6. Luke
LUKE
Idon't sleep.
The night stretches endlessly, every time I close my eyes replaying the same moment on loop. Mila standing beside her car. The way her breath caught when I touched her face. How close I came to crossing a line I can't uncross.
How badly I wanted to cross it anyway.
By the time sunrise bleeds across the horizon, I've given up pretending rest will come. I drag myself out of bed, pull on yesterday's jeans, and head toward the main house where breakfast always materializes when Dean's home.
The kitchen's already alive with noise when I arrive.
Dean's holding court at the table, Colt and Rhett flanking him like they're physically incapable of sitting anywhere else.
Harper moves around the stove with easy familiarity, flipping pancakes while Dad leans against the counter nursing coffee that's probably strong enough to strip paint.
Normal. Comfortable. The kind of morning that's played out a thousand times before.
Except Mila's here.
She's perched on the counter near the sink, bare feet swinging, wearing an oversized sweater that falls off one shoulder and leggings that shouldn't be distracting but absolutely are.
Her hair's piled into one of those chaotic buns that looks accidental but probably isn't, and she's laughing at something Colt just said.
Of course she is.
Because Colt's standing directly in front of her, grinning like he just won the lottery, gesturing wildly with a piece of bacon.
"I'm telling you," Colt says, "the bull knew. I swear to God, he knew I was hungover. Targeted me specifically."
"Maybe you deserved it." Mila's eyes are bright with amusement, her whole face open in a way that makes my chest tight. "Did you consider that?"
"I never deserve anything bad. I'm delightful."
"You keep saying that word. I don't think it means what you think it means."
Colt clutches his chest dramatically. "Princess Bride reference. Torres, marry me."
"Pass."
"Come on. I'd make an excellent husband. Ask anyone."
"I'm asking everyone right now," Mila calls toward the table. "Would Colt make an excellent husband?"
"Absolutely not," Dean says without looking up from his plate.
Rhett shakes his head silently.
Even Harper laughs. "Sorry, Colt."
"Betrayed by my own people." Colt leans closer to Mila, voice dropping to something that's probably supposed to be seductive but just sounds ridiculous. "Guess it's just you and me against the world."
"Guess you're alone against the world."
She's good at this. Deflecting his charm without making it awkward. Keeping everything light and playful in a way that doesn't encourage him but doesn't shut him down either.
I shouldn't be watching.
I definitely shouldn't care.
But my jaw's tight enough to crack teeth and I'm gripping my coffee mug like it personally offended me.
Dad notices. His eyes flick toward me, then Mila, then back. One eyebrow lifts slightly.
I ignore him.
"Morning, Luke," Harper calls, sliding pancakes onto a plate. "You look exhausted."
"Didn't sleep much."
"That's because you work too hard." She sets the plate in front of an empty chair. "Sit. Eat. Take a break from being responsible for five minutes."
I sit because arguing with Harper when she's in caretaker mode is pointless. The chair faces the counter. Faces Mila.
She glances over, catching my eye for just a second before looking away.
Something passes between us. Too quick to name but heavy enough to feel.
Then Colt says something else and she's laughing again, the moment broken.
I force myself to focus on breakfast. The pancakes taste like cardboard but I eat them anyway because Harper's watching and she'll make it A Thing if I don't.
Dean starts telling a story about Billings. Rhett corrects half the details. Dad makes dry observations that land perfectly every time.
It's familiar. Comfortable.
And I feel completely separate from all of it.
Like I'm watching through glass.
Because all I can focus on is Mila's laugh. The way her eyes crinkle at the corners. How she steals a piece of bacon off Colt's plate and he pretends to be outraged but lets her have it anyway.
How easy she is with everyone.
How much space she takes up without even trying.
"You good, man?" Dean's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
I blink. Everyone's looking at me.
"Yeah. Fine."
"You sure? You've been staring at that pancake like it insulted your mother."
"Just tired."
Dean doesn't look convinced but he lets it drop, attention shifting back to whatever story Colt's started telling.
I risk another glance toward Mila.
She's already looking at me.
Our eyes meet and hold for a beat too long. Her expression shifts—something softer. Almost questioning.
Then Colt nudges her shoulder and she turns away.
I need to leave.
Now.
I stand abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "I've got work."
"It's barely seven," Harper protests.
"Bookings won't handle themselves."
I'm out the door before anyone can argue, boots hitting the porch hard enough to rattle the boards.
The morning air's cold and sharp, cutting through the fog in my head. I drag in a breath that doesn't quite fill my lungs and start walking toward the office.
Distance. That's what I need. Distance and work and something to focus on that isn't Mila Torres laughing in my kitchen wearing my hoodie from two days ago that she apparently never returned.
The office is blissfully empty when I arrive. I close the door, drop into my chair, and pull up the booking system with perhaps more aggression than necessary.
Numbers. Reservations. Things that make sense and follow rules and don't look at me with eyes that turn everything sideways.
I lose myself in spreadsheets for maybe an hour before the door opens.
Mila walks in carrying two coffee cups, her bag slung over one shoulder.
Of course.
"Morning." She sets one cup on my desk, perfectly prepared the way I like it even though I never told her how I take my coffee. She just noticed. "You left breakfast pretty fast."
"Had work."
"At seven in the morning?"
"Work doesn't care what time it is."
She settles into her chair across from me, pulling out her laptop. "You're really committed to this whole 'serious and responsible' thing, aren't you?"
"Someone has to be."
"Right. Because the ranch would collapse without you."
There's no bite in her voice. Just observation. But it lands harder than it should.
I focus on the screen. "What's on the schedule today?"
"Three check-ins this afternoon. Two couples and a family. The Hendersons want an early morning trail ride tomorrow, and the Millers are asking about extending their stay through next week."
"Can we fit them?"
"Already checked. Cabin four's open if they don't mind switching."
"Good. Send them the offer."
Mila's quiet for a moment. Then, carefully, "Are we going to talk about last night?"
My hands still on the keyboard. "Nothing to talk about."
"Luke—"
"I apologized. You said it was fine. We're fine."
"I didn't say it was fine. I said you were right to stop."
"Same thing."
"It's really not."
I finally look at her. She's watching me with that particular expression she gets when she's trying to figure something out. Direct. Unflinching. The kind of look that sees through every defense I put up.
"What do you want me to say?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. "That I shouldn't have done it? I already know that."
"Why shouldn't you have done it?"
"Because you're leaving, Mila. You've been leaving since the day you got here."
Something flickers across her face. Hurt, maybe. Or frustration.
"I'm here right now."
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly." I turn back to the computer. "So let's just focus on work."
The silence that follows is heavy enough to suffocate.
Then Mila opens her laptop without another word.
We work in strained quiet for the next three hours, the easy rhythm we've built over the past two weeks completely shattered. She doesn't make jokes. I don't offer random observations about guest requests. We're just two people in the same room pretending everything's normal.
It's terrible.
I hate it.
But I don't know how to fix it without making everything worse.
By the time Dean, Colt, and Rhett leave the next morning, I'm wound so tight I feel like a fence wire about to snap.
Dean pulls me aside before they go, concern etched across his face.
"You good?"
"Yeah."
"You're lying."
"I'm fine, Dean."
He studies me for a long moment, jaw working. "If something's going on?—"
"Nothing's going on. I'm just busy."
"You're always busy. That's the problem." He claps my shoulder, grip firm. "Take a break once in a while. You're allowed to exist outside of this place."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Dean doesn't look convinced but he lets it drop. They pile into the truck, Colt shouting something about next year's circuit through the open window.
Then they're gone.
And it's just the ranch again. Just me.
Just Mila somewhere nearby, probably reorganizing something I didn't ask her to reorganize because that's what she does. Makes herself essential. Necessary.
Impossible to ignore.
I head toward the barn because that's where Dad always is and right now I need something familiar. Something that doesn't make me question every choice I've made for the past decade.
He's exactly where I expect him—near the fence line, checking the gate hinges with the kind of focus most people reserve for surgery.
"Dean get off okay?" he asks without looking up.
"Yeah."
"Good." Dad straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans. "You planning to tell me what's eating you or are we doing the thing where you pretend you're fine?"
"I'm fine."
"Sure you are. That's why you've been walking around like someone kicked your dog."
Before I can respond, Wyatt's truck rumbles up the drive. Of course. Because my morning needed this exact complication.
Wyatt climbs out, grinning like he knows something I don't. "Morning, gentlemen. Beautiful day to be alive and falling apart."
"No one's falling apart," I mutter.
"Luke's falling apart," Dad says mildly.
"I can see that." Wyatt leans against the fence, studying me with entirely too much amusement. "What happened? Someone steal your color-coded filing system?"
"Nothing happened."
"There's a girl," Dad says.
I stare at him. "What?"
"There's a girl. That's the only thing that makes a man look that miserable." He tilts his head, considering. "Or maybe not a girl. Maybe a specific woman who's been working in your office for two weeks."
"I don't?—"
"Mila?" Wyatt's grin widens. "Oh, this is good. This is very good."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"The fact that you're deflecting this hard means there's absolutely something to talk about." Wyatt exchanges a look with Dad. "Twenty bucks says he almost kissed her."
"Fifty says he actually kissed her and panicked."
"I didn't kiss her."
"But you wanted to," Wyatt says. "That's written all over your face."
I drag a hand through my hair, jaw tight. "Can we not do this?"
"We're absolutely doing this." Wyatt crosses his arms, settling in like he's got all day. "Because watching you suffer is the most entertainment I've had in months."
"I'm not suffering."
"You're definitely suffering," Dad says. "And you're doing that thing where you convince yourself you don't deserve good things."
"I don't?—"
"Yeah. You do." His voice is firm. Certain. "You've spent your entire adult life taking care of everyone else. Maybe it's time you let someone take care of you."
"Mila's leaving."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Dad shrugs. "But you won't know if you keep running."
"I'm not running."
"You're absolutely running." Wyatt grins. "It's honestly impressive how fast you're running while standing completely still."
I should argue. Defend myself. Tell them both to mind their own business.
But I'm too tired to fight and they're not wrong anyway.
So I just shake my head, turning away from them both. "I have work."
"Course you do," Wyatt calls after me. "Heaven forbid you take five minutes to be a human being."
I keep walking, their laughter following me across the yard.
But as the barn disappears behind me, something shifts.
Because they're right.
Dean gets adventure. Dad found unexpected love with Harper when he thought that part of his life was over.
And me?
I stayed behind. Built a life entirely around responsibility and routine and making sure everyone else had what they needed.
When was the last time I wanted something just for me?
When was the last time I let myself want anything at all?
Mila's disrupted the careful balance I've maintained for years. Walked into my office with her chaos and her warmth and her infuriating ability to see straight through me.
She's made herself essential in two weeks.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
Because wanting her feels selfish.
But not wanting her feels impossible.