Chapter Thirty-Five – Paisley
Chapter Thirty-Five
Paisley
One Year Later…
I 'm pretty sure algebra wasn't this complicated when I was in school. Then again, I was too busy writing stories in my notebook to pay much attention. The kitchen smells like cinnamon and coffee—Martha's special blend that she now packages with As Seen on 'Montana Hearts ’ stickers, much to Wes's dismay and my endless amusement.
Emma's brow furrows as she stares at her homework, her pencil tapping against the kitchen table in a rhythm that perfectly matches Bernard's indignant honking outside. Her math book is splayed open beside a half-eaten apple and three different colored highlighters—a studying technique she picked up from Jake, who swears color-coding saved his life in high school.
"The tourists are back," she announces without looking up from her math, circling something with her neon green marker. "Bernard's doing his territorial display again."
"As long as he doesn't steal any more selfie sticks," Wes mutters from behind his coffee mug—the blue chipped one that somehow survived the renovation despite my attempts to replace it with something that doesn't look like it fought in the Civil War. "We're running out of places to store them."
"The gift shop could use them," I suggest, stirring honey into my tea. "Authentic Bernard-approved memorabilia. We could charge double."
Wes gives me that look—the one that says I'm both the best and most troublesome thing that's ever happened to him. "Don't encourage him."
Through the window, I can see the line of fans gathered at the designated viewing area—a safe distance from both Bernard's jurisdiction and the actual filming happening in the east pasture. The movie's been shooting for three months now, and the crowds have only grown. Turns out, people really will travel across the country to watch attractive actors pretend to be cowboys. The actor playing Wes—a perfectly nice man from Vancouver with suspiciously white teeth—can't actually ride a horse without looking like he's being electrocuted, but the fans don't seem to mind.
"At least Kevin's enjoying the attention," I say, watching our resident peacock strut past the crowd like he's auditioning for his own spinoff series. He's developed a signature move where he flares his tail feathers precisely when cameras start flashing—a natural-born star. "I'm pretty sure he's more dramatic than any of the actual actors."
"Kevin understands his audience," Colt says, wandering in from outside. His boots leave little clumps of mud on the new kitchen floor—something that would have sent Wes into conniptions a year ago, but now barely earns a raised eyebrow. Progress. "Unlike some people who shall remain nameless but rhymes with Rake."
Right on cue, Jake bursts through the door, face flushed with excitement. "They want to use Thunder for the final scene! The director said he's got better screen presence than the trained horses they brought in."
"Told you," Emma says without looking up. "Thunder's been practicing his smoldering look all year."
"Wonder where he learned that from," I murmur, catching Wes's eye over my mug. His expression softens in that way that still makes my heart skip, even after a year of moments just like this. The crinkles around his eyes deepen when he smiles like that—little markers of happiness that weren't there when I first arrived.
Emma snorts, still focused on her homework. "That's because he's a method actor, obviously."
"Obviously." I hide my smile in my coffee cup. "It's not like he lives with the world's broodiest cowboy or anything."
Wes's eyebrow arches. "I don't brood."
"You're brooding right now," all four of us say in unison, causing Trouble the cat to startle from his perch on the windowsill.
A chorus of excited squeals erupts from outside as one of the lead actors rides past the viewing area, waving with that perfect movie-star charm. The sound barely registers anymore—it's become as much a part of ranch life as Bernard's tantrums and Kevin's theatrical performances.
Jake peers out the window, assessing the crowd. "Martha's selling out of those special Whispering Pines cookies again. She's going to need another batch by noon."
"I still can't believe people are buying cookies shaped like Bernard," Wes says, shaking his head. "The man stole my wallet three times last month."
"The goose," I correct automatically, considering we've had this argument at least fifty times. "Bernard is a goose, not a man."
"A goose wouldn't have the strategic planning capabilities to target my wallet specifically," Wes argues, as passionate about this as he is about proper fence maintenance. "He's clearly a criminal mastermind trapped in a goose's body."
"Or," Colt suggests reasonably, "you keep your wallet in your back pocket where it's easy for a goose to grab."
Emma flips her pencil between her fingers, eyes narrowed in deep concentration—not on math, but something else entirely. The afternoon sun catches in her hair, highlighting the auburn strands that remind me so much of Sarah in the photos around the house.
"Uncle Wes?" she finally asks, her voice hesitant in a way that immediately catches my attention. "Is it weird that we're millionaires now but still eat mac and cheese for dinner sometimes?"
Wes chokes on his coffee, sputtering while Jake unhelpfully slaps him too hard on the back. "Who told you we're millionaires?"
"Sarah Beth." Emma shrugs, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. "She saw the article about the movie rights and did the math." She pauses. "Which, by the way, was way easier than this algebra stuff."
"Algebra is important," Wes starts automatically, launching into his standard education speech.
I reach over to squeeze his hand before he can get properly wound up about the value of hard work and not letting money change us. "Some things are worth keeping the same," I tell Emma, interrupting what would surely be a fifteen-minute lecture. "Like family dinner. And your uncle's terrible jokes."
"My jokes aren't terrible."
"They really are," Emma and I say in unison, while Jake and Colt nod solemnly in the background.
"Remember the one about the cow and the calculator?" Colt says, wincing. "I think I lost actual brain cells."
"It's called 'cow-culations,'" Jake adds, making air quotes with his fingers. "Get it? Because cows... and calculations..."
Wes sighs dramatically, but I catch the twitch of his lips. "You people wouldn't know quality humor if it herded you across the pasture."
"Case in point," I murmur, earning myself a playful swat on the arm.
Outside, Dana, our producer-turned-friend, is in yet another losing battle with Bernard. It's a familiar routine by now—she arrives with organic treats, Bernard pretends to consider her offerings, then proceeds to reject them with as much flair as possible. Today, she's wearing a wide-brimmed fedora that seems designed specifically to tempt our kleptomaniac goose.
"Five bucks says he steals her clipboard," Emma says, still not looking up from her math.
"Ten says he goes for her hat instead," I counter. "He's been eyeing that fedora all week."
"Twenty says he takes both, then honks at the cameras like he planned it all along," Jake adds, pulling out his wallet.
Wes exhales like a man shouldering great burdens, but his eyes are full of quiet amusement. "You two are terrible influences on each other."
"Three," Jake corrects, looking wounded. "I'm part of this corruption, too."
"You're a grown man betting on goose theft. You don't need any help being corrupted," Wes points out.
"Says the man who taught Bernard to honk on cue for the behind-the-scenes footage," I remind him, nudging his shoulder. "Don't think I didn't see you sneaking him treats every time he performed on command."
"That was strictly business," Wes defends himself. "Marketing, even. The producers said those clips tested extremely well with test audiences."
"Uh-huh." I'm not fooled. I've seen the way he sneaks Bernard extra grain when he thinks no one's looking. The man has a soft spot for dramatic animals, no matter how much he protests.
Emma finally pushes her homework aside, stretching her arms above her head. Her T-shirt—one of the official Whispering Pines Ranch ones sold in town—rides up, revealing the friendship bracelet Sarah Beth made her last week. "Can we have ice cream? Since we're rich now and all?"
"Homework first," Wes and I say in unison, earning an exaggerated groan from Emma.
She rolls her eyes. "You guys are so gross when you do that couple mind-reading thing."
"Just wait until the wedding," I tease, absently twisting the engagement ring on my finger. Even after months, it still catches me off guard—this solid, shimmering proof of a love story I never saw coming. The ring had been his grandmother's, reset with small sapphires that he said reminded him of the Montana sky. "We're planning to be extra gross then."
"As long as Bernard doesn't steal the rings," Wes mutters.
"That's actually a legitimate concern," Colt says thoughtfully. "Remember Cousin Ruby's wedding? He took the cake topper."
"And Martha's earrings at the Spring Festival," Jake adds.
"And Pastor Mike's reading glasses," Emma supplies helpfully.
Wes's expression grows increasingly alarmed with each example.
Emma's face lights up suddenly, that Montgomery spark of mischief flashing in her eyes. "Wait—what if we trained him to carry them down the aisle? Like, in a little top hat?"
"Absolutely not." Wes sets his coffee down with finality, the mug making a decisive thunk against the wooden table.
I press my lips together, pretending to consider it. "It is very on-brand for us."
"I'm not letting a kleptomaniac goose anywhere near our wedding rings."
"Too late!" Emma announces gleefully, exchanging a high-five with Jake. "I already promised Martha we'd consider it. She says it would be very authentic."
"Martha is not the wedding planner," Wes protests, despite knowing that's a lie. Martha started planning this wedding approximately five minutes after I arrived in Pine Ridge, long before either of us admitted our feelings.
"Martha has already ordered the top hat," Jake informs us. "It's got a little bow tie and everything."
"And Kevin's getting jealous," Colt adds. "He's been practicing his own procession walk behind the barn."
"Our wedding is turning into a petting zoo pageant," Wes groans, but I feel his hand slide beneath the table, finding mine in a warm, familiar grip. Some things have changed—the bank account, the movie cameras, the ever-growing collection of stolen tourist belongings Bernard has hidden around the ranch. But the important things? Those have stayed exactly the same.
Outside, Bernard finally makes his move, snatching Dana's fedora with ruthless precision while Kevin creates a perfectly timed distraction. The tourists gasp in delighted horror, probably already adding to the viral collection of videos that have made our goose more famous than the actual movie stars.
"Someday," Jake says reverently, "I'm going to be his agent. That goose understands showmanship better than any creature I've ever met."
"I think that might be considered poultry trafficking," Colt points out.
"Talent management," Jake corrects. "And I'm only taking 15 percent. That's a friend's rate."
I smirk. "Told you. Hat thief strikes again."
Emma smirks right back. "And that's why we deserve ice cream."
Wes shakes his head, but there's no real fight behind it. "What do you think? Ice cream before dinner?"
I pretend to consider, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Well, we are millionaires now. Might as well be rebels."
"Ice cream was Sarah's remedy for algebra frustration, too," Colt says quietly, a small offering of memory that warms the kitchen. These moments happen sometimes—little pieces of Sarah that they share, keeping her present in our daily lives. It doesn't hurt like it used to. Now it just feels like honoring someone who helped shape this family long before I was part of it.
Wes's expression softens at the mention of his sister. "She'd hide it in the back of the freezer, behind the frozen peas."
"As if Dad didn't know exactly what she was doing," Jake adds with a laugh.
"He did the same thing," Colt confesses. "Only he hid his behind the steaks."
"The freezer was basically an ice cream speakeasy," Emma says, perking up. "Can we start that tradition again?"
Wes mutters something about corrupting the youth, but he's already up, pulling bowls down from the cupboard. Jake heads for the freezer, extracting three different flavors while Colt grabs spoons. It's a choreographed dance they've been perfecting for months now—this blended family finding its rhythm together.
I watch Wes move through the kitchen, the easy way he fits into the rhythm of our life. For so long, Wes Montgomery was the gruff, no-nonsense cowboy who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, trying to hold together a ranch, raise his niece, and keep his own heart locked away in the process.
Now? He's a man who still takes things too seriously and still believes in hard work and discipline, but also, he’s a man who's learned how to share the burden.
One who's learned that life isn't just about survival. It's about the stolen moments. The laughter. The ridiculous bets over a goose with a penchant for grand larceny. The way love can show up, uninvited, and turn a once-lonely kitchen into a home filled with warmth.
"Remember when you wouldn't even let me use your coffee mug?" I ask him quietly as he passes behind me, his hand brushing my shoulder in that casual way that still gives me butterflies.
He pauses, leaning down so his words are just for me. "Remember when you fell in manure and ruined your designer jeans?"
"A classic meet-cute," I counter. "Martha's already commissioned an artist to paint that scene for the ranch museum."
"We don't have a ranch museum," he protests.
"Yet," Jake interjects, overhearing as he drops a massive scoop of chocolate into Emma's bowl. "But the tourism board thinks it would be a great addition to the property."
"Maybe in the old bunkhouse," Colt suggests. "We could display all the items Bernard's stolen over the years."
"That would require an entire wing," Wes mutters, but his hand is warm on my shoulder, grounding and steady.
I tilt my head back as he passes behind me, catching his sleeve and tugging him close. When he leans down, I kiss him—it’s soft and sweet and tastes like coffee. The kind of kiss that says this—this ranch, this family, this us—is the best thing I've ever written.
"Gross," Emma groans, making gagging noises while Jake pretends to cover her eyes. "You guys are worse than Kevin during mating season."
"Speaking of which," Colt says, glancing out the window, "I think Dana's trying to get her hat back."
"Good luck with that," Jake snorts. "Last time someone tried to retrieve something from Bernard, he led them on a three-hour chase across the property. Grant still hasn't found his designer sunglasses."
"They're probably in Bernard's secret stash," Emma says around a mouthful of ice cream. "The one behind the chicken coop."
We all turn to stare at her.
"You know where Bernard keeps his stolen treasures?" Wes asks, sounding equal parts impressed and concerned.
Emma shrugs. "He's not that sneaky once you figure out his pattern."
"And you didn't think to mention this... why?" Colt asks.
"Professional courtesy," Emma says with perfect seriousness. "Thieves have a code."
Wes looks at me accusingly. "This is definitely your influence."
"I write fiction for a living," I remind him. "She comes by her dramatic flair naturally. Pure Montgomery genes." I pop a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, savoring the rich flavor. "However, I do respect her commitment to Bernard's constitutional rights. No illegal searches and seizures without probable cause."
"He's a goose," Wes says, exasperated but fond.
"A goose with rights," I counter. "And excellent taste in hats."
Wes presses his forehead to mine and sighs, but his voice is nothing but warmth. "Mmm," he murmurs. "I love you."
"I know," I whisper back, just to see the flash of amusement in his eyes. It's our little joke—a call and response that never fails to make him smile.
Outside, the cameras roll, the actors perform, and the tourists whisper about movie magic. Through the window, I see Dana finally give up on her hat, while Kevin struts triumphantly beside Bernard, their unlikely friendship one of the many miracles this ranch has produced.
But in here? In this kitchen with these people who have become my family?
This is the real magic.
Even if it does include a klepto goose with a thing for accessories.