Ranch King’s Brat

1. Mila

MILA

I've been in this small town in Montana for seven months.

Seven months of pretending this is temporary.

Seven months of saying "I'll probably head back to the city soon,” but I’ve been signing month-to-month leases for two of them after moving off Sadie’s couch.

Seven months of insisting to anyone who asks that I'm just freelancing remotely until I figure out what's next.

The truth sits heavier than I want to admit: I have no idea what's next. And for once in my catastrophically overthinking life, I'm not completely terrified by that.

My apartment smells like take out and the lavender candle I impulse-bought at the farmer's market last weekend.

Boxes still line one wall because I keep telling myself there's no point unpacking everything if I'm leaving soon.

Except the candle is already half-burned.

And I bought throw pillows yesterday. Throw pillows.

The kind of purchase that screams "I live here" rather than "I'm passing through. "

I pace between the kitchen and the living room, which takes approximately six steps because this place is smaller than my last walk-in closet.

The exposed brick catches afternoon light in a way that makes everything feel warmer than it should this late in the year.

My laptop sits open on the dining table that doubles as my desk, a half-finished logo design staring back at me with what I can only describe as judgmental energy.

The silence presses against my ears.

Not uncomfortable silence. Just... aggressively quiet. No sirens. No traffic. No upstairs neighbors having screaming matches at two in the morning. Just wind rattling the old windows and the distant sound of a truck rumbling down Main Street.

It should feel lonely.

It doesn't.

That scares me more than anything else.

I grab my phone before I can spiral further into whatever this existential moment is trying to become.

Mila: I'm going insane. Save me.

Sadie's reply comes fast.

Sadie: You've been in your apartment for like three hours.

She says that like our breakfast this morning was supposed to occupy me all day.

Mila: Three hours of aggressive silence. I can hear my own thoughts. It's a nightmare.

Sadie: Come to the ranch. I'm here with Harper.

Mila: On my way. If I stay here I'm going to start talking to the plants.

Sadie: You already do that.

She's not wrong.

I grab my jacket—the leather one that's seen better days but still makes me feel like I have my life together—and shove my feet into boots that were definitely not designed for mud.

My hair is already falling out of the bun I wrestled it into this morning, curls escaping in every direction like they have a personal vendetta against neatness.

I don't bother fixing it.

The drive to Blackwood Ranch takes fifteen minutes, winding through open fields and roads that stretch long and empty beneath a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at.

Mountains rise in the distance, and I haven’t gotten used to them yet.

Everything here feels bigger. Wider. Like the world remembered to exhale after holding its breath too long.

I crack the window and cold air rushes in, smelling like pine and earth and something I can't name but makes my chest loosen.

The scandal still lives in the back of my mind like a bruise I keep pressing on to see if it still hurts.

It does.

Eight months ago, I was the scapegoat for a branding campaign that went nuclear after someone on the team leaked confidential client information.

I didn't do it. But I was the easiest target.

The loud one. The messy one. The one who talked too much in meetings and wore too much jewelry and had "too many opinions" according to my boss, who conveniently forgot how many campaigns I'd saved with those opinions.

They didn't fire me outright. Worse. They made it impossible to stay. Whispers in the break room. Passive-aggressive emails. Clients requesting I be removed from their accounts. My name turned into a punchline I wasn't in on.

And my ex-boyfriend—three years together, talks of maybe moving in, maybe getting serious—responded to the whole implosion with a shrug and "Maybe you're just too much for corporate life."

Too much.

Like I was a natural disaster he'd been tolerating instead of a person he supposedly loved.

I left. Packed my life into suitcases and drove to Helena to stay with my parents for two weeks before I couldn't handle their concerned looks anymore. Then Sadie invited me to visit. Just for a few days. Just to get away.

That was seven months ago.

I pull into the ranch and park near the main lodge, gravel crunching under my tires.

The place sprawls in every direction, fences and pastures and mountains framing everything like a postcard that hasn't been edited yet.

Horses graze in the distance. Orange and gold trees sway near the riverbank.

The whole scene feels impossibly still, like time moves differently here.

I cut the engine and sit for a second, hands still gripping the steering wheel.

I was never supposed to stay this long.

Before I can spiral again, I spot Luke near one of the equipment sheds.

Luke Blackwood.

Steady. Dependable. Quietly hot in a way that sneaks up on you if you're not paying attention. Which I've been trying very hard not to do.

He's tall and lean in that rancher way, all hard-earned muscle and worn denim. His hair is a little too long, dark blond and curling slightly at the ends like he keeps forgetting to get it cut. He's crouched next to a fence post, tool belt slung low on his hips, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

I watch him for half a second too long before I catch myself.

Stop it.

Luke is serious. Responsible. The kind of man who probably has his life together and doesn't need a chaotic, overthinking, jobless disaster wandering into his orbit.

I am the human embodiment of a question mark.

He is a fully formed statement.

Not compatible.

I climb out of the car and walk toward him, gravel crunching under my completely-wrong-for-ranch-life boots. He glances up at the sound, straightening slowly, and wipes his hands on his jeans.

Then he smiles.

Not a big smile. Just a small, warm shift of his mouth that somehow makes him look even better, which feels deeply unfair.

"Mila."

His voice is low and easy, like he's not in a hurry to be anywhere else.

"Hey." I wave awkwardly, immediately regretting the wave. Who waves like that? "I'm looking for Sadie. She said she was here."

"She's over at the barn with Harper and my dad." He tilts his head toward the large red structure in the distance. "They're probably still fussing over the new foal."

"Of course they are."

Luke's mouth twitches, almost like he's fighting back a bigger smile. "You settling into the apartment?"

"Define settling." I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. "I've achieved the stage where I own furniture but refuse to fully unpack. It's a delicate balance."

"Sounds temporary."

The word lands harder than he probably meant it to.

"That's the plan." I force brightness into my voice. "Month to month. No commitments. Very breezy."

Luke doesn't say anything for a beat, just looks at me with those warm brown eyes that seem to notice too much. Then he nods slowly, like he's filing that information away somewhere I can't see.

"Well, if you need anything, let me know."

"Thanks."

I start walking toward the barn, boots crunching against the gravel, and I swear I can feel his gaze following me. Warm and steady and impossibly distracting.

I don't turn around.

Don't turn around, Mila.

I turn around.

He's still watching.

Our eyes meet for half a second before he dips his head and goes back to whatever he was fixing, shoulders moving under his flannel shirt in a way that should be illegal.

I force myself to keep walking.

Leave it alone.

Luke Blackwood is not for you. He's the kind of man who deserves someone with a five-year plan and a 401k and emotional stability. You are held together with sarcasm and spite and way too much coffee.

But my traitorous brain keeps circling back to the way he smiled.

The way his voice sounded when he said my name.

The way he looked at me like maybe I wasn't too much at all.

I shove the thought down and head toward the barn, already bracing myself for whatever chaos Sadie and Harper are currently embroiled in.

At least there, I can pretend I'm not thinking about Luke.