2. Luke #3
She gives me a look that says she doesn't believe me for a second, but she doesn't argue. Instead she's quiet for a moment, like she's thinking something through. Then she says, casual as anything, "What about Mila?"
I blink. "What about her?"
"She could help. Part-time in the ranch office. She's good with people, she's organized, and she's already here."
The suggestion lands like a stone in my chest. Heavy and immediate and impossible to ignore.
"No."
Sadie's eyebrows lift. "No?"
"No." I straighten off the railing, shaking my head. "That won't work."
"Why not?"
Because the last thing I need is Mila Torres sitting in the ranch office every day where I can't avoid her.
Because I'm already too aware of her as it is—the sound of her laugh, the way she gestures when she talks, the brightness she brings into every room she walks into.
Because working with her would mean spending hours in close proximity and I'm barely managing to keep my distance as things stand.
I don't say any of that.
"Because Mila's temporary," I say instead, voice firm. "She's month-to-month. She'll leave eventually. I need someone permanent. Someone who's actually planning to stay."
Sadie crosses her arms, studying me with an expression I can't quite read. "She could be a placeholder. Until you find someone permanent."
"That's not a good solution."
"Why not?"
"Because training someone takes time. And if she's just going to leave in a few weeks or a month, that's wasted effort. I'd rather wait and hire someone who's actually committed to being here long-term."
"Luke—"
"I appreciate the suggestion," I cut in, keeping my voice level. "But it won't work. Mila's got her own thing going with the remote design work. She doesn't need me dumping ranch admin on top of that."
Sadie doesn't look convinced. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly like she's trying to solve an equation that doesn't quite add up. "You know she complains about being bored, right? She's always asking me and Harper if there's anything she can help with."
"Then she can help with something that isn't my responsibility."
The words come out sharper than I intended. Sadie's expression shifts—surprise, maybe, or curiosity—and I immediately regret the edge in my tone.
I take a breath, forcing myself to soften. "Look, I know you're trying to help. And I appreciate it. But I need to figure this out properly. Hire someone who's actually looking for steady work. Not someone who's just passing through."
"Mila might not be as temporary as you think."
"She's said it herself a dozen times. 'Month to month.' 'Just figuring things out.' She's not staying, Sadie. And that's fine. But it means she's not the right fit for what I need."
Sadie watches me for a long moment, silent and thoughtful. Then she nods slowly, though her expression suggests she doesn't entirely agree. "Okay. But you should at least think about it. Even a few weeks of help is better than burning yourself out trying to do everything alone."
"I'm not burning out."
"Luke."
"I'm fine."
She sighs, shaking her head like she's given up trying to convince me. "Alright. But when you change your mind—and you will—let me know. I'll talk to her."
"I'm not going to change my mind."
"We'll see." She pushes off the railing, grinning now like she knows something I don't. "Thanks for the farrier number. I'll let you get back to your very fine, not-at-all-overwhelming day."
I watch her walk away, boots scuffing through the dirt as she heads back toward her truck parked near the barn. My phone buzzes in my pocket—another notification, another problem that needs solving—and I pull it out with a sigh.
The guest with the heater issue. Right.
I type out a quick response, promising to send someone over within the hour, then scroll through the rest of the messages piling up.
The trail guide needs confirmation on tomorrow's route.
The feed supplier wants to reschedule delivery.
Someone left a three-star review online complaining about the Wi-Fi, which we also don't advertise as available.
I close my eyes for a second, letting the sun warm my face.
Mila.
The idea sits in the back of my mind like an itch I can't scratch. It would be easier. She's here. She's capable. She gets along with everyone and she's probably bored out of her mind working remotely from Sadie's place.
But easier doesn't mean smart.
Because Mila's not staying. She's made that clear. And the last thing I need is to get used to having her around, to start depending on her presence, only to watch her leave the way everyone eventually does.
I've spent most of my life standing still while other people move forward.
Dean chasing the rodeo circuit. Friends scattering to cities and careers and lives that don't include daily cattle checks and trail ride schedules.
I've made peace with that. Built something solid here that doesn't require anyone else to stay.
Letting Mila into that space—into the office, into my daily routine—would be a mistake.
Even if part of me wants to say yes.
I shove the phone back into my pocket and head toward the equipment shed to find someone who can fix the damn heater.