Chapter 2
Chance
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind racing too fast for sleep.
She's here. In my house. In the room down the hall.
Anita Sanchez.
I roll her name around in my head like I've been doing for the past two weeks, since Mel put that photo on the fridge and I couldn't stop looking at it. The image didn't do her justice.
She's curvier than the picture showed, and Lord help me, those curves are going to be my undoing.
The way her jeans hugged her hips and the swell of her breasts under that sweater made me hard.
I'm a grown man, but I nearly swallowed my tongue like an innocent teenager when she stepped out of that taxi.
What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to this?
A woman I don't know living in my house for a year. Sleeping under my roof. Eating at my table. Working beside me on the ranch.
But I know of her, don't I? Mel told me she’s twenty-six, loves horses and works for a big company in Garnet City.
I spent a long time staring at her picture without even realizing what Mel was doing.
And when I saw her standing there in the flesh, I felt something I hadn’t felt in over a decade.
Recognition. Like I'd been waiting for her without knowing it.
That terrifies me more than anything.
I shove the covers back and pad to the window. The moon is bright enough to see the barn, the pastures and the mountains beyond. My land. My responsibility. The weight I've been carrying alone for too long.
My ex-wife, Jane, left twelve years ago. Took my heart, trust, belief in love and crushed them all to dust. I swore I'd never let another woman get close enough to do that again. I built walls so high and thick that nothing could get through.
Until Mel played matchmaker, and now there's a beautiful woman sleeping down the hall who makes my body come alive with a single glance.
I need to get a grip.
Thinking about Mel and the ranch will help.
I’ve done everything to convince my daughter that her mother left because of her own problems, but Mel still feels guilty about the divorce.
Maybe Anita staying will help ease her feelings of guilt.
The ranch needs more help. Granny Tallulah and her family have been matching couples for generations, with a hundred percent success.
If they vouch for Anita, she must be a good woman.
Anita staying has nothing to do with me.
Dawn breaks early as it always does on the ranch, and I drag myself out of bed. My body feels heavy, like I've been working cattle all night instead of lying awake wrestling with my thoughts. But work won't wait. It never does.
I head downstairs, already planning my morning. Feed the horses, check the fence line in the south pasture, call the vet about Duke's shoes—
I stop dead in the kitchen doorway.
She's already here.
Anita stands at the stove, her long raven hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing worn jeans that hug every curve and a flannel shirt that should not look as good as it does on her. The coffee maker gurgles, and the smell of bacon fills the air.
She looks as if she belongs in my kitchen.
That thought sends a spike of panic through my chest, but before I can retreat, she turns and sees me.
"Good morning." Her smile is tentative. "I hope you don't mind. I'm an early riser, and I thought I'd make breakfast."
"You don't have to do that." My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
"I want to earn my keep." She turns back to the stove, flipping bacon. "Besides, I enjoy cooking."
I don't know what to do with myself. It's been so long since I've had to navigate small talk with a woman in my space. My mom used to make breakfast. After she died, it was just me and Mel. Usually cereal or toast. Quick and efficient.
This feels domestic. Intimate in a way that makes my skin prickle.
I pour myself coffee and lean against the counter, watching her move around the kitchen. She's efficient in her movements as she softly a tune I don’t recognize under her breath. I find myself caught by the sound.
"So," she says without turning around. "Tell me about your routine. What needs doing?"
Right. Business. I can do business.
I walk her through the feeding schedule, pasture rotation, the bookkeeping that's piled up since Mom died eight years ago. She pulls out a notepad and pen, jotting down notes. I notice the way she bites her lip when she's concentrating; the way her nose scrunches up slightly when she's thinking.
I need to stop noticing things like that.
"Dad!" Mel thunders down the stairs, all teenage energy and bright smiles. She skids to a stop in the kitchen. "You made breakfast!"
"Anita did," I correct.
Mel beams at her. "Do you always cook like this?"
"Usually." Anita plates bacon and scrambled eggs. "My mom taught me. We always had big family breakfasts when I was growing up."
Mel peppers Anita with questions about her parents and life in the city.
I watch my daughter come alive in a way I haven't seen in the past year, since she discovered the Christmas and birthday gifts that arrived through the mail were sent by me and not her mother.
She's laughing, hanging on Anita's every word.
Something clenches in my chest. Mel's been missing having a mother. Someone who actually listens to her instead of abandoning her.
I shove the thought away and focus on eating. The food is good. There are spices I can't identify that make the eggs sing, and the bacon is perfectly crispy.
"This is delicious," I say.
Anita's face lights up. "It's nothing fancy."
But it is. It's having someone around who cares enough to wake up early and make a proper breakfast instead of grabbing whatever's quickest.
After Mel leaves for school, Anita turns to me. "Can I see the ranch?"
I want to say no. Want to keep a distance between us. But she's going to be working here, and she needs to know the layout.
"Let me show you around."
We head to the barn first. The morning sun is bright; the air is still cold enough to see our breath. I'm hyperaware of her beside me, the way she walks, the flash of her smile when she sees the horses, the soft gasp of delight when Duke sticks his head over the stall door.
"Hey, handsome." She reaches up to stroke his nose.
Duke, who's usually wary of strangers, immediately leans into her touch, blowing softly. Traitor.
"He likes you."
"I like him too." She's speaking Spanish now, soft words I don't understand but that make my chest tight. "My dad always said horses can sense good people. If Duke trusts me, maybe you can too."
Her eyes meet mine, and the air between us charges with electricity. She's close enough that I can smell the floral and sweet scent mixed with hay and leather from being in the barn coming off her. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes.
I step back before I do something stupid.
I show her the other horses, the cattle in the far pastures, the equipment shed, the line shack up in the hills.
She asks intelligent questions, the kind that tell me she actually knows what she's talking about.
This isn't some city girl playing at ranch life.
She has a good understanding of livestock, land management and navigating seasons.
"How big is the herd?" she asks.
"About two hundred head. Used to be bigger when my dad was alive, but I've scaled back since Zeke left."
"Your brother?"
"I don't want to talk about Zeke. He took off after Mom died. Needed to find himself or whatever."
She doesn't push, just nods and makes a note in her little book.
We end up back at the house. I show her the disaster of papers and receipts piled on Mom's old desk. I've been managing the numbers myself, but I'm a rancher, not an accountant. Duct tape and prayers hold the whole thing together.
Anita doesn't judge, just rolls up her sleeves.
"I can fix this. Give me a few days."
"You sure?"
"This is fun for me. I enjoy organizing chaos."
I almost smile at that.
The day passes in a blur of work. I try to keep a distance between us, but it's impossible. Everywhere I turn, she's there. Helping with the horses. Asking questions about the cattle. Laughing when the barn cat rubs against her legs.
And I can't stop noticing the curves on display when she bends to pick up a bucket; the bright and genuine sound of her laugh; or the scent of her when she walks past.
I catch her watching me too. Our eyes meet across the barn, and I see the flush creep up her neck. She wants me. The knowledge settles hot and heavy in my gut.
This is dangerous.
By dinnertime, I'm wound so tight I'm afraid I'll snap. Anita makes a chicken dish with spices that smell incredible, and we eat as a family. Mel talks about school, her friends and Christmas.
"Can we decorate?" Mel asks, looking between us. "Ms. Anita said she brought decorations."
My chest tightens. We haven't decorated properly for Christmas in twelve years. Not since Jane left right before the holiday, turning what should have been a celebration into a reminder of everything we’d lost.
But Mel's looking at me with hope, and Anita's watching me carefully, as if gauging my reaction.
"If you want," I hear myself say.
Mel beams at both of us then bounces upstairs, claiming she has homework to do. I almost snort. She hates homework.
Anita and I clean up, moving around each other in the small kitchen. Our hands brush when we both reach for the same dish, and electricity shoots up my arm.
She gasps.
"Chance."
I force myself to step back. "I should check on the horses."
It's a coward's excuse, and we both know it, but she doesn't call me on it. Just nods and turns back to the dishes.
I escape to the barn, needing space from the woman who's turning my carefully controlled world upside down.
At night, after Mel's gone to bed, I stand at my bedroom window and watch Anita walk to the barn. She's wrapped in a coat, her breath fogging in the cold air. She goes to visit the horses before bed, just like I do.
We're more alike than I thought. It’s scary.
I told myself that for one year, I could keep my heart locked away safe behind the walls I'd built.
But watching her silhouette move through the moonlight, remembering the way my body responded to her curves all day and how my heart squeezed watching her with Mel; I know I'm already in trouble.