Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Emily
I am entirely aware that I dressed too warmly for this.
I’d figured the Montana air would turn bone-chilling the second the sun dipped, so I’ve geared up for a quick three miles after dinner.
I’m still not comfortable enough to lounge around the living room like I own the place.
I’ve already washed the car, and there’s only so much trashy TV I can watch from the small screen of my phone in the silence of the guest room.
But as I round the final bend, I’m regretting the long-sleeve tech top. I have a feeling my choice of wash-day attire didn’t exactly go down well with the boss, but I’m overheating like a racehorse.
The sun is mostly down now, the last of the light bleeding into a deep indigo as the main house comes into view in the distance.
I slow to a walk, my lungs are tight with sweet, high-altitude air.
I tug my headphones down around my neck, and that’s when the evening quiet is punctured by the crackle of a fire and a low rumble of masculine laughter.
A whistle cuts through the breeze.
“Hey, Blondie! Who you running from at this time of night?”
It’s Wes.
I turn toward the bunkhouse and see the whole crew gathered around a massive stone fire pit. The orange glow of the flames dances across their faces. I recognize a few of the ranch hands, but there are new faces tonight, too.
I drift closer to the warmth after feeling the sweat on my neck start to cool uncomfortably in the breeze. “Just running from my own thoughts, Wes! And apparently, a heatstroke I didn’t see coming,” I answer, still panting with my hands on my hips.
“Come grab a seat before the beer gets warm,” Wes calls back, gesturing to a spot on a nearby log.
He’s a handsome kid, with sun-bleached curls peeking out from under the brim of a mink-colored cowboy hat.
He’s radiating that uninhibited twenty-something confidence—that bold, charm that has me giggling despite myself.
I glance toward the center of the circle.
Wyatt is there, leaning back in an Adirondack chair with his hat pulled low, shadowing his eyes.
He’s remarkably quiet, his long legs stretched out toward the flames, mulling over a bottle of Coors.
Sitting next to him is a massive guy with a mustache in a navy Skylark Fire & Rescue T-shirt.
“Come meet everyone properly, City Girl. I’m assuming Boss Man hasn’t done the formal intros,” Wes says, shooting Wyatt a sarcastic look.
Wes has obviously known Wyatt long enough not to catch a fist to the chin for his teasing because he doesn’t rise to the bait.
He only continues to stare intensely at the fire, the light flickering against his molten brown eyes.
“This is Mike.” Wes points to the muscular guy in the rescue tee. “He’s been out checking fire compliance today. But don’t let the uniform fool you, he’s rowdier than the rest of us.”
Mike holds out a hand, and I take it. His large, calloused palm almost swallows mine whole. “Hi, Mike. I’m Emily.”
Up close, he is a massive, solid wall of muscle which, given his job, is unsurprising.
His short dark hair is cut neat and practical, accentuating the rest of his features.
His skin is deeply bronzed, undoubtedly from spending every waking hour outdoors like the rest of the guys, showing off the most piercing shade of green eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Right. The engineer. Good to meet you, Em,” Mike says, his voice a friendly rumble.
From the corner of my eye, I see Wyatt shift in his chair. He still won’t bring himself to look at me. Man, what is his problem? Mike notices it too, shooting Wyatt a suspicious, sidelong glance before returning to his seat.
“You met Chuck and his better half yet?” Wes asks, gesturing to the couple on his other side.
“Oh—no. Hi.” I give a small wave, feeling very aware of how sweaty I am from my run.
The stocky, red-bearded rancher with a permanent tan line on his forehead raises his bottle to me. “Chuck. And this here is my fiancée, Sarah. She’s the one actually keeping this ranch running while we’re all sitting around here lying to each other.”
“Sarah’s the one who keeps us all in check,” Wes adds with a grin. “She’s the real boss around here.”
I turn to the woman sitting beside him. Sarah has a gentle aura to her–no older than twenty-eight, I’d guess–with a tiny frame that looks almost delicate next to the towering men sitting around the circle.
Her dark brown bob frames her face and highlights cheekbones to die for, but it’s her eyes that really catch you.
They’re a deep shade of brown that is somehow filled with a quiet grace.
Sarah gives me a warm, comforting smile. “Don’t listen to them. I’m just the horse trainer.”
“Oh, wow. That’s impressive,” I say, noticing the glint of a modest engagement ring on her finger. Her demeanor obviously fits her role perfectly.
“It’s good to have you here, Emily,” Sarah says, her eyes kind and genuine. “How long are you staying?”
“Oh—uh—I don’t have a definite timeline yet. I’m kind of between jobs.” I take the empty spot next to Mike.
The second I sit, Wyatt’s head snaps away. He goes back to aggressively peeling the label off his beer bottle with his thumb.
The silence between us feels suffocating. It’s like I can still feel the imprint of his fingers on my waist the day he caught me up at the bridge. Is he still annoyed that I almost slipped? Or is he annoyed that he was the one who caught me?
Mike turns his head to Wyatt, his brow furrowing. “What’s up with you, man? You’re broodier than usual. And that’s a fucking talent.”
“Nothing,” Wyatt grunts, rising to his feet suddenly. He doesn’t look at Mike, and he certainly doesn’t look at me. “I gotta get back. Alex needs putting to bed.”
He doesn’t wait for a goodbye before disappearing into the shadows. The group shares a collective, knowing look that seems to be reserved for someone whose moods are a changing weather pattern they’ve all learned to live with.
“So, you’re a runner, Emily?” Mike asks, leaning back. He has a warm, calming presence that makes it easy to forget I’m sitting in a circle of strangers in the middle of Montana.
“Oh, yeah. Nothing impressive,” I answer honestly, wiping a bit of grit from my palm. “I used to run track in high school, but I just do it now to keep my mind clear. Better than therapy.”
Mike nods, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I get that. Good to have an outlet like that. Wyatt tells me you used to live here as a kid?”
I blink, momentarily stunned. Wyatt told him that? The man who barely looks at me has been discussing my history with his best friend?
“Yeah,” I say, trying to mask my confusion. “My dad and I moved to the little cottage by the creek when I was a baby. My mom passed away, so Owen and Evelyn helped Dad out while he was working here. They were like an extra set of parents.”
Mike’s face softens. There’s a glimmer of genuine empathy in his eyes. “Man, that’s rough. I’m sorry about your mom.”
“Nah, it’s all good,” I say, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “It was a long time ago. And I’ve got some pretty great memories of this place. It’s strange being back, but…kind of familiar too.”
“Well, the Millers are good people,” Mike says, his voice dropping into a more confidential tone. “Even if Wyatt acts like a bear with a sore paw half the time. He’s had a hard run of it, Emily. Don’t take his brooding personally. He’s just forgotten how to let people in.”
I look toward the darkened main house in the distance, where a single light just flickered on in what I know is Alex’s bedroom. I can almost picture Wyatt in there, his large frame tucked into a small chair, reading a bedtime story with that soft expression he only wears for his son.
“I’m starting to realize that,” I mutter, more to myself than to Mike.
“Well, well…I see the party started without me, huh?”
Kassie’s boisterous voice cuts through the chatter like a blade.
She makes her way down the bank toward our circle, looking like she’s ready to blind someone.
She’s swapped her morning riding gear for cutoff denim shorts and tan cowboy boots, topped off with a leather jacket that screams of a rebellious edge.
Her hair is loose around her shoulders, her once perfectly styled, golden-brown waves a little fallen from a day in the great outdoors.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Mike. He’s in the middle of tipping a beer to his mouth, but the bottle pauses for a fraction of a second, long enough for the muscle in his jaw to jump. He swallows hard, his eyes tracking her movement with an intensity that makes my brows furrow.
Okay. There’s definitely a fire that needs fighting there.
Her eyes land on him with a cool but challenging edge. “Mike.” She gives a cordial nod that feels a little frosty.
“Kassie,” he grunts back. His voice has lost that easy, warm roll it had when he was talking to me. It’s a little tighter right now.
Kassie doesn’t linger on him. She moves to the cooler, cracks a beer with a practiced snap, and plants herself on a stump as far away from Mike and me as she can get.
“Surprised my baby brother isn’t here,” she says, scanning the group.
“He was,” Wes chimes in, leaning back. “He just left for daddy duty.”
Kassie’s gaze snaps straight to mine. She’s sharper than most people give her credit for, and I know she catches the flicker of unease that crosses my face at the mention of Wyatt’s sudden exit. She knows exactly why he bolted, and she knows I know it too.
“Ah,” is all she says.
She takes a long pull of her beer, her deep brown eyes reflecting the orange glow of the embers.
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it definitely feels loaded.
Between Mike’s stiff posture and the way Wyatt fled the scene, I’m starting to realize that the Miller ranch isn’t just a place of hard work and beautiful views.
It’s a minefield of unspoken history and suppressed feelings.