Chapter 21 #2
“Lou had to turn away twelve families last week,” Elowyn added. “The new luxury tents should help when they open, but we might want to consider expanding capacity next year.”
“Restaurant too,” Mom chimed in. “Had a party of fifteen show up yesterday without reservations. Locals are starting to expect we can always fit them in.”
I listened to the rhythm of family business—numbers, logistics, planning ahead. The conversation flowed around practical concerns, seasonal adjustments. The kind of methodical and practical approach to life that had once made me feel trapped now felt oddly comforting.
“What about the airstrip?” I asked. “Everything maintained properly?”
“Your granddaddy’s Cub is still hangared,” Dad smiled. “Had Billy check her over the other week. Starts right up.”
My heart lodged itself in my throat at the mention of the plane—my plane if I still wanted it.
“Speaking of checking on things,” Elowyn’s voice took on the teasing tone that meant trouble, “when do we get to meet this girlfriend that showed up on your Instagram? You’ve been too quiet about her.”
The table went silent—curious eyes turning my direction. Even the kids stopped eating to listen.
“Her name’s Alex,” I said carefully, aware that every word might be dissected later. “She owns an animation studio in Salt Lake.”
“Animation?” Belle’s eyes lit up. “Like movies?”
“More like video games and commercial work. But they’ve done some film projects.”
“How long have you been dating?” This from Móraí, who never bothered with subtlety.
“Few months,” the lie came smoothly enough, though my chest twisted saying it.
“She must be special,” Mom observed, “for you to mention her to Lou.”
My ears grew hot.
“She is,” I nodded, then found myself adding, “Alex is... incredible. Smart, successful, funny. Builds things instead of just talking about them.”
The words felt true even as I said them. Too true. Alex was all those things—and she’d made it clear our arrangement was just that. An arrangement.
“Will she be coming to the wedding?” Belle asked hopefully.
“She’s in the wedding. Alex is Enzo’s sister and his maid of honor.”
“Oh!” Belle’s eyes went wide. “So we’ll definitely get to meet her.”
Her certainty made my chest hurt.
“This sounds promising, Finn,” Elowyn smiled with her characteristic directness. “I’m happy for you.”
Before I could figure out how to respond, Dom jumped in with perfect timing.
“Speaking of the wedding,” he grinned, “Enzo’s driving me crazy with seating charts. Apparently, there’s some complex algorithm for who can sit near who without starting family drama.”
The attention shifted away from my love life and toward the safer territory of Dom and Enzo’s wedding planning. I caught Dom’s eye across the table and offered a small nod of thanks for the rescue.
As the conversation moved to venue logistics and catering decisions, I felt the telltale warning signs of exhaustion starting to settle behind my eyes. Too much travel, too many voices, too many questions about things I wasn’t sure how to answer anymore.
I pushed food around my plate, participating when directly addressed but letting the family chatter wash over me.
Belle was explaining some three-tier plan for the ceremony decorations while Lucas argued about whether horses should be involved somehow.
Normal family chaos that would have driven me crazy years ago but now just felt—safe.
My phone buzzed against my leg. Finally, Alex had sent another message.
Lou: Heard you boys made it in safely. Hope you’re settling in well. Penny wants to know if Uncle Finn brought her anything from California.
Not Alex. I typed back a quick response about having something for Penny, then put the phone away without checking for any other messages.
“You okay, son?” Dad’s voice was quiet, meant just for me.
“Just tired,” I managed a smile. “Long travel day.”
“Well,” Mom stood to clear plates, “we don’t need to solve all the world’s problems tonight. You kids probably want to catch up and get some rest.”
“I can help with cleanup,” I offered, but she waved me off.
“Lucas and Jack are on dish duty. Part of their allowance negotiations,” she shot the kids a look that suggested this was a well-established agreement. “You go relax.”
I stood, my left hip catching slightly from sitting too long, first on the plane and then at the table. “Think I’ll get some air first.”
“Don’t go far,” Móraí called after me. “Supposed to rain later.”
The front porch wrapped around three sides of the house. I stood against the railing, letting the evening quiet settle around me. Stars were starting to appear—more than I ever saw in LA. The air smelled like hay and horses and the distant threat of rain Móraí had mentioned.
My phone felt heavy in my pocket. I could text Alex, but what would I say? That I was standing on a porch in Wyoming thinking about her while trying not to think about test results that meant I might never be able to give her—or any woman—the future she deserved? If she even wanted it from me.
Instead, I just stood there in the dark, listening to the sound of dishes being washed and family conversation drifting through the windows, feeling more alone than I had since my discharge.
The place that had once felt like a cage now felt like the only place where I could breathe. But even here, surrounded by family who loved me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was moving through someone else’s life—playing a part that wasn’t the right role for me.
What was I even doing with my life?
I woke before sunrise, the living room still dark except for the faint glow of pre-dawn filtering through the curtains.
The pullout sofa wasn’t uncomfortable, but my internal clock insisted on maintaining military-time when I least wanted it to.
Dom was still fast asleep, snoring on the air mattress. Lucky bastard.
The house was quiet around me. No movement from upstairs, no sounds from the kitchen—just the settling creaks of an old house and the distant lowing of cattle in the pastures.
My phone sat on the side table, dark and silent. No messages from Alex.
I’d checked it twice before falling asleep and once when I’d woken up around two with a headache that took twenty minutes and a glass of water to fade.
Nothing. The last text I’d sent her last night after my restraint crumbled—a quick message about how different it felt out here—had gone unanswered.
Maybe she was busy. Maybe she was giving me space to be with family. Maybe she was pulling back because our arrangement had served its purpose and now it was just—inconvenient.
I pushed the thought away and pulled on clothes quietly—jeans, work boots, a thermal henley that would still be comfortable when the sun came up.
Dad had mentioned during dinner last night that the fence line along the north pasture needed attention, and physical work sounded better than lying here overthinking text messages that weren’t coming.
The kitchen was empty, but Mom had left the coffee maker programmed to start at five. Bless her. I poured a travel mug, grabbed some jerky, and headed outside, Maggie trotting alongside me as we headed to the barn.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of hay and cattle and the promise of a clear day. The mountains rose in a ragged line against the lightening sky, familiar peaks that had been the backdrop of my childhood.
I loaded fence posts and wire into the back of the family work truck, along with the tools I’d need for repairs. Honest work that would keep my hands busy and my mind occupied—labor had always made more sense to me than sitting around talking about feelings.
The fence line ran for nearly two miles along the north edge of the property, separating our grazing land from the forest service boundary.
Most of it was in good shape, but winter weather and wandering elk had taken their toll in a few sections.
Posts leaning at dangerous angles, wire sagging loose enough for cattle or bison to push through.
I’d been working for about an hour—replacing a rotted post and restringing wire—when I heard a car coming up the road. Too early for guests, too late for any of the ranch hands who lived on the property.
Lou’s blue SUV appeared over the hill, heading toward the lodge.
I kept working, focusing on getting the post level and the wire tension right—hoping my hat and sunglasses would keep me incognito enough that she’d head straight to the lodge office and I could avoid any awkward small talk.
No such luck.
The vehicle slowed as it passed my section of fence, then pulled over onto the shoulder. Lou climbed out, already dressed for work in jeans and a North Star Ranch polo shirt, her blonde hair pulled back in a practical ponytail.
“Hey, Finn,” she called out, walking over with her classic easy confidence. “You’re up early.”
“Fence won’t fix itself,” I replied, not looking up from adjusting the wire stretcher. “Mornin’, Lou.”
“How was your first night back?”
“Good. Quiet.” I tested the wire tension, found it acceptable, and moved to secure it to the post. “How’s Penny?”
“Excited about whatever you brought her from California,” Lou’s smile was warm but came with the same tone she’d used since telling me she was engaged to Hank Clay eight years ago. Friendly but no longer familiar. “She’s been asking about Uncle Finn since yesterday.”
“Tell her I didn’t forget.” I’d picked up a small stuffed seal from the Santa Monica Pier gift shop—figured a six-year-old would appreciate something soft and silly.
“I will,” she watched me work for a moment, then added, “It’s good to see you lookin’…settled. Healthier.”
I glanced up at the cautious way she said it. Lou had known me since we were kids—she could read my moods better than most people. If she thought I looked settled, I was doing a better job hiding my mental state than I thought.
“Gettin’ there,” I hitched a smile.