4. Cala
It’s my first week at Walker Ranch, and I’ve already learned a few things.
For starters—when Daddy used to talk about “the ranch,” I pictured something a little run-down.
Well… turns out I was dead wrong.
Walker Ranch is a paradise.
Everything looks brand-new or fancy—or both.
The horse stables are painted this pure, blinding white. The stone paths that connect every corner light up at night like a fairytale.
My favorite part of Walker Ranch is undoubtedly the lake.
It has a picturesque dock where canoes are lined up, inviting peaceful outings on the water.
The corrals nearby are always filled with calm, content animals lazily grazing beneath the warm sunlight, creating an atmosphere of serenity that makes each day feel blissful.
The grass is a sight to behold—remarkably uniform in height across expansive acres, and so vibrantly green that it seems almost unreal, like something out of a dream.
The trees encircling the property are truly magnificent, towering with broad canopies that stretch wide and evoke the feeling that they have witnessed centuries pass by.
So, about the mansion—Mr. Walker’s place is like a mountain cabin that got a glitzy makeover.
It’s huge and super modern, with massive windows everywhere that let in tons of light and give you epic views of the whole ranch.
There are balconies and terraces all over, perfect for hanging out and soaking in the scenery.
It’s got that rustic vibe but with a lot of class, so honestly, it’s not just a house, it’s the coolest spot on the whole property.
Speaking of my boss, I’ve also learned that Mr. Walker leaves the house every single morning at seven-thirty sharp and comes back at exactly two p.m.
Not a minute late.
Not a second early.
But that doesn’t mean he sleeps in.
No, sir.
He wakes up at five every morning just to watch me from his fancy house with a damn pair of binoculars.
Yep. I said binoculars.
Rule number one of every psycho: own the best pair money can buy.
Though, to be fair, I don’t think he does it out of pure creepiness. More like… obsessive control issues.
Which brings me to lesson number two: the man’s got serious trust problems. His way is the only way, and if I don’t follow it to the letter—God help me.
He’s basically a dictator.
Except this dictator looks like a Greek god written by a woman.
The third thing I’ve learned is that my daddy is terrible at explaining procedures.
Example:
“It’s important the horses eat before they go out to graze.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so, Cala.”
I set my pen down on the table and stopped writing on purpose. It was my little silent protest—one that got under his skin every single time.
Dad liked order.
Me? I liked reasons.
He let out a long breath, his eyes drifting up toward the rafters like he was asking the good Lord for patience.
“Because, sweetheart, we need to make sure they got the nutrients they need first. Otherwise, they’d fill up on grass that don’t have near enough in it to keep ’em strong.”
I grinned, satisfied, and wrote it all down. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
As a good journalist, I like to understand why things are the way they are. And if Dad wants me to run this ranch successfully, he’s gonna have to start giving me those whys.
The fourth thing I’ve learned is that I get along well with Angelo—the ranch hand Mr. Walker hired so I wouldn’t accidentally burn the place down.
He’s a couple years younger than me, his dad’s a foreman at another ranch near Dallas, and he came here to lend a hand. Turns out we get along great—he’s funny, easygoing, and has that same kind of energy I do.
Not like other people, who prefer to spy from their tower with those unsettling auras.
Hey, auras are real. Everyone can sense them if they pay attention. And his? You can feel that darkness from miles away.
There’s something heavy inside that man, something he keeps buried deep.
You’d think that someone like him—rich, powerful, with the world at his feet—wouldn’t carry that kind of weight.
But I see it. Sometimes I swear I can smell it.
There’s something about his presence that hints at a heaviness, a shadow that lingers even when everything around him looks perfect on the surface.
It isn’t just in the way he moves, but in the energy, he brings into a room—an invisible burden that’s as real as anything you can touch.
Even when others overlook it, I notice the subtle signs, the quiet moments when his guard slips and the mask of success fades away to reveal what lies beneath.
And for reasons I can’t quite explain, I can’t help but want to know more…
“Not like that, Cala! You need to be careful—a kick from that thing could—”
Letting out a long breath, I’m jolted back to reality by Dad’s voice breaking into my thoughts.
Poor man hasn’t gone near a horse since that night.
Mama rolled his wheelchair out here and made him promise to keep at least five feet away while I brushed down the horses before putting them in the stalls.
He used to be fearless—one of those men who thought nothing could touch them. But, well… we all know how that turned out.
“Relax, Daddy,” I say softly, running my hand down the horse’s neck. “If she goes wild, I’ll run away from her… Not toward her.”
I mumble that last part under my breath. No need to make him feel worse than he already does.
It’s day five, and little by little, I’m finding my rhythm.
Dad warned me that Saturdays and Sundays are off-limits; that’s when Oliver Walker works his own land, and no one’s allowed to interrupt him.
I get it. I respect it.
So, I make sure everything’s ready by Friday afternoon—feed buckets filled, stalls clean, fences checked—so that His Royal Grumpiness can go play cowboy on his private kingdom.
Life at our new place isn’t all that different from how it was back in Waco—except for one thing.
At the old house, my room had a door. Which meant privacy.
Here, my “bedroom” is more like an attic loft. Everything that happens downstairs echoes right up through the floorboards.
It reminds me of that book Grandma made me read when I was twelve, The Kybalion.
It talked about the laws of the universe, and one of them said: As above, so below; as below, so above.
Well, that’s our house in a nutshell.
We might live on different levels, but it feels like we’re all sharing the same damn room.
At twenty-eight, I’d pictured myself living alone, maybe in some tiny apartment, living the wild life—eating whatever I wanted, binge-watching Supernatural, staying in pajamas all day.
But life, as my grandma used to say, has a funny way of flipping your plans upside down—and I’ve gotta say, she was right.
Don’t think, Cala.
I run my fingers through Ruby’s mane— a horse with the soul of a cow, black-and-white spots and all.
I smile.
Spending time with the horses has become my favorite part of the day.
There’s something noble and almost mystical about them. Or maybe that’s just me imagining them with horns and glittery wings.
“All done, sweetheart,” I whisper, taking her reins and leading her back into the stall.
“Well,” Dad says, watching from a few feet away, “this week you’ve done just about everything. Now you just need to work on your timing.”
Knowing he can’t see my face, I let out a dramatic sigh. His comments are never exactly encouraging—he always has to point out what I did wrong first.
I cover Ruby with her special night blanket, smoothing it over her back, then pat her soft muzzle.
“Goodnight, little cow.”
She tosses her head up and down, like she’s answering me, and I grin as I walk away.
I grab the handles of Daddy’s wheelchair and start pushing toward the house.
It’s not far, but my feet are screaming, and all I can think about is getting upstairs, falling on my bed, and dying there until Monday—when it all starts over again.