5. Mila
MILA
Ihear Dean before I see him.
That laugh carries across the entire ranch, loud and unfiltered, cutting through the quiet afternoon like a firework.
I glance up from my laptop just in time to catch movement through the office window—three figures climbing out of a dusty truck parked near the barn, all broad shoulders and easy confidence.
Dean Blackwood is home.
And he brought company.
Luke notices too. I watch his expression shift from focused to resigned in the span of a heartbeat, the kind of look someone gets when they know their peaceful afternoon just ended.
"Your brother?"
"And Colt. And Rhett." Luke leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "They must've finished in Billings early."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Depends on whether you like chaos."
I grin. "I love chaos."
"Yeah. I figured." He stands, rolling his shoulders like he's bracing for impact. "Come on. We should probably say hi before they decide to reorganize my life."
"They reorganize your life?"
"Dean thinks he's helping. Colt thinks everything's a joke. Rhett just goes along with whatever they decide." Luke heads for the door, glancing back at me. "Fair warning: Colt's going to flirt with you."
"Is he cute?"
Luke pauses, hand on the doorknob. Something flickers across his face—too quick for me to read. "That depends on your definition of cute."
"Breathing and charming?"
"Then yeah. He's cute."
I can't tell if Luke sounds annoyed or amused. Maybe both.
By the time we reach the barn, Dean's already holding court like he never left. He's got that effortless charisma people either love or hate—all sharp grins and easy charm, like the world bends around him instead of the other way around. He spots Luke immediately and his whole face lights up.
"There he is! My favorite brother."
"I'm your only brother." Luke's voice stays flat, but there's warmth underneath it. The kind you only hear if you're listening carefully.
I'm listening carefully.
Dean pulls Luke into one of those rough, back-slapping hugs men do when they're too emotionally constipated to admit they missed each other. Then he turns to me, eyebrows lifting with interest.
"And who's this?"
"Mila Torres. I'm helping Luke with admin stuff."
"Admin stuff." Dean's grin widens. "That's a fancy way of saying you're saving his ass."
"Pretty much."
"I like her already." Dean jerks his thumb toward the two men standing behind him. "Mila, meet Colt Hayes and Rhett Callahan. They're useless, but they're entertaining."
The one on the left—Colt, I assume—steps forward with the kind of swagger that should be obnoxious but somehow isn't. He's built like he was carved out of stone and bad decisions, covered in tattoos that disappear under his shirt sleeves.
Thick brown hair, dark blue eyes, a grin that promises trouble.
"Useless?" Colt presses a hand to his chest like Dean just wounded him. "I'm a goddamn delight."
"You're a walking liability."
"Same thing." Colt's attention shifts to me, and his grin sharpens into something playful. "Mila Torres. Pretty name for a pretty woman."
Oh, he's good.
Not good enough to actually work on me, but good enough to be fun.
I cross my arms, matching his energy. "That line ever actually work for you?"
"Depends. Is it working now?"
"Not even a little."
"Damn." He doesn't look remotely discouraged. "Guess I'll have to try harder."
"Good luck with that."
Rhett steps forward then, quieter but no less present. Dark hair, green eyes, clean-shaven with the kind of face that looks serious even when he's smiling. Military posture. Controlled energy. He nods at me politely.
"Ignore Colt. He doesn't know when to quit."
"I know exactly when to quit," Colt argues. "I just choose not to."
I laugh before I can stop myself. This man is absolutely ridiculous and I already like him.
Luke clears his throat. "Colt. Behave."
"I'm always behaving." Colt throws an arm around Luke's shoulders, grinning. "How've you been, man? Still drowning in spreadsheets and existential dread?"
"Pretty much."
"See, that's why you need us. We bring life to this place." Colt glances at me, winking. "You're helping with that, right? Bringing life?"
"I'm trying. Luke's very serious."
"Luke's always serious. It's his whole brand." Colt releases him, stepping back. "But he's less miserable than usual, so you must be doing something right."
Luke's jaw tightens. "I'm not miserable."
"Sure you're not." Dean claps him on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's grab a beer. I want to hear about everything I missed."
"You were gone for three weeks."
"Exactly. That's basically a lifetime." Dean starts walking toward the main house, Rhett falling into step beside him. Colt lingers, still grinning at me.
"You coming to the bonfire tonight?"
"There's a bonfire?"
"There's always a bonfire when we get back.
Family tradition." He leans in slightly, voice dropping to something conspiratorial.
"Fair warning: Dean's going to make everyone tell embarrassing stories, Rhett's going to pretend he doesn't drink while drinking everyone under the table, and I'm going to flirt with you relentlessly. "
"Sounds like a great time."
"It will be. Especially if you show up."
Luke clears his throat again, louder this time. Colt grins wider and backs away, hands raised in mock surrender.
"Alright, alright. I'm going." He glances at Luke. "You're very protective of your admin assistant."
"She's not—" Luke stops himself, exhaling. "Just go."
Colt leaves, laughing to himself.
I wait until he's out of earshot before turning to Luke. "He's fun."
"He's exhausting."
"Same thing." I grin. "You really do have a stressed face, by the way. It's very pronounced right now."
Luke shakes his head, but there's something almost fond in his expression. "Come on. We should get back to work before Dean decides to 'help' with bookings."
"Does Dean help with bookings?"
"No. But he thinks he does."
I follow Luke back to the office, still smiling.
The bonfire that night is exactly what Colt promised: loud, chaotic, and full of people who clearly love each other even when they're giving each other endless shit.
Someone dragged chairs and benches into a circle around the fire pit near the guest lodge. The flames climb high, crackling and spitting sparks into the darkening sky. The air smells like woodsmoke and roasting marshmallows, warm despite the cool Montana evening.
Harper's curled up against Caleb on one of the benches, his arm wrapped around her shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Wyatt sits nearby, nursing a beer and making dry comments that keep everyone laughing.
Sadie showed up with her dad, immediately gravitating toward Colt like a moth to a very attractive, very tattooed flame.
Dean holds court in the center of it all, telling some ridiculous story about a bull in Billings that nearly killed him. Rhett sits beside him, quiet but smiling, occasionally interjecting with corrections that make Dean laugh harder.
And Colt?
Colt's been next to me for the past hour, keeping up a running commentary on everything and everyone. He's shameless and funny and absolutely knows how charming he is, which should be annoying but somehow isn't.
I like him.
Not in a serious way. Not in a I want to take you home way. Just in a you're fun and I enjoy chaos way.
He reminds me of myself, actually. The version of me that uses humor as armor and flirts to avoid anything real.
Which is probably why I know nothing would ever happen between us.
Colt might flirt, but he won't touch anyone here. These people are family to Dean. And despite the swagger and the tattoos and the wildness, Colt's loyal in the way that matters.
"You're thinking too hard," Colt says, leaning closer. "That's dangerous."
"I'm always thinking too hard."
"Yeah, I noticed." He grins. "What's going on in that pretty head?"
"Trying to figure out if you're actually as charming as you think you are."
"And?"
"Jury's still out."
He laughs, loud and unfiltered. "I like you, Torres. You don't take my shit."
"Someone has to keep you humble."
"Humble's overrated." He takes a sip of his beer, glancing around the fire. "You gonna stick around after tonight?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you've got that look."
"What look?"
"The look people get when they're deciding whether to stay or run." His voice stays light, but there's something perceptive underneath it. "I've seen it a hundred times. Usually right before someone disappears."
I don't know what to say to that.
Because he's not wrong.
I've been here for over seven months and I still don't know if I'm staying or leaving. Still paying rent on an apartment in Helena that I haven't lived in since March. Still telling myself this is temporary even though nothing about it feels temporary anymore.
"I'm not running," I say finally.
"Good. Luke would miss you."
That catches me off guard. "Luke?"
"Yeah. Luke." Colt's grin softens into something almost genuine. "He's been lighter since you showed up. Less… I don't know. Buried."
"I don't think I have anything to do with that."
"You've got everything to do with that." He nudges my shoulder. "Trust me. I've known him long enough to tell."
Before I can respond, Dean calls out from across the fire.
"Colt! Stop monopolizing Mila and get over here. Rhett needs backup."
Colt stands, stretching lazily. "Duty calls. Don't go anywhere, Torres. I'm not done flirting with you yet."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
He leaves, and suddenly the space next to me feels too quiet.
I glance around the fire, looking for?—
Luke.
He's sitting on the far side of the circle, half-hidden in shadow. He's not talking to anyone. Just watching the fire, beer in hand, expression unreadable.
But then his eyes lift.
And they find mine.
Something tightens in my chest.
I don't know when it started—this awareness.
This pull. But suddenly I can't stop noticing him.
The way he's sitting with one leg stretched out, relaxed in a way he never is during the day.
The way the firelight catches the sharp line of his jaw.
The way he's watching me like he's trying to figure something out but doesn't want to ask.
He doesn't look away.
Neither do I.
And for just a second, the noise of the bonfire fades. The laughter. The crackling fire. Colt's voice somewhere behind me.
It all disappears.
There's just Luke.
Steady. Quiet. Entirely different from anyone I've ever been drawn to before.
He doesn't charm loudly. Doesn't flirt or perform or demand attention.
He just… notices.
Everything.
Me.
The realization unsettles me more than it should.
Because Luke Blackwood is the kind of man I don't know how to handle. The kind who sees through every defense I put up and doesn't push. Just waits.
He's steady.
And I'm chaos.
I'm too much. Too loud. Too messy.
He wouldn't want someone like me.
Would he?
Luke's still watching.
I force myself to look away, back toward the fire. My heart's beating too fast and I don't know why.
Or maybe I do.
And that's the problem.
Hours later, when the fire's burned down to embers and people start drifting toward their cars, I find myself walking back to the office building beside Luke.
We didn't plan it. Just ended up falling into step together, the gravel crunching softly under our boots.
The night's quiet now. Cool. The stars overhead are so bright it feels like someone turned the sky inside out.
Luke's hands are in his pockets, shoulders relaxed in a way they never are during the day. We don't talk at first. Just walk.
It should feel awkward.
It doesn't.
"Your friends are fun," I say eventually.
"They're loud."
"Same thing."
Luke huffs a quiet laugh. "You fit right in."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Yeah. It is."
Something warm spreads through my chest. I shove my hands into the pockets of his hoodie—the one I'm still wearing—and glance up at him.
"Colt said you've been lighter lately."
Luke's jaw tightens. "Colt talks too much."
"He's not wrong, though." I pause, heart beating a little faster. "You do seem lighter."
"Maybe I am." His voice is quiet. Almost careful. "You've been helping."
"With admin stuff?"
"With everything."
We reach the office building. My car's parked near the entrance, paint faded under the dim security light. Luke stops beside it, turning to face me.
The space between us feels too small suddenly.
Too charged.
I should say something. Make a joke. Break the tension.
But I don't.
Because Luke's looking at me like he's trying to figure out how to say something important. His eyes are dark in the low light, focused entirely on me. Not in a way that feels invasive. Just… present.
Like I'm the only thing that exists right now.
My breath catches.
"Mila."
God, I love the way he says my name. Low and careful, like it matters.
"Yeah?"
He steps closer. Just a little. Enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"I—" He stops himself, exhaling. "This is probably a bad idea."
"What is?"
Luke doesn't answer.
But his hand lifts. Slowly. Hesitantly. His fingers brush against my jaw, barely touching, like he's giving me time to pull away.
I don't pull away.
His thumb traces the edge of my cheekbone. Feather-light. Careful.
My heart's pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
"Luke." My voice comes out quieter than I intended. Almost breathless.
He leans in.
Close enough that I can smell woodsmoke and soap and something distinctly him. Close enough that our breath mingles in the cool night air.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
I stop breathing.
And then?—
He pulls back.
Steps away.
Hands falling to his sides, jaw tight.
"I'm sorry." His voice is rough. Strained. "I shouldn't have?—"
"No." The word comes out firmer than I expected. "You shouldn't apologize."
"Mila—"
"You were right. To stop." I force myself to meet his eyes, even though everything in me wants to close the distance he just created. "That was the right move."
Luke looks at me like he doesn't believe me.
I don't believe me either.
But I know he's right.
Because whatever this is—whatever's building between us—it's too big to rush. Too important to mess up.
And I'm not ready.
Not yet.
Luke exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I should let you go."
"Yeah. You should."
Neither of us moves.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and electric.
Finally, I force myself to turn toward my car. Open the door. Slide into the driver's seat.
Luke's still standing there when I glance back.
Still watching.
I start the engine and pull away, hands shaking slightly on the wheel.
And the entire drive back to my apartment, all I can think about is the way Luke looked at me.
Like I mattered.
Like I was someone worth staying for.