodding toward one of the 4-wheelers.
“It’s been years,” I admit, brushing my fingers over the rubber covered handlebars.
He nods, handing me a helmet. “No problem. I’ll give you a quick refresher, then you can drive it if you want.”
I take the handles as he walks me through the basics of how to operate the machine, his voice steady and calm as he guides me.
Before long, we’re cruising through the property, Wilder riding behind me and pointing out landmarks on the ranch along the way.
A few barns, a gate that’s housing two beautiful horses, and fencing that seems to go on for miles.
About five miles in, the trail opens to a breathtaking pond surrounded by tall grass blowing in the breeze.
The water on the surface shimmers under the setting summer sun and there are ducks floating gently nearby.
The sight stops me in my tracks. It’s like something out of a movie and in a weird way, it almost feels like being back in Pennsylvania in the farmlands with the rolling hills and not in the dry, Texas heat.
“Is this where we’re eating?” I ask over the hum of the engine.
“It is,” he says, flashing me a grin that’s pure boyish charm. He planned this and damn if that isn’t the most romantic thing a guy’s ever done for me before.
We park and climb off the 4-wheeler. Wilder grabs a blanket and a small cooler from the back, spreading everything out next to the water’s edge.
The moment feels unexpectedly intimate, the fading sunlight painting the scene in gold and the whisper of the last bits of a breeze blowing through the trees around us.
“I’m not much of a chef,” he admits, pulling out sandwiches and a bottle of wine, “so I kept it simple tonight—cold cuts and something to drink. I hope that’s okay.
” He flashes me a grin, youthful and confident, and I feel myself smiling back.
All of this is perfect, special and I can’t think of a better way to spend the evening with him.
“It’s great,” I say, meaning it.
We settle onto the blanket, the soft sounds of nature filling the space between us as we dig in.
“So,” he starts between bites, “what made you leave Pennsylvania and head for Houston?”
I sip my wine, thinking back to that first spark of a dream I’d had as a child.
“When I was sixteen years old, my dad and I visited the city once during the wintertime. I remember telling him on the way home, ‘One day, I’m going to live here.’ And when I graduated high school, it just felt like the right time.
I picked a college in Houston that had the biology degree I knew I’d need for vet school, and never looked back. ”
Wilder nods thoughtfully. “Texas has a way of pulling people in. I’ve traveled outside the state a bit, but there’s something special about the sense of community and connection here. People tend to stick around once they’ve experienced the charm.”
“I get that. Plus, there’s a great vet school in Houston. I’ll be there for the next four years, and there’s a ton of opportunity here with all the diversity in animals that I’ll get to work with.”
“What made you want to become a vet?” he asks, his gaze steady on mine.
“I’ve always loved animals,” I say, my voice warming at the memory.
“When I was a teenager, I’d follow our farm’s vet and his tech around whenever they came to check on the livestock we had.
Watching them work was fascinating. Sometimes, they even let me help—giving vaccinations, administering antibiotics, those kinds of things. ”
“They trusted you with that?” Wilder raises a brow, skeptical but amused.
“Technically, it was the vet tech who did,” I admit, pausing for a moment to remember how it felt the first time I cared for our calves when they were sick. I clear my throat, “The head vet would’ve been furious if he’d known.”
He raises a brow but doesn’t press further, effortlessly shifting gears. “What’s your family like? Is Shawna your only sibling?”
“She is, though technically, she’s my stepsister,” I explain, my voice softening.
“My mom passed away unexpectedly when I was twelve—a really bad case of pneumonia on her already weakened immune system. It shattered us. My dad remarried six months later to someone who… well, let’s just say she wasn’t very kind to me.
She hated how close my dad and I were when she joined our family, and they fought constantly about it.
” I pause, taking a sip of wine to steady myself.
“But Shawna was the one good thing to come out of that marriage. We’re only two years apart, and we became best friends almost instantly. ”
“Does she love animals as much as you do?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Not even close. She’s more the stay-inside-with-a-romance-novel type.
She loved staying inside and devouring her mother’s novellas while I was outside, riding horses and running around the farm.
I was my dad’s shadow for most of my life and I think that’s another reason me and my stepmother just never got along. ”
He nods thoughtfully, and I enjoy the way that the sun’s shining off his Texas tanned skin.
He looks so damn handsome out here lounging on the blanket, leaning down on one elbow asking me questions and listening intently.
It’s the most that we’ve talked about ourselves and our pasts since we met and I can see whatever walls he’s had up in the last day have come down a little, even if he’s mostly asking about me.
“Did you get to watch Daisy’s performance last night?”
I smile and nod. “Yeah, I got back to my seat just in time to see her. She was amazing.”
“What made you stop riding? You looked like a pro.”
I pause, swirling the wine in my glass, watching as the crimson liquid catches the soft glow of the string lights overhead.
The question lingers in the air between us, heavy but not unwelcome.
Around us, the night hums with life—the distant croak of frogs, the occasional trill of a bird settling in, and the faint rustle of leaves in the warm evening breeze.
There’s something about this moment that feels…
safe. Safer than it should, maybe. Like I can let my guard down a little more because Wilder is letting his down too.
He’s more open tonight, his quiet demeanor shifting just enough for me to notice.
He’s been more vocal, more intentional with his words, and I don’t want to let that pass unnoticed.
Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me right now—calm, steady, like he’s in no rush, like he could sit here all night and just listen.
There’s no impatience in his gaze, no sense that he’s waiting for me to entertain him.
He’s just… here. Present in a way that most people aren’t.
It makes me want to share more. To let him see parts of me that I usually keep tucked away, even though I know this thing between us is temporary.
Just a weekend. Just a fleeting moment in the bigger picture of our lives.
But right now, with the wine warming my chest and his quiet presence drawing me in, it doesn’t feel fleeting.
It feels significant. So, I open up to him in a way I’ve never done with anyone else.
“After my dad remarried, I spent most of my time riding to escape the constant fighting that occurred at home. The summer I turned sixteen years old, I met Harrison Baker while in the fields. He was twenty years old and in school to be a vet tech while assisting our usual veterinarian on the farm. One month into working on the farm, he told me I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Two months later, I thought we were in love. He was my first kiss and my first time. We’d steal kisses while he was supposed to be working and sneak off to do other things in my bedroom...” I trail off into a sigh, not meeting Wilder’s gaze anymore as I reflect on the summer that changed my life for forever.
“One time, my stepmom caught us kissing in the barn while he was supposed to be providing care for a batch of new baby chicks. She never said anything to me or my dad about it, just backed away and pretended like she hadn’t noticed.
That fall, when school restarted, I missed spending all day with him.
I’d get off the bus and rush to find him in the stables or barn to make out or sneak him into my room until one autumn day I got off the bus and found him kissing another woman next to an unfamiliar blue jeep parked in our driveway.
When I saw them together, I froze. The woman was beautiful with long blonde hair, and bright blue eyes.
I lifted my hand to wave to him, but he just stood there frozen and acted like he didn’t recognize me or know why I might be waving to him.
The woman said hi and introduced herself as Harrison’s wife, Kathleen Baker.
I told her my name and forced a smile, then ran off inside.
I wasn’t even embarrassed by the whole thing…
I was hurt. I felt like I’d been cheated on when, in reality, his wife was the one being cheated on, with a minor. ”
I lift my gaze and meet his, the intensity in his green eyes holds me still.
Beneath the surface of his expression, I catch the flicker of anger—anger on my behalf—and a concern so deep it feels like a steady hum in the air between us.
His fingers trail gently across the back of my hand before he takes it fully, his touch encouraging, patient.
“Damn, Teagan, I’m so sorry.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“For weeks later, I’d barely speak to anyone—not even Shawna.
I cried a lot, felt completely wrecked by it all, and then, a few weeks passed and his internship with our vet ended.
I watched him pack up and leave without so much as a goodbye.
” I pause, the sting of that memory still fresh even after all these years.
“I was furious. It was raining that day, pouring, but I was too mad to care. I snuck out to the stables and saddled up my horse. I’d ridden her in the rain before, but never bareback. Never when I was that upset.”
Wilder’s grip tightens slightly on my hand, grounding me and reminding me that I’m safe now.
“We took off through the fields,” I continue, my voice softer now.
“The rain was blinding, coming down in sheets, but I didn’t stop.
I wasn’t thinking straight. Then I slipped and fell—hard.
I broke my arm and spent the next few weeks in a cast, stewing in a mix of anger, guilt, and heartbreak. It felt like the end of the world.”
I exhale deeply, reclining on my elbows as I let my gaze drift over the serene pond.
The autumn of that year comes rushing back in vivid detail—the damp chill of the rain, the ache in my chest that only rivaled the pain in my arm.
“But during those weeks, something shifted. I had so much time to think, to really sit with everything, and I finally realized none of what happened had been my fault. It was all on him—his choices, his actions. He took advantage of me. It took years, but eventually, I released myself from the guilt, from the blame.”
The words linger in the quiet that follows, carried away by the soft sounds of the pond. Wilder doesn’t fill the silence, doesn’t rush me by telling me what I already know. He just stays there, his presence steady, his hand still holding mine, gaze never leaving me.