Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Emily
God, it feels good to be engaging my brain again.
I sit in the Millers’ cavernous dining room, warm light spilling through the windows framed with heavy linen drapes.
The entire house is built from exquisite, deep mahogany wood, with ornate lighting, a dining table long enough to fit the entire Miller clan, and tribal tapestries lining the walls.
The place fills me with nostalgia because it has barely changed in twenty years.
Before I arrived, my memory was patchy, but seeing the space and smelling those familiar scents has ignited so many core memories I’d long forgotten about the place where I spent every waking moment of my formative years.
The dining table is a complete mess of paper, pencils, calculators, and rulers. I haven’t worked ‘old school’ like this in quite some time, but in the absence of any modern technology or software, aside from the patchy Wi-Fi and my old laptop, the old-fashioned way will have to do.
The fix on the bridge is easy enough from a technical standpoint, but it’s going to cost. It’s not a massive structure, but it’s probably older than Owen’s own great-grandfather. I’m drawing up plans and costing out contractors like my life depends on it.
After I got fired, I downed tools completely.
Partly because I had to become my father’s nurse, and partly because I couldn’t bear to look at anything remotely related to that asshole Rick, who got me fired in the first place.
Owen has been so kind in letting me stay here that the least I can do is make myself useful.
I need to earn my keep. God knows I have enough to offer.
I just need to convince Owen to let me actually lift a finger.
I tilt my head toward the window, still not quite able to get over the views from this place.
The ride up to the bridge the other morning had been exhilarating and completely soul-clearing.
Catching up with Kassie as if no time at all had passed was a tonic I didn’t realize I needed.
She still radiates that big sister energy from years ago, even if she did spend our childhood using me as her personal hair-styling guinea pig.
The way the crew has taken me into the fold is beyond any kindness I’d expected.
What I hadn’t bargained for, though, was Wyatt’s temperament.
He’s been so hot and cold, I’m starting to get whiplash.
When I arrived that night, he’d been so kind, almost gentle, helping me with my bags and making sure I was settled.
Now, it was like a switch had been flipped.
I feel like I’m the biggest intrusion on his day, a nuisance he’s forced to tolerate.
He’s barely looked at me sideways since our awkward hallway run-in the other night, and I have the distinct feeling he’s avoiding me.
I shake my head, trying to focus back on the cost of steel pilings. Focus, Emily. He’s a grieving widower with a ten-year-old son and a ranch to run. The last thing he needs is the daughter of his father’s best friend overanalyzing a three-second interaction.
My intrusive thoughts are cut short by a loud ringing.
What the hell? Man, this place still has a landline?
What is this, 1994? I toy with ignoring the ringing, but by the sounds of it, there’s no answering machine.
The phone keeps ringing and ringing, the shrill, mechanical tone echoes off the mahogany walls.
I try to ignore it to the best of my ability, though I know Mary finished early today.
Eventually, the noise triggers me enough to lever myself up from the dining chair.
I pad into the hallway to answer it, my feet stumbling slightly as I regain the feeling in them from sitting awkwardly.
I pick up the receiver, momentarily fumbling with it as I try to remember how the hell to hold one of these things.
I clear my throat. “Hi—um, hi. Miller Ranch,” I answer, sounding a lot less certain than a professional engineer should.
“Oh, hi. This is Skylark Elementary. Is Mr. Wyatt Miller available?”
Shit. This must be Alex’s school. I look at my watch. 3:15 p.m. Is this what time school finishes? Surely, he should be on the way home by now.
“Uh—no, sorry. He’s out working on the pasture. Can I take a message?”
“May I ask who is speaking? Are you the housekeeper?”
“No, I’m—” Shit, what am I? “I—uh, I’m a relative staying with the family.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Alex is here at the main office. Nobody seems to have come to collect him, and I’ve been unable to reach Mr. Miller or Alex’s grandfather’s cell phones.”
Damn it. Wyatt must have gotten sidetracked with that pump. My thoughts scramble. I can picture him up there, knee deep and probably losing all track of the world outside that broken valve.
“Okay—uh, I’ll make sure he gets collected as soon as possible,” I say, the protective instinct I didn’t know I had for that kid kicking in.
“Great, thank you. We’ll make sure he’s safe until then.”
“Uh, great. Thanks. Bye.”
I put down the receiver and bite my lip, pulling my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. I don’t even have Wyatt’s number, so I scroll to Owen’s and hit call.
Voicemail. Damn it. I dial again. Still voicemail.
Shit, I’ll leave a message.
“Uh, hi—Owen, it’s Emily. I just took a call from Alex’s school. They said nobody turned up for pickup today. Uh…I guess because I can’t reach anyone, I’ll head over there and pick him up, if that’s okay.” I hang up, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach.
Poor kid.
I can’t leave him sitting in a principal’s office like he’s been forgotten. I slip on my boots that I left by the front door and grab my keys. I try Owen’s number one more time as I walk to the car, but it still goes straight to voicemail.
This feels weird. Heading out to pick up Wyatt’s kid when I’ve only known the man as an adult for just over a week. I worry I’m overstepping the mark, big time, but I have to make sure he’s safe.
I climb into the Mini, which is now gleaming, and the engine turns over with a satisfying growl.
As I pull out of the long, gravel driveway, I realize I don’t even know the way to the school.
I pull over and let the GPS guide me through the winding valley roads.
All I can hope is that Wyatt doesn’t want to strangle me for this.
* * *
It takes me almost thirty minutes to get to Alex’s school, thanks to two wrong turns and getting stuck behind what had to be the world’s slowest cattle truck.
Thank God the receptionist said the name of the school on the phone, or I’d have had to ride up to the north pasture myself to hunt down Wyatt.
I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have appreciated me interrupting his man versus machine battle with a broken pump.
I shove the car into park and basically run across the pavement toward the front door.
The school is a charming, single-story brick building that looks exactly like a place called Skylark Elementary should.
It’s surrounded by a wide-open playground with an unobstructed view of the serrated mountains, and right now, it’s eerily quiet.
The frantic energy of the school day has long since evaporated, leaving behind the awkward silence of an empty building.
I rattle the front door and quickly realize it’s locked. I scan the frame, my eyes landing on an intercom buzzer. I press it, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I wait for the buzz click of the electronic lock.
The second I push the door open and step inside, my eyeballs are assaulted by a neon explosion of finger paintings, glitter-covered posters, and paper-maché volcanoes. It’s a sensory overload of primary colors and glue.
“Emily!” a familiar voice shouts from the end of the long hallway.
I look up to see Alex hurtling toward me, his backpack bouncing against his shoulders like a little runaway turtle. He’s followed closely by a young woman with mousy brown hair, who I assume is his teacher.
When they reach me, Alex’s face is a picture of pure delight.
He looks like I’ve arrived in a rescue helicopter.
His teacher, on the other hand, is scanning me with a look of pure skepticism.
She’s wearing a mid-length floral dress, a matching pink cardigan, and ballet flats, topped off with an equally matching, beaming ‘school teacher’ smile.
It’s the kind of cheerfulness that makes me think she definitely heads straight for a large glass of wine the second she gets home.
“Alex, do you know this lady?” she asks, her voice sweet but her eyes scanning me with the intensity of a TSA agent.
“Yeah! She’s my dad’s old friend from when they were kids,” Alex chirps, his chest puffed out with pride. “She sleeps in our guest room!”
Way to make it sound weird, kid.
I feel my face heat up instantly. I offer a sheepish, professional smile, trying to look like a responsible adult and not someone who was just described as some woman his father lets sleep in his house.
“I’m Emily Callahan,” I say, extending a hand. “I’m staying with the Millers. I think Wyatt got held up at the north pasture with a pump emergency, and Owen’s cell service is…well, you know how it is out there. I came as soon as I heard.”
She shakes my hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “I’m Miss Honeycutt. We were just getting ready to call the sheriff’s department for a wellness check. We don’t usually let students go with anyone not on the pre-approved list.” As she finishes her sentence, my phone starts to vibrate in my hand.
“Oh, thank God, this is Grandpa now,” I say, holding up the phone like it has all the answers. “Would you like to speak with him?”
“Oh, that would be great,” Miss Honey-whatever says, her smile tightening a fraction.
I hit accept and put it to my ear. “Hey, Owen…”
“Emily, is he okay?” Owen’s voice is full of concern.
“Oh yeah, he’s totally fine. He’s right here,” I say, giving Alex a reassuring wink. “His teacher just needs you to give me permission to take him.”