Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Emily
The sound of an engine roaring to life pulls me out of the deepest sleep I’ve had in months. I slowly crack open my eyes as the early light pours in through the wooden shutters. I blindly reach for my phone that rests on the oak side table next to the bed.
Five a.m.
Dang it.
That’s ranch life for you.
I lie still for a while, submerged in the incredible comfort of the king-size bed, listening to the symphony of the house waking up.
The distant, deep-voiced chatter, the heavy thud of boots on the porch, the rhythmic creak of the screen doors.
Then, a sudden silence settles over the house, replaced by the rich, dark aroma of coffee.
Now that’s something worth getting up for.
I roll out of bed, run a brush through my unruly hair, and crack open the bedroom door. A quick scan of the hallway shows me it’s empty. I pad barefoot down the hall toward the stairs, the floorboards cool and solid under my feet.
When I find the kitchen, I’m struck again by how massive it is—all soapstone counters and heavy timber beams. The kitchen counters are painted in a deep shade of green, and the dark wood flooring gives it a moody but rustic charm.
I’m startled to see a small figure sitting at the island. A little boy with dark brown, straight, floppy hair, maybe ten years old, is hunched over a crumpled piece of paper. He has a pencil in his hand and a look of pure frustration on his face, but I feel like I’ve seen those brown eyes before.
I clear my throat to announce myself, so I don’t startle him.
He drops his pencil, quirking an eyebrow as he appraises me. “Who are you? You’re new. Are you one of my grandpa’s girlfriends?”
I almost choke on a laugh. Christ, what has Owen been getting up to? “No, I’m not.” I giggle, feeling the awkwardness in my chest loosen. “I’m just an old friend of the family. My name’s Emily.”
“Oh. Okay. I’m Alex.”
“Hi, Alex.” I smile warmly, moving toward the coffee pot. “So, Owen is your grandpa, right?”
“Yep,” he responds, stabbing at his paper with the pencil.
I pause, the carafe halfway to my mug. My brain does the math instantly. Owen’s grandson. Is he Kassie’s? “Okay. So that makes you…”
“My dad is Wyatt,” he says, turning back to his paper with a frustrated huff.
The air leaves my lungs. Oh, shit.
So he is married. The thought hits me with a sharp, strange sting I have absolutely no right to feel.
Actually, it’s better this way, I tell myself.
I can take that image of him from last night and shove it into a box in the back of my mind.
He’s a father. He has a life. I’m just a guest passing through.
I study his little face again. Of course, he’s Wyatt’s.
He’s a Miller through and through. Whereas Wyatt’s hair is a darkened sun-streaked dirty blonde, Alex’s is a deep, rich chocolate-brown that curls slightly at the nape of his neck, but the eyes are the same.
It strikes me that I’m looking at a before and after of a life I’ve missed out on.
“What are you working on, Alex?” I ask, leaning against the counter and taking a long, much-needed sip of coffee. The caffeine gives a welcome buzz as soon as it hits my bloodstream.
“Math,” he groans, shoving the paper toward me like it’s a poisonous snake. “It’s stupid. I don’t get why the numbers have to move around like that.”
I look down at the page. Pre-algebra. It’s second nature to me. “You know, I’m an engineer. I use this stuff every day to make sure buildings don’t fall down. Need a hand?”
He looks at me like I’ve offered him a superpower. “You build buildings?”
“Well, I design parts of them. And I promise, this problem is actually a lot easier than your teacher is making it sound.”
I pull up a stool beside him, forgetting for a moment that I’m a stranger in this house.
For the next twenty minutes, both of us become lost in a world of numbers.
I explain the logic of the equation, drawing little diagrams on the back of his worksheet to show him how the ‘load’ of the numbers has to balance out on both sides.
He catches on fast, and when he finally solves the last one on his own, he looks at me like I’m a genius.
“That’s awesome.” He beams. “I actually get it now.”
“Alex, you ready? We’re gonna be late!” a voice booms from outside.
The heavy thud of boots announces Wyatt’s arrival before he even clears the doorway. He looks like he’s already put in a full day’s work, his shirt is damp at the collar, and there’s a smudge of black dirt on his forearm that makes his tan look even deeper.
He stops short when he sees us sitting together at the island.
“Dad! Look!” Alex jumps up, waving the paper triumphantly. “The new lady just helped me do that math homework I couldn’t do. She’s an engineer. She makes buildings stay up!”
Wyatt’s gaze shifts from his son to me. His expression is unreadable, but I see his throat move as he swallows. There’s a sudden tension in the room that certainly isn’t caused by the math problem.
“Watch your manners, Alex,” Wyatt says, with a gruff tone. “Her name is Emily.”
“Soreee,” Alex whines, though he’s still grinning. He scurries off to grab his backpack for school, I assume.
I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m standing in the Miller family kitchen wearing my pink floral pajamas, with no makeup on, and my hair in a messy nest. I feel a flush creep up my neck.
His eyes track me from the mess in my hair to the small rosebuds on my pajama pants. I want to dissolve into the soapstone counter right now. I pull the hem of my pajama top down, though it does nothing to hide the fact that I’m clearly not wearing a bra under the thin cotton.
“Kids, huh?” He shrugs, breaking the awkward silence.
“He’s a sharp boy,” I answer, grabbing my mug and holding it to my chest like I can hide what’s behind it. “Most kids wouldn’t have understood that logic so quickly.”
“He’s been working on that for days. Math isn’t my strong subject, so…thank you.”
“Oh, anytime. It’s not like I have any other plans. I may as well make myself useful.”
Alex comes bounding back in, his hoodie hanging off the back of his head like a cape. “Ready!”
Wyatt slips the hoodie off his head and throws it over his own shoulder, ruffling Alex’s hair with a calloused hand as they head for the door. “Come on, bud.”
Wyatt’s gaze lingers on my face for a fraction too long, his dark brows furrowed like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“Thanks, Emily! I’ll see you later!” Alex calls out.
“Bye, Alex!”
I’m left in the silence of the kitchen again.
I curl my hands tightly around my mug, taking a long sip.
The coffee is cold, but my cheeks are on fire.
My mind wanders to the questions I didn’t ask.
Alex is a mirror image of a young Wyatt.
So where is his mom? Is she a late sleeper, or is there a reason I haven’t seen a single trace of another woman here?
I empty the remnants of my cup into the kitchen sink, and I practically sprint back up the stairs. The second I’m behind the safety of my bedroom door, I lean against it, my heart doing a weird, stumbling rhythm.
Pink pajamas. Really, Emily?
I strip out of the florals and pull on a pair of dark wash jeans and a plain white T-shirt.
I spend ten minutes in the bathroom applying enough makeup to look like I didn’t spend the last two weeks crying into a whiskey glass.
Then I pull my hair back into a high ponytail.
I look almost professional—even if I’m a professional with nowhere to go.
I head back downstairs. I’m determined to find work. My hands itch for a project. I find Mary, the housekeeper, in the laundry room, but she looks at me like I’ve grown a second head when I offer to help with the towels.
Mary is a sweet lady. I’d say she’s in her fifties, and she has the kindest eyes and a cute dark blonde bob.
“You’re a guest, honey,” she says with a firm, kind smile. “Go sit. Have some breakfast. I’ve been doing this since before you were in pigtails.”
Defeated that even the housekeeper doesn’t want my company, I wander back to the kitchen island. I find a copy of the Skylark Gazette and start flipping through it, trying to ignore the way the ‘help wanted’ section looks like a different language.
The screen door in the mudroom bangs open, followed by the jingle of keys and the unmistakable sound of high-heeled boots. The sound is a stark contrast to the heavy thud of work boots I’ve heard over the past few hours.
“Tell me there’s still caffeine in this house or I might actually expire,” a voice calls out.
A woman strolls into the kitchen, and for a second, I feel like I’m looking at a more polished, young version of Evelyn Miller.
She’s tall with golden-brown hair and the same dark eyes, but hers are framed by thick lashes and a look of permanent amusement.
She’s wearing a tailored blazer over a denim dress and carrying a leather portfolio. She’s the epitome of effortlessly cool.
She stops dead when she sees me, her eyes widening.
“Well, well,” she says, pointing a manicured finger at me. “The rumors are true. Little Emily Callahan is back in the building.”
“Kassie?” I stand up, a genuine smile breaking through.
She lets out a squeal that echoes off the high beams and rushes over, pulling me into a hug that smells like designer perfume and expensive hair products.
“Oh my god! Look at you! You’re all grown up, but god, there really is nothing little about those girls anymore!
” She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, assessing my dumb as shit boob job I got after college.
“Dad told me you might be coming, but I didn’t think you’d be here already.
Last time we spoke, we were fighting over a Barbie convertible. ”
“I think I let you win that one,” I joke, though I can feel her internal cataloging of every physical change I’ve made since age seven.
“Probably. I’ve always been a brat.” She winks, moving toward the coffee.
“So, how was the city? I heard you’re some big-shot engineer now.
I’m so jealous. I’m stuck here running the ‘business’ side of this empire because Wyatt refuses to look at anything that doesn’t have a heartbeat or a motor and Jax is… well, Jax.”
I watch her move with an effortless confidence. Kassie was always the firecracker of the group. While Wyatt was out riding fences with his dad at a young age, Jackson was obsessed with the horses, and Kassie was the one trying to negotiate extra dessert or planning her escape to the city.
“I’m between projects at the moment,” I say, sticking to the safe version of the truth. “And you? You’re the CFO of the Miller Ranch now?”
“Something like that.” She sighs. “Mostly, I just tell Dad and Wyatt why they can’t buy a new fleet of tractors every time they’re bored.
I moved back from Chicago almost a year ago after my…
well, after a very expensive mistake of a marriage.
Now I live in the renovated carriage house across the creek.
It’s quiet. But too quiet sometimes, you know? ”
She takes a long sip of her coffee, her expression softening as she looks at me. “I heard about your dad, Em. I’m so sorry. He was the only person who could ever make my dad behave.”
“Thanks, Kassie.” I pause. There’s a question I’ve been dying to ask right on the tip of my tongue. “So…I met Alex this morning.”
Kassie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh? And let me guess, you’ve reunited with the brooding widower, too?”
Widower? The word hits me with an inappropriate mix of relief and a strange, heavy sadness for Wyatt.
“Wyatt?” I say carefully. “Yeah. I didn’t realize he had a son.”
Kassie’s expression softens, a flicker of genuine sadness crossing her face. “Yeah, he’s a star, that kid. But it’s been a long road for both of them. Wyatt hasn’t been the same since Charlotte was killed.”
I freeze. “Killed? I…I thought…”
“Four years ago,” Kassie says quietly, leaning against the counter.
She quickly checks over her shoulder that nobody is within earshot.
“A car accident on one of the canyon roads. Driver that hit her was drunk. Alex was only six. It nearly leveled Wyatt. For a long time, I think the only reason he got out of bed was because that little boy needed him to.”
A heavy silence settles over the kitchen. I look out the window at the sprawling green pastures, seeing Wyatt in a completely different light. So he isn’t just brooding or distant, he’s a man who’s had the world ripped out from under him and had to keep standing for his son.
“I had no idea,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Wyatt doesn’t want pity. He’d probably bite your head off if he thought you felt sorry for him,” Kassie says, her spark returning as she shakes off the heavy mood.
“He just pours everything into this ranch and that boy. He’s basically become a monk with a Stetson. Honestly, it’s exhausting to watch.”
She gives me a playful, measuring look, her eyes darting from my face to my outfit. “Anyway, enough about the Miller men and their baggage. Are we actually going to get you out on a horse today, or are you going to sit here and read the livestock reports all morning?”
I laugh, feeling a spark of excitement. “I’d love to get out there. But Owen told me I wasn’t allowed to lift a finger.”
“Dad is an old-school romantic who thinks women are made of porcelain.” Kassie scoffs, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the mudroom.
“Ignore him. If you want to stay sane on this ranch, you need a job. And I happen to know there’s a bridge on the south access road that’s been creaking like a haunted house.
I bet a big-shot structural engineer could tell us if it’s going to collapse under a cattle trailer. ”
I feel a surge of professional adrenaline. “A bridge? Now that I can do.”
“Perfect.” Kassie grins, grabbing her keys. “Let’s go find my brother. He’ll probably grumble about it, but deep down, I bet he’s dying for an excuse to watch you work.”