Chapter 8 Gideon
GIDEON
Gideon perched sideways on a stool, his socked foot resting on the chair rung, spinning a spoon between his fingers as Zeke stirred something on the stove.
He’d come to Zeke’s this morning for a reason—maybe he’d been hoping the familiar warmth of Zeke’s kitchen could steady the swirl of questions in his mind.
But now, he’d rather talk about anything else but his unorthodox marriage.
“Alright,” Gideon said, nudging a banana across the table like it had personally offended him, “hear me out: tandem paragliding tours.”
Zeke didn’t look up. “No.”
Gideon rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“You just did. Paragliders. Guests strapped to you, floating off the ridge. It’s a terrible idea, bro.”
“Not terrible,” Gideon said, pointing his spoon for emphasis. “Adventurous. Scenic. Completely safe . . . assuming proper wind conditions and thorough safety briefings.”
Zeke finally turned, spatula in hand. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m brainstorming,” Gideon countered. “Taking an active role in the business or whatever.”
“You’re avoiding.”
“Technically, I’m also fasting.” He shoved the banana back and forth like a hockey puck. “Too nauseous to eat, thanks to a very unexpected visitor.”
Zeke just raised a brow and turned back to the stove.
Gideon sighed, resting his elbows on the table. “I didn’t mean to marry her, Zeke. It was supposed to be a ceremonial island thing. Lei around the neck, take a picture, kiss. Boom. Done.”
“Except you actually said the vows,” Zeke said.
“Except I actually said the vows,” Gideon echoed. “And signed some documents I didn’t read because they were printed on parchment and came with a shell necklace.”
“For crying out loud, Gideon. Seriously?”
“And now apparently I’m married,” Gideon muttered. “To Juliana Emerson. A woman who matches her pencil to her ponytail holder.”
Zeke slid a plate of eggs and toast across the table to him. “And,” he added, “you’re a third owner in Redemption Ridge now.”
Gideon groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Dad’s either popping Tums like they’re candy to deal with the indigestion or throwing a party that I finally got married and triggered that stupid inheritance clause.
” He looked down at the breakfast and his stomach churned.
"It still feels like it’s not mine to claim.
” He stabbed halfheartedly at the eggs. Ownership. Responsibility. Shudder.
He wasn’t ready for that. He’d always been the jokester.
He was the guy guiding tourists up mountain trails, not the one making decisions that affected acres of land or this big family legacy.
Sometimes, he wondered if his dad even saw him as a real contributor, or just the free spirit who couldn’t be counted on like Cassie or Zeke.
Zeke nodded slowly. "You care about the people. The land. The trails. You might not love the animals the way Cassie does, or the hospitality side of things like I do, but you’re as much a part of Reynolds Ranching as either of us.
I get that you’re not the sit-behind-a-desk-and-sign-papers type.
But being part owner doesn’t mean giving up who you are. It means showing up in your own way.”
Gideon strongly disagreed with his brother on that.
He was just the funny tour guide, content to show people what he loved about the mountains.
What was he supposed to do as part owner?
It had always been a possibility, but his parents had written the documents specifically so Cassie, Zeke, and Gideon didn’t become owners until they got married.
And since Gideon had never planned on getting married . . .
How could he step up when all he knew was how to make people laugh and lean into the next adrenaline rush? Ownership of the ranch felt like a weight pressing down, a reminder that maybe he wasn’t enough. It was simpler to just point the bike downhill and let it ride.
He pushed away one looming problem in his mind only to be confronted with the other side of it. "I can’t stop thinking about how serious she is about it. Like, sacred serious. And I’ve been making jokes."
"That's your default. You make people laugh when things get heavy. But maybe this isn’t a joke anymore. Maybe God let this happen for a reason."
Gideon groaned. "You sound like Cassie."
Zeke chuckled. "I’ll take that as a compliment.
Look, man, I get it. Marriage isn’t something to take lightly.
But if you think she’s a good woman—and I’ve seen you watch her like she’s sunrise on the ridge—then maybe stop fighting so hard.
Maybe start asking what it would look like for her to stay. "
Gideon didn’t answer. Not right away.
He sat back, letting the words settle like dust in the quiet kitchen.
Could he really imagine a life with Juliana Emerson?
Type-A, beautifully stubborn, infuriatingly principled Juliana?
The woman who color-coded her travel documents and probably scheduled her emotional breakdowns in thirty-minute increments?
And that was if she actually wanted to stay.
What could he offer her? She hadn’t outright said she wanted to stay married.
She just said she wanted to honor the vows.
What did that even mean? How could either of them honor vows they had recited on a whim to someone they’d met twenty-four hours earlier?
Could someone like her fit into this rugged, unpredictable ranch life?
More than that, could he fit into whatever world she came from?
A flash of memory pulled him back to the island, to the rough ride on the old pineapple truck from the airport—the bumpy, dusty trip where Juliana sat stiffly beside him.
She finally cracked a smile at his jokes, despite telling him she wasn’t there for adventures.
But he’d caught a flicker of vibrant life beneath her guarded exterior.
Maybe that was what had hooked him. Because even then, beneath the hesitation and loneliness, there had been that edge, that fire of stubbornness and resolve that told him she wouldn’t be anyone’s passenger. Juliana Emerson was who she was. Tightly wound and perfectly organized.
But Gideon was who he was, too. And tightly wound things tended to snap when pulled too hard.
Zeke stood, slapped a hand on Gideon’s shoulder. "Just think about it. Don’t write it off just because it wasn’t your plan. I have to say, a billboard with my face on it and a homeless woman from Denver wasn’t my plan.”
Gideon grinned at the memory of the role he’d played in Zeke and Kaitlyn’s love story a few years back. That practical joke had certainly spiraled into something unexpected. Who was to say this unusual situation couldn’t do the same?
Later that morning, Gideon wandered toward the back of the lodge and the gazebo nestled there.
The chill lifted as golden sunlight streamed through the trees.
He’d come to reset a crooked trail marker near the south path—something small to accomplish, something simple that didn’t require unraveling the knot his heart had been in since breakfast.
A voice drifted from the gazebo just beyond the bushes.
He paused.
It was Juliana. Her voice, clipped and low, carried just enough for him to catch the edge of it. Then a shrill, cutting voice answered her through speakerphone.
Her mother.
“Colorado?” the woman scoffed. “Honestly, Juliana, what on earth are you doing on a ranch? You couldn’t even keep your houseplants alive, and now you think you’re suited for backwoods living?”
Gideon stiffened. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But once her mother’s voice had entered the air, it was hard to walk away.
Juliana’s reply was calm but strained. “I’m just trying to get away for a bit. I didn’t plan to be here until I was packing, but it’s . . . complicated.”
“Oh, of course it is,” her mother said flatly. “You always find a way to complicate things. Always chasing these structured little plans of yours like they’ll fix everything. And where has that gotten you? You couldn’t even hold on to Leo.”
Gideon flinched.
Juliana was silent.
Her mom didn’t wait. “You heard what he said, didn’t you, at the Prewitt’s party last week?
That you were exhausting. Too rigid. Too uptight.
Men don’t want that, sweetheart. You were so busy trying to plan a wedding, you didn’t notice your fiancé was already halfway out the door.
And you would think that with your penchant for control you could manage to drop a few pounds.
No man wants a chubby bride, sweetheart. ”
Gideon felt his fingernails dig into his palms. What kind of mother talked to her daughter like that? Took the side of a cheating loser over her own flesh and blood? Disparaged her body—which was absolutely perfect, thank you very much.
Juliana let out a slow, measured breath. “I’m not talking about Leo.”
“Well, maybe you should,” her mom snapped.
“Maybe you’d stop repeating your mistakes.
You give yourself to these ideas—these ridiculous notions about love and vows and control—and then you’re surprised when the man leaves.
Like that ridiculous vacation fling you had in Tahiti.
I swear, it’s like you don’t even want to get married. ”
“It was Tealua. And it wasn’t a fling. Just a friend.”
“Of course it was,” her mom said. “You need to come home and let people see you’re not ruined. Honestly, it might be too late to start over. The way people are talking here . . .”
Gideon’s stomach turned.
Inside the cabin, Juliana said, quieter now, “I’m not starting over, Mom. I’m just . . . I need some time.”
“Time?” Her mother laughed, bitter and sharp.
“That’s rich. You think you can just disappear to some ranch in the middle of nowhere and fix your reputation?
You’re only making it worse the longer you avoid the truth.
Now, I was talking to Maxine Solari the other day.
You know her son, Prescott, is just about to be named partner.
But the other partners really want him to be settled. He’d be a good match for you.”
“I’m not marrying someone I barely know, Mom.”
Gideon smothered a chuckle at the irony of those words.
“Well, obviously. You come home and get to know him. It’s not like staying in the middle of nowhere, Colorado is an option.” Her mom gasped. “Tell me you’re not thinking about staying, young lady!”
“I’m not staying, Mom,” Juliana reassured her, and Gideon felt the twinge in his chest. “I’m just sorting through things. Clearing my head.”
Gideon stepped back, heart thudding as her mom started talking again.
It was all a formality to her. A way to clean up the mess and get back to whatever life her mother believed she deserved. He wasn’t the man she wanted. He wasn’t dependable, or driven, or anything that came pre-sorted and laminated.
He turned away, eyes on the gravel, the weight of her words pressing in.
Zeke was wrong.
This wasn’t God answering a prayer, this was simply Juliana tying up a loose end.