Chapter 2 – Welcome Wagon?
Max
If I’d known she was showing up early, I might’ve made myself scarce. Better yet, I would've sent Duke to the bus stop in my place. He was friendlier. Less likely to scowl. Less likely to scare off the city girl who was apparently my new boss.
But there I was, shifting in my worn leather seat, watching the freezing wind whip around a tiny red coupe that looked like it had no business outside a shopping mall, let alone on the outskirts of Starcrest Ranch.
The heater in my truck hummed a death rattle, but I didn’t turn it off. Didn’t tap the brakes either. I just sat there, jaw clenched, the name Ella Henderson ricocheting inside my skull.
Ella Henderson. The new owner.
In all the years I’d worked for her grandfather, I’d never heard him mention her. Never saw a picture, never a story. And now here she was, driving up in the middle of a snow squall with a busted radiator and boots so clean they practically squeaked.
Then she got out. A small thing, bundled in a coat that looked warm but woefully impractical for a Montana winter. Her hair was tied back like she hadn’t cared enough to finish the job. Still, there was something about the way she squared her shoulders that told me this wasn’t a tourist drop-in.
I climbed out of the truck just in time to see her kick the tire and mutter something I was too far away to catch. Probably a string of words that’d make old Mrs. Jenkins down at the general store blush.
“City girl?” I asked, squinting.
“Car trouble,” she snapped, arms crossed like I’d personally summoned the radiator leak.
It figured. The first real snow of the season and she shows up in a car held together with willpower and duct tape.
By the time we had her suitcase loaded and her car strapped to the back, I was already itching to get back to the ranch.
Not because of her, exactly. Because of what she meant.
She was the new owner. On paper, anyway.
And her arrival meant one more reminder that the man who raised me—who trusted me with every corner of that ranch—was gone. And a part of me went with him.
We didn’t speak much on the drive, which suited me fine. I had too much swirling in my head anyway. Between the biting cold, the late feed delivery, and the bank breathing down our necks, I didn’t need another complication.
But she didn’t seem like the complication type—not right away. She stared out the window like she was trying to memorize the land, her gaze sweeping over the skeletal trees and frozen pastures. Her fingers occasionally brushed Duke’s head, and he didn’t growl, so that was something.
“You always glare at newcomers, or is that just for me?” she asked once, her voice quiet, teasing.
I didn’t answer. Not because I was trying to be rude. I just didn’t know how to tell her I’d been bracing for this since the day her grandfather died.
We drove past the eastern pasture where the fence had given way last week. I made a mental note to fix it—again. Maybe with repurposed wood from the shed. If the snow didn’t cave the roof in first. Every creak, every sag, every missing shingle was a wound I felt in my own bones.
When we finally pulled up to the ranch, she sat forward, craning to see out the window.
“This is it?” she asked.
I nodded. “Starcrest Ranch.”
She opened the door and stepped out slowly, as if the snow might swallow her whole.
“Looks like a postcard,” she said.
I followed her gaze. The place did look good in the snow. Clean. Peaceful. Like it wasn’t crumbling at the edges.
But I knew better. The front gate needed replacing. Half the barn roof was patched with a tarp. The furnace worked when it felt like it. And that was just the beginning of the bleeding.
I should’ve warned her. Should’ve told her the truth before she’d ever stepped foot in Montana. But part of me had hoped she’d take one look at the house, see the work needed, and head back to wherever she came from. Sell it. Let me figure out the rest.
Instead, she’d marched in, set down her bag, and claimed ownership like she was staking a flag.
Now, I stood outside in the cold, watching the light from the kitchen flicker to life. The bitter wind whipped around me, a stark contrast to the small warmth beginning to glow inside.
Duke barked once, then lay down at my feet.
“She doesn’t belong here,” I said under my breath.
Duke’s ears twitched but he didn’t argue.
Still, there was something about the way she looked around—like she was trying to match the pieces of this place to something she used to know. Maybe a memory of her mother. Maybe nothing at all.
I walked back to the barn to check on the generator and found Sheriff Harris already waiting in his cruiser by the gates.
“Evening,” he said, stepping out and pulling his coat tighter against the biting air. “Heard the Henderson girl arrived.”
“She’s here,” I replied.
“She staying long?”
I shrugged. “Too early to say.”
He studied me for a second, his breath misting. “You tell her about the bank yet?”
“No.”
“Might want to do it soon, Max. They’re not gonna wait forever. Deadline’s tighter than you think.”
I nodded. “I know. Just… figured I’d let her get her bearings.”
“Town’s talkin’. Developer’s got his eye on Starcrest again. If she doesn’t anchor herself soon, he’ll swoop in.” He tipped his hat. “Be kind, alright? She just got here.”
I watched his taillights fade down the drive and sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. The Sheriff's words hung in the air, cold as the night. Sell it? Not on my watch.
I headed back inside and found her standing in the hallway, staring at the old photo on the mantle. Her hand hovered just above the frame.
“She smiled like that,” I said quietly, “your mom.”
She turned, eyes wide. “You knew her?”
I nodded once. “A little.”
“Did she… did she ever come back?”
I shook my head. “Not after she left. But he—your grandfather—he always watched from afar. Asked about her when he thought no one was listening. Like a shadow he couldn't quite shake.”
She swallowed, blinking fast.
And with that, I stepped into the kitchen to start dinner. I pulled two chipped bowls from the cabinet, poured what was left of the chili from the crockpot, and set it on the table like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Ella hovered at the edge of the kitchen, looking uncertain. She wore a frown of concentration, as if trying to decipher the unwritten rules of a ranch kitchen.
“You eat chili?” I asked.
She smirked. “Only if it’s not too spicy.”
“It’s Montana.”
She laughed softly, then took the seat across from me. Duke sat between us like a referee. As we ate, I found myself watching her more than I meant to.
She ate slowly, picking at the edges of the chili like it was a foreign substance, but she cleared the bowl. She was quiet but not timid. Observant. Still chewing on everything she saw.
We didn’t talk much. But it wasn’t the silence I’d expected. It was something else.
Tentative. Tense. But not entirely unwelcome.
If she was really staying, we had a long winter ahead.
And I wasn’t sure either of us was ready.