BOONE
BOONE
The late afternoon sun hangs low, throwing long streaks of gold across the clearing where Old Faithful sits. The place has fought us every step of the way, but slowly, we’re fighting back.
We’ve gutted most of the kitchen, stripped the walls down to the beams so we can rewire what’s been out of code for years.
The front porch had to be torn down completely, nothing but rotted boards and rusted nails, but the new frame is already taking shape, waiting for fresh planks.
Inside, the floors are half sanded, layers of old varnish giving way to solid wood that’s got some life left in it.
Progress is slow, but progress is progress.
I tip my beer to my lips, letting the cold settle deep, easing the tightness in my muscles from a long-ass day.
Ridge is parked on an overturned bucket, rolling his bottle between his palms, boots planted wide.
Witt’s leaning against the truck, looking way too satisfied for someone who barely broke a sweat today.
Duke’s perched on the porch steps we just rebuilt, shaking his head at something Ridge just said.
“You still piss sittin’ down, Witt?” Ridge asks, tipping his beer toward him.
Witt scowls, kicking a piece of scrap wood in Ridge’s direction. “That was one time. I got stung by a wasp. Near my junk. Excuse me for needing a minute to recover.”
Duke exhales through his nose, clearly holding back a laugh. “So you’re tellin’ me that if I check the cameras at the barn, I won’t see you hidin’ in a stall every time we’re out fencin’ for more than an hour?”
Witt throws up a hand. “Y’all act like it’s a crime to have standards. I don’t take a leak out in the wind like some damn savage.”
Ridge shakes his head, unimpressed. “Unreal.”
“I’m not the only one,” Witt argues, looking at me for backup.
I take another slow sip of my beer. “Not getting in the middle of this.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re a professional,” Duke says. “Witt here don’t know a damn thing about hard work.”
Witt scoffs. “You ever notice how the laziest sons of bitches on the ranch are the ones who love to talk the most shit?”
“Damn right I talk shit,” Duke says. “I work my ass off. Unlike some people who always gotta ‘take a quick call’ right when the hay needs unloading.”
Witt glares. “How was I supposed to know my mom was calling?”
“You answered and said, ‘what’s up, baby?’” Ridge points out.
Witt levels a finger at him. “Maybe my mom and I have a close relationship. Ever think about that?”
I shake my head, half-listening, half somewhere else entirely.
It’s been days since I’ve had a real conversation with Lark. I texted her the other night to let her know I was picking up Hudson from practice. She responded with a thumbs up emoji.
A damn emoji.
I’ve been trying to give her space. Let her come to me. But she’s not, and I can’t stop thinking about going to see her anyway.
A distant rumble of tires on gravel pulls me out of it.
The four of us turn toward the driveway as a sleek black sedan eases up the path, too polished, too pristine to belong to anyone from around here.
Ridge squints, setting his beer aside. “That’s not exactly ranch-friendly transportation.”
Witt pushes off the lumber pile, brushing sawdust from his jeans. “Shit. Is someone here goin’ to jail?”
Duke watches the car roll to a stop. “Reckon we’re gonna find out.”
The car door swings open, and a woman steps out.
Petite, sharp-featured, dark hair that barely grazes her shoulders, pants that look expensive, and a blouse that was probably worth more than my entire grocery bill last month.
Big sunglasses cover half her face, and the bag slung over her shoulder screams designer in a way that doesn’t belong anywhere near sawdust and cattle shit.
Who the hell?
She steps forward, all confidence, raising a hand in an easy wave.
“Hi, Booney!”
Oh god. I groan internally. I should’ve known.
Ridge lets out a low whistle beside me. “She’s hot.”
“She would absolutely eat you alive.”
His grin turns wolfish. “That’s even hotter.”
“You have serious issues.”
Miller Ashford, in all her pint-sized, designer-clad glory, finally comes to a stop in front of us. She crosses her arms over her chest, weight shifting to one hip, and her smile deepens, dimples cutting deep in her cheeks.
“Long time, no see,” she says, tilting her head slightly like she’s assessing me.
I nod. “Wasn’t expecting you.”
She lifts a shoulder, like she’s got all the time in the world. “Figured if I gave you a heads-up, you’d find some way to dodge me.”
I huff out a laugh. “Still convinced the world revolves around you, huh?”
She grins, the same shit-eating expression she’s worn since we were kids. “I mean, it’s been working for me so far.”
Ridge, still looking her up and down like he’s mentally composing a love letter, clears his throat.
Miller drops her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose just enough to get a better look at him, her sharp green eyes flicking over his face with mild interest. “And you are?”
Ridge straightens. “Ridge. Ridge Wilding. ”
Miller purses her lips. “Another Wilding, huh? Your brood just keeps multiplying, it seems.”
Ridge grins. “That a compliment?”
She considers for a second. “If you need it to be.”
Duke lets out a low chuckle, and Witt mutters, “Damn, she’s a spitfire.”
Miller squints at him. “Wait. I actually do remember you. You were scrawny with a terrible haircut.”
Ridge huffs a laugh. “You weren’t exactly winning any awards in the haircut department either.”
She levels him with a look. “It was the early 2000s. We were all victims.”
“Some more than others.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re real confident for someone who looked like a wet Q-tip until at least age fifteen.”
Ridge smirks, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Bet you were a real joy to be around back then.”
“I still am,” she deadpans. “I’m just a tiny, rage-filled ray of fucking sunshine.”
Duke shakes his head. Witt just mutters something about Ridge needing a cold shower and better decision-making skills.
I clear my throat, cutting through whatever the hell this is. “What do you need, Mills?”
She turns back to me, expression shifting slightly, the teasing dropping just enough to let me know she’s got something serious to say.
“I need to talk to you. Alone, if that’s alright.”
I study her for a second before nodding. “Yeah, okay.”
As I move to follow her, Ridge leans in with a grin and murmurs, “If you don’t want her, I’ll take her.”
I shoot him a look. “Go build a fence, Ridge.”
Miller snorts as she walks past him, reaching up to adjust her sunglasses. “I’d drive a drill through your eye socket for fun.”
Ridge, still grinning like a dumbass, just shrugs. “I’m okay with that.”
Duke and Witt chuckle behind him, and I hear Witt clap him on the shoulder, muttering, “Tough break, buddy. ”
I shake my head, already leading Miller toward the side of the house.
I glance at her as we step away from the others, hands braced on my hips. “Alright, what’s up?”
Miller crosses her arms, head tilting slightly. “Missed you too, Booney.”
I let out a small laugh. “Right. Now, what’s up?”
Her expression shifts, turning serious. “We need to help our girl.”
My brows pull together. “What?”
“Lark,” she says, like it’s obvious. “She needs us.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
Miller blinks at me. “Have you not driven past the Bluebell in the last day?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I’ve been a little busy trying to run a ranch and renovate a damn-near-condemned house, so no, I haven’t had time to take a joyride through town lately.”
Miller shakes her head. “Well, maybe you should’ve, because the health department shut her ass down.”
I straighten, arms dropping to my sides. “What?”
She nods. “Yeah. I went yesterday morning and found a big notice taped to the window. Apparently, the place failed a health inspection.”
I stare at her, waiting for the punchline.
It doesn’t come.
I let out a dry laugh. “That doesn’t make any sense. Alice kept that place cleaner than a damn hospital, and Lark’s the same way.”
Miller lifts a brow. “Exactly. But the official report says otherwise.”
I don’t have to ask to know who’s behind it.
My jaw tightens, pulse ticking up. “Why’d they shut her down, then?”
Miller sighs, shifting her weight. “Some bullshit. Mold in the walk-in. Improper food storage. A few other things. But I’ve eaten there a hundred times, Boone. You have too. That place is spotless.”
She’s right. The last few times I’d been in for coffee, the counters had been wiped down, floors clean, everything running like a well-oiled machine.
There’s no way in hell Lark’s diner actually failed a health inspection .
Someone made sure it did.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. “Well, we both know this is bullshit. And Wendell.”
Miller crosses her arms. “Obviously.”
I shake my head. “Problem is, Lark and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms right now.”
Miller lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, you don’t say?”
I ignore the jab, rolling my shoulders. “She doesn’t want my help.”
Miller lifts a brow. “She doesn’t want anyone’s help, Boone.”
I glance at her. “Then why the hell are we having this conversation?”
Miller sighs, like she’s explaining something to a child. “Because when does Lark ever ask anyone for anything? Ever? She’d rather bleed out on the kitchen floor than call someone to take her to a damn hospital.” She gestures vaguely. “So we’re going to start digging.”
“Right. And you think I’m the guy for that job because?”
Miller gives me a look, unimpressed. “Boone. You were in the fucking Special Forces.”
I raise a brow. “So?”
She groans, throwing her hands in the air. “Jesus Christ. You were literally trained for this kind of thing. You can track people, figure out who’s working for who, who’s feeding Wendell information.”
She’s not necessarily wrong.