Faithful Love: (Faithful Hearts (Ranch Romance) #8)

Chapter 1

TRENT CASTLEBERRY WOKE early on Christmas morning. He knocked on Levi’s door, the room next to his in the barn loft, but didn’t wait for an answer. He descended the stairs and switched on a few lights, waking the animals that were making their own nativity scene in the straw-covered stalls.

“Wakey, wakey,” Trent mumbled. “Time to milky, milky.” He would never talk like that around anyone, but for some reason—maybe the memories of Christmases past that going to the candlelit service last night evoked—made him feel like a kid again.

Of course, there’d be no shiny gifts, no Christmas stockings, no matching pajamas this year.

He hadn’t spent Christmas at home in five or six years.

Trent grew up on a small cattle ranch in Oklahoma, where he developed a strong work ethic and a love for the land.

However, his family lost their ranch to financial troubles, leaving his father feeling directionless and ashamed.

To reduce his father’s burdens, Trent left to make his own way, moving from job to job across the western states, taking short-term ranch hand positions, and sending home money when he could.

His intelligence and dry humor earned him respect from coworkers, but his quiet nature often left him feeling isolated.

Trent’s last job, here in Montana, ended abruptly when he stood up to his employer, who was cutting corners in a way that put both cattle and cowboys in danger.

While his actions were morally right, they left him unemployed and with a tarnished reputation.

He was living in his car when he learned about the free Thanksgiving dinner at the community center.

It was there that he and another homeless man, Levi, wrangled free room and board in exchange for working for Sophie and Holger Olsen at the Faithful Hearts Ranch.

The couple was in their seventies; both thin and gray-haired, she a little taller than he.

They ran a sort of halfway house for men courting trouble with the law and sometimes they took in those who were homeless.

He chuckled to himself at the pun-like phrase ‘courting trouble.’ That was more like how he’d express humor—not saying milky, milky.

“How ya doin’ there, Sally girl?” He spoke in a sexy whisper to the cow as she bobbled her head back to see who was entering her stall.

“Merry Christmas.” He stopped suddenly and turned around.

There was an old radio on a bale of hay in the aisleway and he was definitely in the mood for some Christmas songs.

The Christian station Holger had it tuned to would undoubtedly be looping through all the favorites.

He adjusted the volume. The strains of Silent Night filled the barn, warm and gentle in the early morning chill.

Trent leaned toward the radio for a moment, letting the soft melody wash over him.

It was comforting, familiar. Memories of his family singing this very song at their tiny country church flickered in his mind like the flame of the single candle he’d held as a boy during Christmas Eve services.

The cows stirred, a few lowing softly in what Trent imagined was their approval of the peaceful tune.

“All right, ladies,” he said, straightening. “Let’s get to it.”

He fetched a stool and the milking pail, settling himself beside Sally.

His hands moved instinctively, the rhythmic sound of milk hitting metal blending with the music.

He’d been helping here for a month now and was feeling more at home.

Despite the ache of homesickness buried somewhere deep inside, there was a contentment to this moment—a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in years.

Footsteps on the stairs broke the calm. Trent didn’t bother looking up as he heard Levi’s boots shuffle down.

“Merry Christmas,” Levi muttered, his voice groggy.

“Yeah, same to you,” Trent replied, keeping his tone deliberately light. He glanced up briefly, taking in the other man’s disheveled hair and oversized coat. “You look like you slept under a hay bale.”

Levi grunted and rubbed at the stubble on his face, clearly not in the mood for banter. He grabbed another stool and headed toward the next stall.

Not long after, the barn door creaked open, letting in a blast of icy air. Colton strode in, stamping snow off his boots. His energy was a sharp contrast to Levi’s sleepy demeanor.

“Morning, boys!” Colton called cheerfully, clapping his hands together. “Who’s ready to make these cows feel appreciated?”

Trent smirked. “They were just saying they missed your sweet talk and cold hands.”

Colton laughed, grabbing a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket. “Christmas morning, and here we are, giving the gift of good old-fashioned manual labor.”

Levi let out a huff that might have been a laugh—or just a sigh of resignation.

As the three men settled into their tasks, the barn filled with the comforting sounds of work: the scrape of stools on the floor, the carols on the radio, and the steady rhythm of milking.

Outside, the first light of dawn wasn’t even close to brightening the horizon.

The day stretched ahead of them, filled with chores and a promised celebration.

They’d all seen the presents accumulating under the tree—and their names on the tags.

It was unbelievable that they—each one troubled legally or economically or emotionally—would be receiving a gift.

For now, though, they worked quietly, each man lost in his thoughts, surrounded by the simple peace of Christmas morning.

***

“Merry Christmas! Good morning, good morning,” Sophie cheerfully greeted the guys as they came into the kitchen. “Mason and Taylor have prepared a wonderful Christmas breakfast for us, but we’re keeping it warm in the oven while we have a small celebration by the tree.

Trent glanced at the cooking duo. There was more going on between Mason and Taylor than they wanted anyone to know, but he could see how infatuated Mason was with the pretty blonde.

Silent observer, that’s what he’d been since coming here.

He’d observed Mason’s attempts at making Taylor laugh—Mason was a born comedian.

And he’d seen how much respect the old couple, Holger and Sophie, had for each other, always polite and comfortably affectionate.

But it was his barn loft buddy, Levi, who was the mystery here. The guy rarely spoke, never smiled, not even at Mason’s groaners, and kept to himself.

Then there was Colton, obviously a favorite of the Olsens, but that was because his girlfriend, Samantha, was the Olsens’ granddaughter.

He hung his coat with the others and followed Colton into the living room, mumbling a Merry Christmas to the cooks as he passed them.

The living room was fairly large with enough seating for seven, but there were eight of them if Wyatt—whose turn it was to sleep in and not milk the cows this morning—joined them.

Holger was seated on the hearth by the fire, so that made things a little roomier.

Still, it would be crowded on the couch; Trent opted to sit on the floor.

“We’ll get started as soon as Wyatt comes down,” Mrs. Olsen said, settling into her usual chair.

The basket of quilting that normally flanked her chair was pushed under a side table.

“Christmas morning was always so exciting when we were raising our boys. We miss all the commotion and the enthusiastic ripping open of gifts, but we can still enjoy the part that was the most fun, the giving. We’ve bought some things for each of you. ”

The guys glanced at each other and Mason joked, “You? I thought all these things under the tree came down the chimney last night.”

Taylor, next to Mason on the couch, laughed first, then Holger chuckled and poked at the embers in the fireplace before adding some wood.

Sophie smirked at Mason. “Speaking of Santa … who wants to be his helper and pass out the gifts?”

No one answered so Trent, sitting so close to the tree, said, “I’ll do it.” He reached for the nearest item, read the tag, and held up the gift. “It’s for Wyatt.”

They all looked toward the staircase and Colton yelled Wyatt’s name. A moment later a sleepy Wyatt lumbered down the steps, voiced an apology and repeated back Taylor’s greeting before accepting the nicely wrapped present and scrunching himself between Levi and Colton on the couch.

“Am I supposed to open this now? With everybody staring at me?”

Sophie nodded. “Yes, one person at a time. Let’s make the morning last.”

Inwardly Trent was conflicted. He had nothing but respect and gratitude for the Olsens, but sharing this personal thing … this ritual … was awkward and embarrassing. He had nothing to give anyone.

It took an excruciatingly long half hour to get through the present opening.

He received a shirt and some gloves from the Olsens, and—most unexpectedly—a thumb drive from Taylor.

She explained it held pictures of this ersatz family.

She’d downloaded her professional photos of each of them and made memory sticks for them all.

It was both thoughtful and thoughtless; he and Levi had no way to view them, no computer or laptop, but he thanked her as warmly as he could.

Eventually, he’d get back on his feet and then …

“Oh, this was fun, but I gotta go,” Colton announced, his eyes on his phone screen. “Sorry to miss breakfast, but Samantha just texted. I can go over there now.”

“What’d you get her?” Mason asked. His eyebrows wiggled upward. “I know you went to a jewelry store. Are you getting engaged?”

Colton shook his head vehemently. “Maybe next Christmas. No, I got her a necklace with a cross on it. That’s what Mrs. O. suggested.” He exchanged a thankful smile with Sophie and left the living room, hollering back at Wyatt before he left: “Wyatt, you’ve got afternoon milking.”

Trent stayed in his spot on the floor as Holger tossed the wrapping paper scraps into the fire. The rest of them headed for the kitchen or the dining room. Levi offered a hand to help Trent off the floor.

Trent hesitated a moment before accepting Levi’s hand, surprised by the quiet gesture of kindness.

Once on his feet, he mumbled a quick thanks.

Levi gave a curt nod and turned to leave, but Trent noticed something in his expression—an unease or maybe reluctance, as if Levi wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“Hey,” Trent called after him. Levi stopped but didn’t turn around. “Merry Christmas.”

Levi glanced back, his face unreadable. “Yeah. We already said that, in the barn.”

As Levi disappeared into the dining room, Trent stayed behind for a moment, staring at the embers glowing in the hearth.

Despite the warmth of the room, a nagging chill crept into his chest. The Olsens had given him more than he could ever repay—a chance to get back on his feet, a place to belong for the first time in years—but that also came with a strange weight.

He wasn’t used to being part of something that felt so much like family. It probably wasn’t going to last.

He sighed and moved toward the dining room, ready to indulge in a special breakfast. But just as he reached the doorway, the sound of the front door creaking open made him pause. He turned to see Wyatt slipping outside, his coat hastily thrown on and his phone clutched tightly in his hand.

Curiosity got the better of him. Trent followed, stepping bootless out into the biting cold of the Montana morning.

He caught sight of Wyatt pacing near the barn, his breath fogging in the icy air.

The younger man looked agitated, his free hand gesturing as he spoke in elevated tones into the phone.

Trent caught snippets of Wyatt’s words.

“I told you, that’s impossible right now … Come on, please, it’s Christmas, for crying out loud … No, I didn’t forget. But if … sorry … yeah, pretty much … okay, I’ll try.”

Trent’s brow furrowed. The sharp edge in Wyatt’s voice could be interpreted as fear or irritation or exasperation.

Wyatt ended the call abruptly, shoving his phone into his pocket and running a hand through his hair. He turned, spotting Trent. As he walked toward the porch they just stared at each other.

“You didn’t hear anything,” Wyatt said flatly, his jaw tight.

Trent tilted his head. “Hard not to when you were yelling.”

Wyatt took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “I mean it, Castleberry. Whatever you heard … don’t say a word.”

Trent raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine by me. Come on, let’s eat.” He nodded toward the door, where the others were sitting down for breakfast.

Wyatt’s face paled, but he didn’t respond.

Instead, he brushed past Trent and entered the house.

Trent followed, a sinking feeling settling in his gut.

Whatever Wyatt was tangled up in, it wasn’t going to stay quiet for long.

After all, weren’t Wyatt and Mason under a sort of house arrest?

And when whatever it was came out, Trent had a feeling it wasn’t going to end well—for any of them.

Now he regretted lending Wyatt his car late one night last week.