Chapter 7 Noah
NOAH
I yanked the twine tight, securing the last hay bale onto the stack. The late afternoon sun sat on my shoulders, sweat gathering at the back of my neck. Good, honest work. The kind that kept a man too busy to think.
“Need a hand?” Elia asked.
I glanced over as he stepped into the barn, still moving slower than usual.
“What are you doing? You’re supposed to put your feet up and get better.”
“I am better,” he insisted, grinning. “It’s sitting still that’d drive me nuts. And you don’t want that.”
I snorted. “Fine. But at least pretend you’re taking it easy.”
He dropped onto a hay bale, stretched his leg out, then started tying knots anyway.
“Hey, thanks for covering for me,” I said after a moment. “With the broken plates.”
“Easy fix. Found matching ones in town. Problem solved.”
“Still, I owe you, man,” I said to him.
He waved me off.
The fact was, I owed him for a lot of things.
“So, this wedding thing,” I muttered, tying off the next bale. “Gonna be a long-term gig?”
Elia flicked a glance at me. “Depends. If it brings in money and doesn’t wreck the farm, I don’t see the harm. Claire loves it. But once she’s in her last year of study, we might have to stop. She’ll have to finish her degree in Pullman.”
“Washington?”
“Yep. She’s killing it.”
I raised a brow. “Wow. Look at you, talking her up. That’s rare.”
Elia scoffed. “Don’t make it weird.” Then, after a beat, he added, “I don’t know how she does it.”
“If weddings are gonna be a thing, you won’t mind me staying in the background, right?” I asked.
“Well, actually, I was thinking you could be our media manager.”
I shot him a look.
“Or our wedding photographer.”
I nearly dropped the twine, laughing.
Elia grinned. “You’ve got an eye for things. Think of all the happy couples you’d get to—”
I groaned. “El.”
“Fine, fine.” He laughed, tying off his own bale. “I won’t force you into anything. But hey, don’t you wanna meet new people? Broaden your horizons?”
“My horizon is plenty broad, thanks.”
“Not really,” he shot back. “You won’t find your soulmate by hiding in the barn.”
“What’s wrong with hiding in the barn?” I grabbed the pitchfork and headed for the stalls. The horses shifted, their ears twitching as they waited for dinner.
Elia’s teasing smirk faded as he looked at me, really looked at me. That big-brother gaze had changed over the years. When we were at our lowest, his eyes had been tired, serious, sharp with anger. Now, there was something softer in them. Care. Hope. Maybe Claire had something to do with that.
Maybe the idea of a soulmate wasn’t so wishy-washy after all.
Elia huffed. “Hey. Don’t take me seriously.”
But his tone gave him away. He was serious, just holding back. Like he did want to say something real, but wasn’t sure I was ready to hear it. His serious approach had never worked on me, and he knew it.
I kept working, letting the silence settle between us. I fed the horses, double-checked the stacked bales, and kept an eye on him so he didn’t overdo it.
The Lazy Moose had always run like a well-oiled machine. And despite all the wedding madness, this was the part that made sense. The sweat, the weight of the work, the sound of the horses shifting in their stalls. Out here, things were simple.
I adjusted my hat, wiping the sweat from my brow as I leaned against the stall.
By the time we dragged ourselves back into the house, exhaustion sat heavy in my bones. The good kind. Earned.
Claire was at the kitchen table, looking just as wiped out but somehow a hell of a lot prettier about it. Dylan was curled up in her lap, his little fist tangled in her shirt.
Elia crossed the room without a word and rested his hands on Claire’s shoulders. She sighed, melting into his touch. He kissed the top of her head, murmuring something I couldn’t hear.
I had to look away.
It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly.
Just a deep, gut-level recognition that if I ever married a girl, I’d treat her exactly like that.
The way Elia looked at Claire, like she was his home, his whole world…that was what I wanted.
I shook it off and headed for my room. The floorboards creaked beneath my boots as I shut the door and leaned against it for a moment.
It didn’t take much, and she was back in my head.
I didn’t even know her name.
Didn’t know why she’d been there by herself, wrapped up in silk and frustration, her zipper stuck and her patience thinner than a fishing line. She was a storm wearing baby blue.
Would I see her again?
Doubtful. I wasn’t part of the wedding. I was just the guy hauling tables, stacking chairs, and making sure the real guests had a picture-perfect evening. Minus the part where I shattered a whole box of dinner plates inside the bridal tent.
Would it be weird to ask Claire for her name? Just a casual, Hey, who was that checking out your flowers the other day?
Yeah, that’d be smooth. Except she’d ask which one.
Oh, I mean the one in the tent yesterday, half-dressed and yelling at me.
Yeah, no way in hell that was coming out of my mouth.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and changed into a clean shirt before heading back to the kitchen. Claire was still there, sipping tea while Dylan snored in her arms.
“Long day?” I asked, settling into the chair across from her.
She gave a tired smile. “The longest.”
Elia walked in, grabbing a beer from the fridge before leaning against the counter. “Tell me about it. You think running a ranch is hard? Try running a wedding.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “You’re not running it. You’re watching people and showing up late to meetings.”
“Exactly,” he said, taking a sip. “Backbreaking work.”
I chuckled, watching the sparky banter only people crazy in love could pull off.
Before I could stop myself, the words were already out. “So…the bridesmaids. How many are there?”
Claire narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why?”
Shit. Abort.
“No reason,” I said, too fast.
Her brow lifted. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah, just—” I cleared my throat, aiming for nonchalance. “Just making conversation. Who’s, uh, the one in the blue dress?”
Claire’s lips curved cunningly.
“Elia, honey,” she said, turning to my brother. “I think Noah has a crush.”
I groaned, pushing away from the table. “Forget I asked.”
But Elia was already grinning, his eyes bright with hope. A rare thing, when it came to me. He muttered, “So that’s what you meant by your horizons being plenty broad?”
I really should’ve kept my mouth shut.
“Huh.” I feigned indifference. Then, as casually as I could, I pivoted. “Well, if there’s nothing else you need me for, I might swing by ex-Buster’s place.”
“That’s such a clumsy name,” Elia said, deadpan.
“Come on, El,” Claire said, stepping in with a laugh. “Give the poor boy time.”
“I’ve got a name already, actually,” I said.
“Noah’s Ark?” Elia fired back.
“Ha. Ha,” I replied, dry as dust.
Claire nudged Elia with her elbow. “Let him talk.”
“The Sundown,” I said. “It’s west-facing. The light hits it just right, no matter the season.”
Elia’s gaze lingered a second longer than usual. There were a dozen things behind that look—stuff we hadn’t said, stuff we probably should—but he just nodded. “Great name. I love it.”
I gave a half-bow, then flicked a glance toward Claire’s indoor nursery. “Claire, think I can steal five of your roses?”
She caught the meaning instantly. “Of course. I’ll help you with that. And I’ve got just the vase.”
She moved to the nursery and began cutting five perfect yellow roses without a single question. Just that grace she always had. She placed them in a clear glass vase, her hands unhurried, her gaze perceptive.
“So…what are you planning to do with The Sundown?” she asked.
“Buster gave it a fresh coat of paint after his last tenants moved out. It just needs a good clean before the furniture starts arriving.”
“Good luck.” She handed over the vase.
“Thanks, Claire.”
In the living room, Elia glanced up from where he was crawling around, gathering Dylan’s scattered blocks.
“What did I say about taking it easy?” I said, crouching to fish out the ones wedged under tables and cabinets.
“Hey, hey, I’m good. You do what you gotta do.” He shooed me away. “Need a hand?”
“Not your hand.” I nodded toward his braced foot.
“Then take my truck, at least. No point walking. When’s yours finally showing up?”
“Tomorrow. I’m picking it up in the morning. Thanks, El.”
The drive to The Sundown was short. The land had been partitioned clean from what Buster still owned, though the fence bordering The Lazy Moose could use some love.
Luckily, Hank and the boys had already leveled a path and built a gate through the shared boundary, linking my new place to the Lucas land.
I set the vase of yellow roses down on the porch rail, careful not to knock the petals. They caught the light just right, like a memory you didn’t know you still carried.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of paint and pine, the kind of clean that came from freshly coated walls and no one living in them yet. I set the roses down by the door and rolled up my sleeves. I started with the shelves, wiping slowly.
The truth was, Dad hadn’t missed the chance to buy this place because he didn’t have the nerve to ask Buster. He’d simply run out of time.
The kind of truth that sits with you.
I moved to the floor, filled a bucket from the tap, and started mopping. Back and forth. The rhythm gave my hands something to do while my head drifted.
The Lazy Moose had been full back then—too full. Noise, boots in the hallway, someone always yelling for someone else. Dad had plans. Big ones. He’d wanted us to move here, spread out a little, and make room to grow.
Then Mom got sick.
Throat cancer. It took her quietly and fast.
Somehow, we moved on. Dad still talked about the future, just with different plans now, maybe even bigger ones. Expanding families, more room for whoever we were all becoming. He told Elia he’d get first pick between the two houses. And Elia, being Elia, would’ve picked the main house. Always.
Which meant this one…would’ve been mine. Eventually.
I circled out to the porch, took one look at the windows, and grabbed a rag. The glass was mostly clear, just streaked with old rain and settled dust. It had stood through storms. It had waited.
This house should’ve been full by now. A dog flopping out in the sun, kids dragging mud through the halls, a woman’s laughter carrying from the kitchen to the porch.
That was the life I’d drawn in my head a thousand times over, back when I was still that adolescent ranch kid who believed in things. In futures.
But that future never came.
Tessa.
Her name swept in like a wind you couldn’t block. It always did.
Grief didn’t just knock the air out of us. It reached inside and rearranged our bones.
After she died, Dad went quiet. He stopped feeding the horses. Then, he stopped feeding us. It was as if something inside him had been switched off, and no one knew how to turn it back on. I was fourteen. Old enough to understand, but too young to know what to do with the understanding I had.
Elia tried. God, he tried. He kept the ranch going like he could outrun the collapse. Some days, they fought. Other days, the silence was so loud that I wanted to scream just to break it. I didn’t know who to stand with. A brother who kept us going, or a father who wasn’t really there.
I loved them both. God, I loved them both.
My hand scrubbed harder at the floorboards. I scrubbed until my shoulder flared and my fingers cramped. Even then, I didn’t stop. Because work was easier than feeling.
And this house—this house was mine now.
It just didn’t feel like it yet.
Movement shifted across the porch.
A dog was sniffing the vase I’d left there.
“Well, hey there, big fella,” I murmured, stepping out. “Smelling the roses, huh?”
There was no collar. And it was a mix I didn’t recognize.
Maybe part long-haired sheepdog, part retriever.
Or maybe even part coyote, with that tawny tail and the way he moved, half-wild, half-willing to trust. Probably a stray.
But the way he padded up the steps, I was sure he already knew the place.
The dog turned as I picked up the vase.
Five yellow roses. One for each of us. The Lucases.
I set the vase in the living room window, just like Mom used to.
The sight hit deep. My throat tightened as I stared at it. And while I stood there, a heavy coat and four paws leaned against my leg. No sound, no bark. He just pressed into me, like he’d decided I was his for the day.
“You knew Buster, didn’t you?” I patted him. His tail thumped. “Let’s see if El’s glovebox still hides some treats.”
He followed me to the truck. And damn if he didn’t beat me there, his head already poking in before the door was halfway open.
“Your lucky day,” I said, tossing him a handful. He wolfed them down like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“That’s all I’ve got, buddy. But if you come back tomorrow, I’ll be ready.”
Without warning, he turned and trotted off, his tail swaying like a flag in the breeze.
And just like that, he disappeared. He literally rode himself into the sunset.
I sat down on the steps, watching the horizon blaze gold and rust. The peaks of the Bitterroot Mountains framed it like a painting, the clouds catching fire as the light dipped low. This was The Sundown at its best. Beautiful in the kind of way that asks nothing of you.
I’d been the lost one. The kid who bolted and didn’t look back. Didn’t write. Didn’t call.
My path back had started the day Elia nearly died.
A couple of years ago, he was beaten half to death, caught up in a brawl spun from an old family feud that should’ve died out with the men who started it.
I’d returned then.
Elia didn’t ask why. He just let me in.
But I never stayed long. I always claimed I had business in Salt Lake. Deadlines. A growing company. Whatever excuse sounded the most polished. But none of it covered what really drove me out.
I wasn’t just a memory of the old Lazy Moose days. I was a reminder of everything that had fallen apart. Of what he’d lost.
When Elia looked at me, he didn’t just see his brother.
He saw the collapse of the Lucas family.
So I’d left first before anyone else could ever leave me again.