2. Luke
LUKE
Ihead toward the barn twenty minutes later, boots scuffing through dirt that's still damp from last night's rain.
The sun's climbing higher now, warming the back of my neck despite the cooler temperatures as I cross the yard.
I need to talk to Dad about the trail rides scheduled for later this week—a family from Denver booked the sunset ride, and I want to make sure we've got enough hands to cover it if Dean's still on the circuit.
The guest side of the ranch runs smoother when I stay on top of details like this. Bookings. Logistics. Making sure no one accidentally puts a nervous rider on Maverick because they didn't check the notes. Dad handles the working ranch. I handle everything that keeps the lights on.
It's a good system.
Most days.
As I round the corner of the barn, voices drift out through the open doors. Laughter. The kind that sounds easy and unforced, the way people laugh when they're not trying to impress anyone.
I recognize Sadie's voice first, bright and teasing. Then Harper's, warmer and softer. And underneath it all, Mila's—quick and animated, words tumbling over themselves like she's in a hurry to get them all out before she forgets what she was saying.
I shouldn't pause.
I do anyway.
Just for a second. Just long enough to brace myself for whatever chaos I'm about to walk into.
Because Mila Torres is chaos.
Not the destructive kind. The kind that makes everything around her feel louder and brighter and more alive.
She walks into a room and suddenly everyone's smiling without realizing they've started.
Guests love her immediately. Staff relax around her like she's given them permission to stop taking everything so seriously.
Even Dad tolerates her endless chatter with what I can only describe as suspicious patience, which is more than he gives most people.
And Wyatt laughs every single time she walks up to him, which is saying something because Wyatt Mercer doesn't laugh at just anything.
I push through the barn doors and find them clustered near the foal's stall.
Harper's leaning over the gate, cooing at the gangly-legged colt like it's the most precious thing she's ever seen.
Sadie's standing next to her, arms crossed, grinning at something Mila just said.
And Mila's perched on the edge of a hay bale, gesturing wildly with both hands, curls falling out of her bun in every direction.
She looks completely out of place in her oversized sweater and expensive boots that are already caked with mud.
She looks perfect.
Stop it.
"—and I'm just saying," Mila's saying, voice bright with mock indignation, "if I'd known ranch life involved this much manual labor, I would've stayed in the city where the hardest thing I had to lift was my emotional baggage."
Sadie snorts. "You literally asked to help with the chickens yesterday."
"Because I thought it would be cute! Pastoral! I didn't realize chickens were tiny dinosaurs with anger management issues."
Harper laughs, the sound soft and genuine, and glances over her shoulder at me. "Luke. Come defend ranch life. Mila's threatening to file a complaint."
"Against who?" I step closer, shoving my hands into my pockets. "The chickens?"
Mila swivels toward me, eyes lighting up in that way they do when she's about to say something ridiculous. "Against whoever decided chickens should have beaks like that. They're weapons. Tiny, feathered weapons."
"You got pecked once."
"Once is enough." She holds up a finger dramatically. "I have trauma now. Emotional scars."
Sadie rolls her eyes, grinning. "You're the most dramatic person I've ever met."
"Thank you." Mila beams like she's been complimented. "I work very hard at it."
I shouldn't be staring.
I am, though.
Because it's impossible not to. Not because Mila demands attention—though she does—but because she somehow inserts warmth into every space she occupies. She makes everything feel lighter. Less serious. Like maybe the world isn't as heavy as it pretends to be.
And I need to stop noticing that.
Because Mila is temporary.
She says it herself often enough. "Month to month." "Just freelancing until I figure things out." "I'll probably head back to the city soon." She complains about ranch life regularly—too quiet, too muddy, too many things that bite—and I believe her when she says she'll leave eventually.
She belongs in the city. Somewhere loud and fast and full of people who talk as much as she does. Somewhere that isn't here.
I need to remember that.
Everyone else is always out living their life. Dean on the rodeo circuit. My friends moving on to bigger things. And Mila will leave too, eventually, because staying was never the plan.
That's fine.
It has to be.
"How's the foal doing?" I nod toward the stall, redirecting before I get caught staring again.
"Perfect." Harper's face softens, the way it always does when she talks about the animals. "He's eating well. No issues with his legs. Your dad thinks he'll be ready to start weaning soon."
"Good."
Sadie glances at me, then at Mila, then back at me with a look I pretend not to notice. She does that sometimes. Watches me like she's trying to solve a puzzle I didn't realize I'd laid out.
Before I can deflect, Mila leans forward on the hay bale, grinning. "So, Luke. Question."
"That's never a good start."
She ignores me. "Why do trail rides have to start so early? Is it a cowboy thing? Like, do you lose your credentials if you sleep past dawn?"
"We start early because it's cooler. And because the horses are less cranky."
"The horses are cranky?"
"Only when guests try to pet them before coffee."
Mila blinks. Then she grins, wide and bright, and for half a second I forget why I was trying not to look at her. "Did you just imply the horses drink coffee?"
"I'm implying they have standards."
Sadie laughs. Harper shakes her head, smiling. And Mila winks at me.
Winks.
Like it's nothing. Like it doesn't send a stupid jolt of heat straight through my chest that I immediately shove down and ignore.
Because I'm not doing this.
I force myself to laugh with them, to stay casual, to pretend I don't feel the weight of her attention like something I want to lean into.
"Dad around?" I ask, scanning the barn.
"Outside with Wyatt." Harper tips her head toward the back doors. "They're arguing about fence posts. Again."
Of course they are.
I head toward the back of the barn, boots echoing against the worn wood floor. Sunlight streams through the gaps in the walls, catching dust motes in the air. The smell of hay and leather and horse is so familiar it barely registers anymore.
Dad and Wyatt are standing near the fence line, both leaning against the rails with the kind of posture that says this conversation isn't urgent but neither of them is in a hurry to end it.
Dad straightens when he sees me, steel-blue eyes sharp as always, but there's something different about him now. Softer around the edges. The kind of shift that happened slowly and then all at once after Harper showed up and refused to leave.
I don't think it's odd.
I'm happy for him, actually. He spent twenty years convinced his time for anything other than work was over. Harper proved him wrong in the best way possible.
"Luke." Dad nods. "Thought you were handling bookings this morning."
"I was. Finished the scheduling." I glance between him and Wyatt. "Wanted to check in about the trail rides this week. The Denver family booked the sunset ride Thursday. Dean confirmed he'd be back by then?"
Dad grunts. "He said he would. Doesn't mean he will."
Wyatt chuckles, low and dry. "That boy's got a loose relationship with deadlines."
"He'll be here." I lean against the fence next to them. "If not, I'll cover it."
"You're already covering everything else," Dad says, voice gruff but not unkind.
I shrug. "It's fine. I've got it handled."
Wyatt glances at me, dark blue eyes crinkling with amusement. "You always do. Don't know how you manage half the chaos around here."
"Practice."
Dad huffs something that might be a laugh. "Harper keeps trying to help with the bookings. Keeps saying she wants to 'contribute.' I told her she already contributes plenty."
"By keeping you human?" Wyatt grins.
"By keeping me sane."
I bite back a smile. Dad doesn't talk like this often. Open. Easy. Like he's not constantly bracing for something to go wrong. Harper did that for him. Made him remember how to be more than just the guy holding everything together.
Wyatt claps a hand on Dad's shoulder. "Still can't believe you went and fell for a twenty-six-year-old city girl. Never thought I'd see the day."
"Neither did I."
"And yet here we are."
Dad's mouth twitches, almost a smile. "Here we are."
I glance back toward the barn, where I can still hear the faint murmur of voices. Sadie's laugh. Harper's softer response. Mila's bright, animated chatter weaving through it all like a thread pulling everything tighter together.
I force myself to look away.
"Anyway," I say, straightening off the fence. "Just wanted to confirm the trail ride. I'll make sure we're covered either way."
Dad nods. "Appreciate it."
Wyatt grins at me. "You ever take a day off, Luke?"
"Not really my style."
"Should be." He shakes his head, still grinning. "You're gonna work yourself into the ground one of these days."
I don't answer that. Just tip my head in a half-wave and turn back toward the barn.
Sadie's waiting near the entrance, arms crossed, that same knowing look still on her face.
"Walk with me?" she asks.
"Why?"
"Because I need to grab something from you. That farrier number you mentioned last week? The one you said was better than the guy we've been using?"
"Oh. Yeah. I've got it saved on my phone."
"Perfect." She falls into step beside me as we head back toward the main lodge.