Chapter 3 - Rhett
I make it exactly three steps away from Claire's cottage before the panic sets in.
What the fuck did I just do? Should I have stayed? Offered to show her around the ranch? Given her more information about dinner, about my brothers, about literally anything that might help her feel less like she just stepped into the twilight zone?
But no, I just said "I'm glad you came" like some kind of creepy robot and left her standing there looking lost and small and terrified in a cottage that probably feels more like a prison than a home.
I'm such an idiot.
The buzzing in my ear ramps up as I walk toward my own cottage, my hands shaking slightly as I shove them in my pockets.
Two hours until dinner. Two hours to figure out how to introduce Claire to my brothers without everyone immediately seeing through my bullshit story.
Two hours to prepare her for meeting six people who are going to have questions I don't have good answers for.
Two hours to somehow transform into a man who knows what the hell he's doing instead of a desperate asshole who hired a mail order bride.
I unlock my door and step inside, immediately stripping off my shirt because the fabric feels suffocating against my skin.
The burn scar on my shoulder catches in my peripheral vision, and I force myself not to look at it.
Not now. I can’t spiral about my physical damage when I'm already spiraling about everything else.
My cottage is smaller than Claire's, more cluttered.
Papers scattered across the coffee table, empty coffee mugs on every surface, my laptop open on the kitchen counter with spreadsheets still glowing on the screen.
It's the home of someone who works too much and lives too little, and the contrast with Claire's space makes me feel even worse.
She's going to think I'm a slob. Or worse, she's going to realize I put effort into her cottage but not my own because I'm so fucking desperate for her to stay that I'll do anything to make it work.
Which is true, but she doesn't need to know that yet.
I grab my phone and stare at it, wondering if I should text her. *Hey, you doing okay? Need anything? Sorry I'm a socially incompetent disaster?*
No. That's pathetic. She needs space, and I need to give it to her. Even though every instinct I have is screaming at me to go back there and make sure she hasn't already called a cab to take her back to the bus station.
Instead, I open the group chat with my brothers. Thirty-seven unread messages, most of them stupid jokes and ranch updates. I scroll through until I find the relevant part:
**Colt:** *Heard Rhett's got a lady friend coming to visit*
**Wade:** *About damn time*
**Tucker:** *She's welcome at dinner tonight if she's up for it*
**Mason:** *Should we clean up or pretend we're always this civilized?*
**Boone:** *Be nice. She might be important.*
**Colt:** *If she can handle Rhett's dad jokes, she can handle anything*
I type out a response: *She'll be at dinner. Go easy on her. She's been through some shit lately.*
The replies come immediately:
**Wade:** *We're not animals*
**Colt:** *Speak for yourself*
**Tucker:** *We'll make her feel welcome. Don't worry.*
But I am worried. Because my brothers are perceptive as hell, especially Boone, and the second they meet Claire they're going to see right through my "old military friend" story.
They're going to notice how nervous I am, how nervous she is, how we barely know each other despite supposedly having served together years ago.
They're going to know I'm lying.
And then what? Do I come clean? Admit I was so pathetic and lonely that I resorted to hiring a bride off the internet? Watch them try to hide their pity and concern while they wonder what the hell is wrong with me?
Frank would know what to do. Frank always knew what to say when I was spiraling like this.
He'd probably put his hand on my shoulder, the one without the burn scar, and tell me in that gravelly voice of his that I was overthinking things.
That life doesn't have to be complicated unless I make it complicated.
But Frank's not here, and I'm making everything as complicated as humanly possible.
I force myself to shower, standing under water that's too hot until my skin turns red.
The scars on my chest and legs look angry in the bathroom mirror afterward, raised lines of damaged tissue that map out every mistake I made during my deployment.
The explosion that ended my military career is written across my body in permanent ink, a reminder that I failed the people counting on me.
I failed my unit. Failed my friends who died. Failed to come home whole.
And now I'm probably going to fail Claire too.
I dress in clean jeans and a button-down shirt, something that makes me look more put-together than I feel. Run my hands through my hair about fifteen times until it looks less like I've been pulling at it in panic. Check the time: still an hour until dinner.
An hour to obsess over everything that could go wrong.
My phone buzzes with a text from Boone: *You okay?*
I stare at it for a long moment. Boone has always been able to read me better than anyone except Frank. He knows something's off, even if he doesn't know what.
*Fine*, I type back. *Just nervous about Claire meeting everyone.*
*She's important to you?*
I hesitate. How do I answer that? She's a stranger who might become my wife or might run away screaming once she realizes what a mess I am. Important doesn't begin to cover the complicated knot of hope and terror she represents.
*Maybe*, I finally respond. *Could be.*
*Then we'll make sure she feels welcome. Trust us.*
I want to. I do trust my brothers with my life, with the ranch, with almost everything. But this feels different. This feels like exposing the most vulnerable part of myself, the part that wants love and connection so badly I did something desperate and potentially stupid to get it.
I walk to the window and look out at Claire's cottage. The curtains are drawn, no sign of movement inside. Is she okay? Is she unpacking? Crying? Planning her escape route?
Should I check on her?
No. Space. She needs space.
I need space too, but my cottage feels too small, too cluttered with my own anxiety. I grab my laptop and head to the main house early, figuring I can get some work done and maybe help with dinner prep. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind from spiraling further.
The main house smells like something incredible.
Wade must be cooking, which means it'll actually be edible.
Tucker's in the living room with Emma, helping her with what looks like homework.
Mason's on the porch fixing something that probably doesn't need fixing, just to keep himself occupied.
Normal ranch life, everyone settling into their evening routines.
And I'm about to disrupt all of it by bringing in a woman they think they know but actually don't.
"Hey," Wade says when I walk into the kitchen. He's at the stove, stirring something that smells like his famous chili. "You're early. Your friend settling in okay?"
"Yeah," I say, setting my laptop on the counter. "She's just resting. Long trip."
"Boone said you seemed stressed about her meeting everyone." Wade glances at me, his expression concerned. "We'll be nice, Rhett. Promise. Even Colt's agreed to be on his best behavior."
"That's what worries me," I mutter, and Wade laughs.
Sierra comes in from the back porch, her cheeks flushed from the cold. "Is she here? Your friend?"
"In the guest cottage. She'll come over for dinner."
"Good. I'm excited to meet her." Sierra starts pulling plates down from the cabinet. "Any woman who served in the military with this crew has got to have some great stories."
Stories. Right. The stories Claire doesn't have because she was never in the military because I'm a lying piece of shit.
"She's pretty private about that stuff," I say quickly. "Saw some rough things. Doesn't like to talk about it."
Wade and Sierra exchange a look, and I can see the understanding in their eyes. They think Claire has PTSD like Mason and me. They think she's dealing with trauma from combat, which isn't entirely wrong. She is dealing with trauma, just not from the military. From life. From losing everything.
But letting them believe the lie feels worse than I expected.
"We won't push," Wade says quietly. "We know how that goes."
The door swings open, and Colt barrels in, Harper right behind him. "Where's this mysterious lady friend?" Colt demands. "Boone said she's pretty."
"Boone said she exists," Harper corrects, smacking Colt's arm. "And that Rhett's nervous about us meeting her."
"I'm not nervous," I lie.
Everyone in the kitchen turns to look at me with identical expressions of disbelief.
"Okay, I'm a little nervous," I admit. "She's had a rough time lately. I don't want you guys to overwhelm her."
"We're delightful," Colt says. "How could we possibly overwhelm anyone?"
"You're a lot," Harper tells him. "You're aware of this, right?"
Tucker appears in the doorway with Emma on his hip. "Marley's on her way. Said she got held up at the clinic but she'll be here soon." His eyes land on me. "Your friend coming?"
"At six, yeah."
"Good. Emma's excited to meet her. Aren't you, sweetheart?"
Emma nods enthusiastically. "Does she like horses? Can I show her Butterscotch?"
"Maybe tomorrow," I say, my chest tight. Emma's so innocent, so trusting. She has no idea her Uncle Rhett is lying to everyone she loves.
The next thirty minutes pass in a blur of dinner preparation and small talk. Mason and Boone arrive, followed by Marley and Nicole. The kitchen fills with noise and warmth and the kind of easy affection that comes from people who've been family for years.
And I feel like an imposter.
At 5:58, I glance out the window toward Claire's cottage. Still no movement. Is she going to show up? Or has she changed her mind?
"Relax," Boone says quietly, appearing at my shoulder. "She'll be here."
"How do you know?"
"Because she came all this way. That takes courage. She's not going to bail now."
I hope he's right.
At 6:02, there's a soft knock on the front door. My heart nearly stops.
"I'll get it," Tucker says, already moving toward the door with Emma still attached to him.
"Wait—" I start, but it's too late.
Tucker opens the door, and there's Claire. She's changed into a clean shirt and jeans, pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail. She looks terrified but determined, her hands clasped in front of her like she's trying to keep them from shaking.
"Hi," she says, her voice small. "I'm Claire. Sorry I'm a couple minutes late. I was trying to find the courage to walk over here."
Tucker's expression softens immediately. "No apologies necessary. Come in. I'm Tucker, and this is my daughter Emma."
"Hi, Emma," Claire says, and manages a genuine smile when Emma waves at her.
Then Tucker steps aside, and Claire walks into the house full of strangers who think they know her story. Her eyes find mine immediately, and I see the question in them: *Are we really doing this?*
I nod slightly. We're really doing this.
"Everyone," Tucker says, his voice carrying over the kitchen chaos. "This is Claire. Let's make her feel welcome."
And just like that, my entire world changes.
Because everyone stops what they're doing and turns to face her.
Wade with his spoon still dripping chili.
Sierra with plates in her hands. Colt with his mouth half-open mid-joke.
Mason, Boone, Nicole, Harper, Marley, all of them looking at this woman who's supposed to be my old military friend but is actually a stranger I met on the internet.
The buzzing in my ear becomes deafening.
And Claire stands there, small and scared and so far out of her depth, and I realize with sudden, crushing clarity that I can't let her do this alone.
I cross the room in three strides and stop beside her.
Not touching, but close enough that she knows I'm there.
Close enough that we're facing this together.
"Hey," I say, just for her. "You okay?"
She looks up at me, those blue eyes wide with panic. "No," she whispers. "But I'm here anyway."
"That's all that matters," I tell her.
And then I turn to face my family, the people who've known me since I was sixteen, who've seen me at my worst and loved me anyway, and I prepare to lie to them for Claire's sake.
For our sake.
Whatever the hell that means.