Chapter 5
Chapter five
Frankie
The smell of coffee and bacon could bring me back from the dead.
It’s the kind of smell that seeps into dreams, and when I finally open my eyes, sunlight is spilling across the quilt.
I blink at the ceiling, and memory slides in, warm and dangerous. The porch. The rain. The kiss.
The one I’m absolutely not supposed to be thinking about, except I am, in vivid, slow-motion detail.
I flop onto my back and groan into the pillow. “Frankie, you’re an absolute menace.”
It doesn’t help. I can still feel the rough brush of Rhett’s thumb against my cheek, the way his breath stilled just before he kissed me. The way everything stilled.
Male voices drift up from downstairs, then Martha’s cackle of pure delight.
Are they talking about me?
I drag myself out of bed, slip into jeans and a soft sweater, and tug Rhett’s flannel from the chair. I should leave it, but it smells like him, and I’m weak.
Barefoot, I walk down the hall, following the scent of breakfast. The house feels alive, floorboards creaking under my steps, sunlight cutting through the windows, a faint hum of morning chores starting outside. Brush Creek Ranch is awake, and apparently, so is its gossip.
When I reach the kitchen doorway, I hear Luke first.
“…not saying I saw anything,” he’s telling Martha, “but when I came in from the barn, there were definitely two silhouettes on the porch. One of them had Rhett’s hat. The other looked like—”
“Finish that sentence,” Martha says, “and you’ll be mucking stalls before sunrisethe rest of the year.”
I step in right as Luke catches sight of me. “Morning, Frankie. Sleep well?”
“Like a rock.” I smile sweetly. “Dreamt about pumpkins chasing me, though. Wonder why.”
Rhett sits at the table with his coffee. He looks half-asleep, hair damp, flannel sleeves rolled, jaw shadowed. He glances up when I speak, eyes flicking to the shirt I borrowed. Something flickers there, heat, maybe recognition, before he hides it behind his mug.
“Coffee?” he asks, voice rough. “It’s hot.”
“Perfect,” I say, taking the chair opposite him. “I love caffeine and gossip for breakfast.”
Luke laughs. “She’s quick, Rhett. You sure you’re ready for this level of verbal combat before breakfast?”
“I’m not talking,” Rhett mutters.
“Good plan,” Martha says, setting a plate in front of me. “Eat first, defend your honor later.”
The pancakes are perfect, crisp at the edges, soft in the center, drizzled with syrup that tastes faintly like spice and apples. I’m halfway through my first bite when I realize the entire room has gone quiet.
They’re watching me.
I look up slowly. “What?”
Luke leans forward, eyes bright. “So. What exactly were you two talking about on the porch last night?”
Rhett’s jaw tightens. “Weather.”
“Must’ve been some fascinating weather,” Luke says, deadpan. “Lasted a long time.”
Martha smacks his arm with a towel. “Leave them be.”
“I’m just curious,” Luke insists. “You’ve had more to say to her in a day than you’ve said to me all month.”
“That’s because you’re boring,” Rhett says. He takes another sip of coffee and doesn’t look at me. Which somehow makes looking at him impossible to stop doing.
Martha eyes me with a smile that’s half kind, half matchmaking mischief. “You’re lucky, Frankie. Not many folks get to see my oldest grandson before he’s had his second cup of coffee. That’s practically intimacy around here.”
“Grandma,” Rhett says warningly.
“What? I’m complimenting your manners.” She turns to me. “He was raised right, even if he hides it behind all that brooding.”
“I can tell,” I say, smiling into my mug. “He’s secretly a sweetheart.”
Rhett’s brow lifts. “Don’t start rumors like that.”
“Too late,” Luke says. “This is small-town Colorado. The chickens will know before lunch.”
I nearly snort my coffee. “Is that how gossip works here?”
“Pretty much,” Luke says. “Millie Mae’s Café has better coverage than TMZ.”
“Wonderful,” I say. “Can’t wait to go viral in the local feed.”
Martha gives me that twinkling look again. “If the rumor mill’s already spinning, might as well make the story worth telling.”
“Grandma,” Rhett growls.
“What? I’m retired. Matchmaking’s my new hobby.”
Luke raises his mug. “She’s terrifying, but efficient.”
Martha ignores him and slides me another pancake. “You stay as long as you need, dear. The roads are still slick, and Rhett’s going into town later anyway.”
“Thanks,” I say, glancing at him. “Guess I’m your accidental houseguest a little longer.”
He meets my eyes, calm but unreadable. “Guess so.”
There’s a spark there, subtle but alive. My heart catches it and refuses to let go.
After breakfast, Luke heads out to check fences, and Martha starts humming at the sink. Rhett stacks dishes beside her, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he works. I try not to stare. I fail.
When he straightens, I catch his eye. “You’re really not going to argue with your grandmother’s matchmaking campaign?”
He shrugs. “She doesn’t listen anyway.”
“So you’ll just let her pair you up with random tourists?”
“Depends on the tourist.”
The corners of my mouth curve. “That could be dangerous.”
“True,” he says, quiet but certain.
Martha clucks her tongue, pretending not to eavesdrop. “You two should get some fresh air. The sun’s out. Go see the damage the storm left.”
“Yeah,” Luke calls from the mudroom, poking his head back in. “Take her with you, Rhett. She’ll keep you from yelling at the horses.”
“I don’t yell at our horses,” Rhett says.
“Sure you don’t,” Luke says, grinning.
I grab my coat, smiling. “I’m good with manual labor. Or moral support.”
“Fine,” Rhett mutters. “Meet me out front in ten.”
Outside, the air smells like wet earth and pine sap. The sky is blue again, the kind that looks freshly washed. The porch boards creak as Rhett steps out beside me, hat low over his eyes.
“You ready?” he asks.
“For what exactly?”
“Surveying storm damage. Fixing what’s broken.”
I smile. “You say that like it’s therapy.”
“Sometimes it is.”
We walk side by side toward the pasture. The grass shines with dew, the fence line glinting silver in the sun. Cows graze lazily in the distance, and a hawk cuts across the bright horizon.
“So,” I say, breaking the quiet, “was last night a thing that happened, or a weather-related hallucination?”
His mouth twitches. “You tell me.”
“I’m not sure. I was struck by lightning-level charm.”
That earns me the smallest laugh, low and rough. “You talk too much.”
“And you don’t talk enough.”
He stops walking and turns to face me. “Have you always been this fearless?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But something about this place makes me feel like I can be.”
He studies me for a moment, eyes searching mine, then looks away toward the hills. “You should be careful what you let it make you feel.”
“Why?”
“Because once it gets under your skin, it’s hard to leave.”
The way he says it, soft, resigned, tugs somewhere low in my chest.
I step closer, brushing his arm with mine. “Good thing I don’t want to leave yet.”
He exhales slowly, almost like the confession surprises him more than it should. The silence that follows hums with something alive and unspoken. He finally clears his throat. “You ever fix a fence before, city girl?”
“Nope, I don’t think I’ve ever even touched a fence.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling now, small and real. “Come on. I’ll teach you all about them.”
By the time we head back toward the house, the sun’s high and the air smells like hay. My hands ache, my jeans are streaked with mud, and Rhett’s laugh has become my new favorite sound, rare, rough-edged, and entirely worth chasing.
Martha and Luke are waiting on the porch when we return, mugs in hand, wearing identical grins.
“Well,” Martha says, “you two look mighty productive.”
Luke elbows Rhett. “Translation: you’ve got dirt on your face, man.”
Rhett wipes his cheek with his sleeve. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime.”
I glance up at them, amused. “Are you always this invested in each other’s love lives?”
“Yes,” they say in perfect unison.
I lose it, laughing so hard I nearly double over. Rhett’s shaking his head, muttering under his breath, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile.
Martha steps closer, patting his arm. “Don’t fight it, honey. Sometimes the storm brings what you didn’t know you needed.”
Rhett rolls his eyes. “You and your storms.”
“Careful,” she says. “Lightning strikes twice around here.”
Her gaze flicks knowingly between us before she heads inside. Luke follows, still smirking, leaving me and Rhett alone on the steps.
I look up at him. “You okay?”
He nods once, slowly. “Yeah. Just figuring things out.”
I fold my arms, trying to hide the smile that’s threatening to give me away. “Me too.”
The silence stretches, warm and comfortable. The air smells like sunshine and sawdust. I tilt my head toward him. “So, what’s next?”
“Lunch,” he says.
“Practical.”
“I’m always practical.”
“Sure you are,” I say, stepping past him into the house. “That’s what everyone says right before they do something reckless.”
Behind me, he laughs, quiet and low, and it chases me all the way up the stairs.