Chapter 4 #2
I wish Warren believed in me even a fraction of what Heath does. He hasn’t even checked in to see if I made it okay and have settled in. It shouldn’t surprise me—he’s never cared about my well-being, even before. But I can’t help the dim remainder of hope lingering in my heart.
As if one day he will finally show up and be the father I’ve always wanted. The father I’ve needed.
“I changed the schedule for the first week so one of the boys will always be here, should you need them. But after that, they usually alternate driving cattle and leading guests on the trails,” Heath says, interrupting my thoughts.
“We always hire a few extra sets of hands for the summer to help out, so there will always be someone around. Think you’ll be okay? ”
I smile and nod. “Absolutely.”
We keep walking down the worn path. I’m lost in my head until I notice Heath isn’t beside me anymore. He’s stopped a few steps back, hands braced on his hips as he looks out over the pasture. I follow his gaze—Wesley and Emmett are out there, working together to move a group of cattle.
“I know Wesley can be…challenging.” He takes a deep breath and turns back to me. “He’s been a little more withdrawn since their mother passed.”
I swallow, rolling my lips between my teeth. I know the feeling well—the urge to shut everyone out. The burning need to be alone with the ghosts of what used to be.
Swearing if you could have one more day—just one—you’d give anything in the world.
“I’m not excusing his behavior, don’t get me wrong. He—“ Heath pauses, looking back out over the pasture. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the top rail of the wooden fence. For a moment, I think he’s done talking. Then, quietly, he adds, “He needs time.”
My chest tightens under the weight of it. The grief. The memory.
I was a complete wreck for months after she left me. I know it’s not fair to say she left—as if she’d had a choice in the matter.
But she did.
She left, and I was trapped in that house. Completely alone and devoid of love.
She left me with a cold-blooded, dispassionate monster who hated my existence and never let me forget it.
It only got worse after.
Seeing me was a constant and painful reminder she was truly gone and wasn’t coming back.
For months, I wished it had been me instead.
Because when she died, part of me went with her.
A part I don’t think I’ll ever get back.
“Yeah,” I whisper, eyes stinging as tears pool along my lashes. “I understand.”
Ugh, I am so fucking sick of crying.
These mountains are like a siren song for my tears, and I have no control over myself anymore. I grip the top of the wooden fence so hard my fingers turn white.
“Oh, honey,” Heath says gently, reaching over and patting the top of my hand.
Another long stretch of silence spreads over us, but this, time he doesn’t continue.
There’s nothing more to say. It’s not like his words would magically bring my mom back and undo all the pain and suffering of losing her. He knows that, and I know that.
She is gone. Forever. No take-backs.
I set the table with four plates and place the food in the center, trying to remember a time when my family and I sat at our obnoxiously long dining room table and ate a meal together—but we never did.
We just weren’t that kind of family, I guess.
Emmett and Wesley slip into their chairs and waste no time before digging in.
The pot roast and rolls still steam with heat, so I take small, slow bites, savoring the moment and trying not to burn my tongue.
Heath clears his throat and glances at his sons, widening his deep-set brown eyes and tipping his head toward me.
I swallow hard.
Is he choosing now to reveal the truth to his sons? The real reason I am here, throwing a wrench into their lives?
To expose what a burden I am to my father, and now to them?
“Thank you for helping make dinner, Sadie,” Emmett says, winking before taking another large bite.
“Oh.” Relief spreads across my face. “Um, your dad did most of the cooking,” I say with a smile before looking at Wesley.
He grabs another roll and takes a bite like a caveman, keeping his eyes on me. “Thank you.” His voice is low, mouth full of bread.
“Of course,” I chime, deciding to go with a kill them with kindness approach. He can be broody all he wants. Whether we like it or not, I’m stuck here either way.
Heath asks the boys a few questions here and there about the horses and some fencing in need of repair. Even though I’m sharing a table with complete strangers I just met, I feel oddly comfortable.
More comfortable than I would feel sitting across the table from my own father.
Heath clears his throat and takes a sip from his water glass. I glance up and before I can stop myself, I look at Wesley—and instantly regret it.
He’s already looking at me.
Our eyes lock, and neither of us moves. The clatter of silverware and scrape of plates fades, like someone turned the volume down on the room. It’s just us—his eyes latched onto mine—and I’m caught, unable to break free.
I don’t understand him. He’s been moody and distant ever since I got here, yet he can’t seem to stop eye-fucking me every time he sees me.
I don’t have the energy to figure him out.
I’m not here to get tangled up and complicate my life any more than it already is.
I just need to make it through this summer in one piece.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re here before peak season starts,” Heath says, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.
I tear my eyes away from Wesley’s and turn my attention to his father.
“Yes,” I manage, clearing my throat. “Seems like the timing lined up perfectly.”
I nudge the vegetables around my plate, pretending not to feel the heat still crawling up my neck.
“Are you nervous about being around the animals?” Heath asks.
“Not so much being around them,” I admit, “just…working out there in general.”
“Don’t you worry,” he says with a reassuring smile. “The boys’ll show you the ropes. You’ll be good and ready before summer’s in full swing.”
Emmett grins and nods. I return the gesture, though my heart still beats unevenly from the eyes burning into me from across the table.
Then Wesley sighs, loud enough to make all of us glance up. He shoves his chair back, grabs his empty plate, and drops it into the sink with a clatter before disappearing out the back door.
I press my lips together, trying not to let it get to me. I really am. But it’s hard not to feel the sting of it—his silence, his moods, the way he can’t seem to decide what he wants.
“Don’t worry about him,” Emmett says quietly. “He’s always a dick. It’s not you.”
I nod, managing a faint smile. It helps, a little. But still—the thought of spending the whole summer walking on eggshells around Wesley makes my stomach twist.
After dinner, Heath and Emmett slip out to do a final check on part of the fencing, while I clear the table and start working on the dishes.
I still can’t get over Wesley storming out in the middle of dinner. He is being so childish.
But at least he had the decency to put his plate in the sink before going to sulk in his truck, or wherever he ran off to.
I don’t know why I’m letting his behavior bother me.
When summer is over, I’ll leave and his little tantrums won’t matter anymore.
I look down at the plate I’ve been scrubbing a little too hard. A frustrated groan slips out. Wesley does not deserve to take up space in my thoughts.
I force myself to think about something else—like Mia and Tori coming to visit.
Tori’s been on a full-blown cowboy kick ever since that one Glen Powell movie, and the thought of her here, flirting with Emmett and Wesley, twists something deep in my stomach.
I’ve always had a vivid imagination and I can’t shake the image of her giggling in the back of some pickup truck, a mess of sweaty tangled limbs.
A hand presses suddenly to the small of my back as a glass drops into the sink beside me.
“Oh my God.” My hand flies to my chest as I whirl around—and find myself looking straight into a pair of dark, amber eyes. “You scared the fuck out of me!”
He stands there, faint amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Un-fucking-believable.
I turn back to the sink, trying to steady my breathing, because of course—of course—Wesley would conveniently show up the moment I’m deep in thought about him.
The soft sound of his breathy chuckle pushes me over the edge. My palms slam against the edge of the farmhouse sink as I spin back around, arms crossing tightly over my chest.
“What is your problem with me?”
He leans back against the counter, fingers curling around the edge, his gaze dark and unreadable.
“Who said I have a problem with you?”
I pause, caught off guard. It’s the first time he’s said more than two words to me.
“Seems pretty obvious to me.”
The muscles in his jaw tense and red hot anger rages through my entire body, licking beneath my skin.
I hate that he gets this kind of reaction out of me. I didn’t ask to be here—he must know that. So why does he act like I’ve personally offended him by simply existing?
“How about this,” I bite out. “I stay out of your way, you stay out of mine. Emmett can teach me everything I need to know, and you can continue your sulking all by yourself.”
Silence stretches, infuriatingly heavy as he stares at me with narrowed eyes. The seconds tick by, each one thicker and more uncomfortable than the last.
I scoff and turn toward the stairs, ready to put as much distance as possible between us. “Great. So glad we’re on the same—“
“What happened to your lip?”
I freeze mid-step. A gasp crawls up my throat but I swallow it down, exhaling a stuttering breath.
His words are a far cry from gentle and concerned—they’re controlled and irritated.
I turn back slowly.
He hasn’t moved. His knuckles are still blanched against the edge of the countertop. His eyes slowly trace the line of my mouth before meeting my gaze again.
“It’s nothing,” I say, taking a small step back.
His gaze lingers on the small split in my skin. The muscle in his jaw ticks as he studies me. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
“Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion, did I?”
“No,” he agrees flatly. “You didn’t.”
My heart pounds wildly against my ribs when his eyes flick up to mine again, something dark and unreadable passing through them.
“How did it happen?” he asks.
I swallow. “I said it’s nothing.”
For a second, he looks like he might say something. Push further. Demand an explanation. Raise his voice.
Instead, his brow furrows and he exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, like he’s reining himself in.
“Right,” he mutters.
The dismissal stings more than concern would’ve.
He straightens, pushing off the counter, creating even more space between us—and somehow, the room feels even smaller.
“My dad expects professionalism,” he adds coolly. “So keep your head down and be mindful around guests.”
The fog in my mind clears, replaced with a bitter rush of humiliation and regret.
“I understand,” I say quietly.
The words taste sour. I don’t look at him when I say them.
His mouth tightens and he nods once. “Good,” he says. “We’re clear.”
I turn away before the burn in my throat can rise any higher. My hand comes up instinctively to my mouth, fingers pressing into the cut, barely holding myself together.
Do not look back.
But I am a glutton for punishment and seemingly incapable of ignoring every flashing red light of warning.
At the bottom of the stairs, I glance over my shoulder to find him still there—watching me. His expression is hard and closed off, but there’s something unsettled beneath it.
He rolls his shoulders back once before turning away and slipping out the back door without another word.