Chapter 3 Anita
Anita
During my first week at the ranch, I throw myself into work like my life depends on it. Maybe staying busy is the only thing keeping me from obsessing over how Chance looks at me like he wants to devour me and run away at the same time.
I wake before dawn every morning, start the coffee, and make breakfast. Chance joins me in the kitchen, and we dance around each other, hyperaware of every accidental touch, every brush of bodies. The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife.
After breakfast, I work with the horses. Grooming, feeding, exercising. Duke has become my shadow, following me around the barn like a massive puppy. Mel's horse, Dottie, is so gentle, I can see why the thirteen-year-old girl adores her.
The afternoons I spend tackling Chance's bookkeeping disaster.
It's worse than I imagined. Receipts from three years ago mixed with current bills, tax documents filed under miscellaneous, no coherent system for tracking expenses.
But I love this kind of work. There's something satisfying about bringing order to chaos.
And it keeps me from thinking about Chance.
Except that's a lie. I'm always thinking about the confident way he moves, his body speaking of years of hard labor, and how he treats the horses—gentle despite his size, patient, speaking to them in a low voice that does things to my insides.
I'm falling for him. Fast and hard and completely against my better judgment considering his reluctance to start anything with me.
The weekend arrives, and I unpack my Christmas decorations. Mel helps me, chattering the whole time as we string paper chains and hang tinsel.
Granny said we used to have a gigantic Christmas tree, and the entire house was covered in tinsel. Since Mom left, Christmas hasn’t been the same.
I pause, a length of red tinsel in my hands. "She left around Christmas?"
"December twenty-third." Mel's fingers tremble slightly as she loops another paper chain. "I was only a year old, so I don't remember. But I think the holidays remind Dad of losing her."
My heart breaks a little. For Chance, carrying that pain alone for twelve years. For Mel, growing up without a mother and without Christmas magic.
"Then we'll make new memories. Happy ones."
Mel tucks a strand of soft brown hair behind one ear. She tilts her head and stares at me, chestnut eyes wide. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too, sweetheart."
We work in companionable silence for a while, and then I unwrap my most precious possession.
The nativity scene, carefully packed in tissue paper.
The figures are hand-painted porcelain, delicate and beautiful.
My mother gave this to me when I was ten, and my father added the angel that sits on top.
"It's beautiful." Mel touches the angel reverently.
"My parents are missionaries now, traveling to remote areas to help people. But they always made Christmas special when I was growing up." I position the angel carefully. "This represents family, love and new beginnings."
"Is that why you came here? For a new beginning?"
I glance at her. She's too perceptive, this girl. "Partly. I lost my horse, Grumps, a year ago. I've felt lost ever since."
"I'm sorry." Mel hugs me suddenly, and I hold her tight. "But I'm glad you're here now."
The front door opens, and Chance walks in from working the fence line. He stops dead when he sees the living room.
We've transformed it. Paper chains hang from the ceiling, tinsel drapes the windows, a small tree sits in the corner decorated with simple ornaments. And the nativity scene takes pride of place on the side table, the angel catching the afternoon light.
I watch his face carefully. His expression cracks open—something raw and painful flashing across his features. Then he slams the walls back up, his jaw clenching.
"It looks nice," he says gruffly, then disappears into his room.
Mel touches my arm. "I don’t think he’s mad, just sad. Maybe he’s thinking of Mom."
I understand running from painful reminders. After Grumps died, I couldn't even drive past the stables without crying.
"Then we'll show him that Christmas can hold better memories," I say.
Over the next few days, Chance and I check water sources, move cattle to lower pastures and mend fences. I see his respect for me grow. I also see his eyes linger on me when he thinks I'm not looking, his breath catch when we accidentally touch, his jaw clench when I bend over to pick something up.
He wants me. And God help me, I want him too.
The attraction between us is a living thing, crackling in the air every time we're in the same space.
I catch myself watching the play of muscles in his back when he lifts hay bales.
Admiring the strength in his hands when he works with the horses.
Imagining what those hands would feel like on my skin.
Friday afternoon, Mel comes home from school in tears. I'm in the kitchen starting dinner when I hear her stumble through the front door.
"Mel?" I drop the spoon and rush to her. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
She's clutching her backpack to her chest, her face blotchy and red. She turns and sprints upstairs. Red patches stain the butt of her blue jeans, the significance unmistakable.
I follow her to the bathroom. The door is ajar.
“Can I come in?”
There’s no reply. I enter the room and close the door behind me. She’s opening and closing drawers.
I find pads under the sink, take out a couple and show her where they are kept.
"I think I started my period."
"Looks like it."
I run a warm bath.
"I was on the school bus! Everyone saw the blood on my jeans.”
She starts crying.
I sit on the edge of the tub and pull her into a hug. "Oh sweetheart, I know it feels horrible right now. Want to hear about my first period?"
She nods against my shoulder.
"I was at my cousin's quinceanera. Wearing a white dress." I feel her tense up. "Yep. White. I started bleeding in the middle of the party and didn't realize it until my aunt pulled me aside. I was so mortified I hid in the bathroom for an hour."
Mel pulls back, eyes red but curious. "Really?"
"Really. It was awful. But you know what? Everyone survives their first period disaster story. It's like a rite of passage."
That gets a watery laugh out of her. "Mine is pretty bad."
“There’s only one stop after our ranch. Only your friend Sarah and Mr. Tom would have been on the bus.”
“But Mr. Tom is a man. He probably saw my jeans. And the seat had red patches when I stood up. Sarah saw and told me. That’s how I knew. Mr. Tom will see the patches when he takes the bus back.”
“He has a wife and granddaughters. He won’t tell anyone. Besides, he’s been driving the school bus for decades, so there’s probably nothing that would shock him.”
Mel nods and gets in the bath.
"You're going to be okay." I squeeze her hands. "You're becoming a woman. That's something to celebrate, even if the timing sucks. Do you know what to expect?"
“We learned it at school. Also, Dad tried to talk to me about it, but it was embarrassing, so I told him I already knew. He bought pads and told me where they were, but I guess I was too worked up to remember. We can get them at school too.”
I make her laugh with embarrassing period stories, and by the time the bath water is cooling, she's calmer.
"Thank you," she whispers. "It’s getting harder to talk to Dad about stuff like this. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here."
My throat tightens. "I'm glad I was."
I hear the front door open downstairs. Chance is back.
"Why don't you get into comfortable clothes and rest?" I suggest. "I'll handle dinner and talk to your dad."
Mel nods.
I head downstairs and find Chance in the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink. He looks exhausted, his shoulders tight with stress.
"Where's Mel?" he asks.
"Upstairs." I move closer, lower my voice. "She started her period on the way back from school. She came home upset."
Chance rushes towards the stairs then freezes. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine. She panicked at the thought of everyone at school laughing at her, but only Mr. Tom and Sarah saw it.
"I touch his arm gently, feel the muscle jump under my palm.
"I explained they’re not the type to spread this and told her my embarrassing story with my first period. She had a bath and went to lie down."
He stares at me, and I watch something shift in his expression.
"Thank you for being here. She’s changing. There are things she doesn’t feel comfortable sharing with me anymore." He sighs. “We used to talk about everything.”
"She’s growing."
We’re standing close to each other, his arm warm under my hand. The moment stretches, charged with all the tension that's been building between us for days.
He steps closer. The scent of leather, hay and something masculine that makes my head spin reaches my nostrils. His eyes drop to my mouth.
"Anita," his voice is rough, his eyes dark with want.
I think he's going to kiss me. Every nerve in my body is screaming for it.
But then he jerks back, putting distance between us like I burned him.
"I can’t."
He walks away, leaving me aching and confused in the middle of the kitchen.
That night, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. I'm falling in love with his strength, vulnerability, the way he cares for Mel and the ranch.
But he's made it clear: my staying at his house is business.
This is supposed to be about fresh starts and horses and healing from Grumps. Not about falling for a wounded cowboy who doesn't want to be healed.
But my heart doesn't listen to logic. I'm already in too deep to protect myself from the heartbreak that's inevitably coming.
I get up, unable to sleep, and put my coat on. The house is quiet and dark as I slip outside. The December air bites at my cheeks, but I need to move, need to think, need to be somewhere that makes sense.
The barn is warm compared to outside, heated by the horses' bodies. Duke nickers softly when he sees me, and I go to his stall, running my hands over his soft nose.
"I'm way over my head, Duke.”
He blows softly, as if he understands.
I lean against the stall door and let myself feel everything I've been holding back. The fear, the longing, the impossible hope that maybe, just maybe, this broken man might let himself love me back.
But hope is dangerous. And I'm starting to think I'm not brave enough to keep hoping when every sign points to heartbreak.