Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Emily
I’ve spent the better part of a week mastering the art of being anywhere Wyatt isn’t.
I think he sensed my annoyance with his actions at the bar and has given me a wide berth since his apology, which honestly suits me fine. My pride still smarts a little every time I think about being hauled out of that bar like a sack of feed.
This weekend has been a welcome distraction.
I spent most of Saturday helping Alex with another science project—a volcano that currently has more vinegar and baking soda than structural integrity—and I even let Kassie drag me to the salon.
At her insistence, I actually got my hair done, and the fresh cut makes me feel a little more like the woman I used to be and a little less like a girl hiding out in the middle of nowhere.
What I hadn’t expected, though, was the big fat check Owen cut me this morning.
I’m standing in the kitchen, staring at the numbers written in Owen’s steady, looping handwriting.
It’s for taking care of Alex, sure, but there’s a significant bonus in there for the work I’ve been doing on the bridge designs.
It’s the first real ranch money I’ve earned, and I feel a bigger sense of accomplishment in my hand right now than any corporate paycheck ever did.
“Is it enough?”
I jump, nearly dropping the paper as Wyatt’s low rumble comes from the doorway. He’s leaning against the frame, his hat tipped low, watching me. He looks tired, his denim shirt dusty from a morning in the pens, but his eyes track the movement of my hands.
“It’s…it’s more than enough,” I say, tucking the check into my pocket. “I wasn’t expecting the bonus for the bridge.”
Wyatt shrugs. “Dad doesn’t give handouts. You earned it. The crew was impressed with the structural adjustments you suggested. Saved us weeks of back-and-forth with the county.”
I can feel my cheeks begin to flame at his praise. “Well, tell him thank you.”
“Tell him yourself,” Wyatt says, nodding toward the doorway as his father stomps into the kitchen.
“Tell who what?” Owen asks gruffly, heading straight for the coffee pot.
“Thank you,” I say, holding up the envelope. “For the check. You honestly didn’t need to do all of this, Owen.”
He pauses, turning to look at me with that weathered gaze. “Young lady, you’ve saved me thousands in consulting and planning fees on that bridge, and you’re the only thing my grandson seems to talk about these days. That check is exactly what’s due. You’re worth your weight in gold.”
I feel another wave of warmth creeping through my cheeks. It feels nice to be appreciated for what I’m actually doing, rather than being used for what I’m good at.
“So go treat yourself,” Owen says with a genuine smile. “You deserve it.”
I bite my lip, looking down at the check. “This is actually really good timing. Is there an auto trader nearby? I…might have damaged the suspension on the Mini, taking the cattle grids a little too enthusiastically.”
Owen looks over at Wyatt, who shakes his head, a trace of a smirk playing on his lips.
“Yeah, there’s one just outside Hamilton,” Owen says, his tone shifting back to business. “But you ain’t going there alone. No offense, sweetheart—I know you’re more than capable—but I don’t trust those assholes that run it. Wyatt?”
Wyatt stops what he’s doing, looking genuinely stunned. “What? You want me to go?”
“No, she can go. But you’re going with her.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. “Owen, honestly, I’m fine. I can go by myself.”
“Emily, I’m an old, protective man. Please humor me. I’d feel a lot better if you just took Wyatt,” he responds, holding my eyes with his plea.
Oh man. I can’t exactly argue with a man who cut me a check with more zeroes than I’ve seen in months.
“Okay, fine.” I sigh, spinning to look at Wyatt.
“We can go now if you want?” he asks, like if he leaves it any longer, he’ll change his mind.
I nod. “Sure. Now is good. Let me grab my bag.”
We awkwardly make our way to Wyatt’s truck, and I climb into the cab with a decisive huff, the brown leather seat groaning under me.
The last time I was in here, I was being hauled out of a bar against my will, fuming while Wyatt ignored my protests.
Now, the air in the truck feels even thicker, charged with a week’s worth of intentionally avoided eye contact.
Wyatt climbs into the driver’s seat next to me, his presence immediately making the large cab feel too small. He smells like warm amber and the crisp Montana morning. I hate that I notice.
“You know what you need?” he asks curtly, not looking at me as he adjusts his mirrors.
“Of course I do,” I snap. My defense mechanisms are on high alert, and the words are out before I can stop them.
Wyatt pauses, his hand on the ignition, and finally cuts his eyes toward me. “Alright. I was just asking. Jeez.”
He twists the key, and the engine rumbles to life with a powerful thrum that vibrates through the floor. I immediately regret my frosty tone. He’s trying to help, in his own grumpy, Wyatt-like way, and I’m acting like he’s the enemy.
“I have the part number in my phone,” I say, softening my voice a little as we pull out onto the dirt track. “I just need to see if they have it in stock or if they can order it in.”
Wyatt steers the truck onto the main road, his large hands relaxed on the wheel. “You might as well open a trade account against the ranch while we’re there. It’ll save you some money on the markup.”
“Okay,” I murmur, looking out the window as the fence lines of the Miller ranch blur past. “That’s a good idea. Thank you.”
The silence that follows isn’t as sharp as it usually is between us, but it’s still awkward. I steal a sideways glance at his profile, the perfect line of his nose, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way he seems completely focused on the road.
Forty-five minutes.
I have forty-five minutes to figure out how to be in a moving vehicle with this man without either starting a fight or letting my heart rate give me away. The sound of his gravelly tone saves me.
“Emily?”
“Yeah?” I snap my head around to look at him again.
“The Mini wasn’t built for the backcountry,” he says. I can hear the slightest pull of a smirk in his voice. “Try to keep it under Mach one when you’re crossing the cattle grids from now on, alright?”
I can’t help it. A small, reluctant laugh escapes me at his attempt to break the ice. “I’ll try. No promises, though. In my defense, the GPS said it was a forty-minute drive, but I took it more as a challenge than a suggestion.”
Wyatt exhales an amused huff. “You always did turn rules into optional guidelines, Em.”
I can’t help but notice how he says my name more casually these days. Like the resentment may finally have worn down. I’m afraid to believe he’s gotten used to the idea of me being here, but it makes me smile inwardly.
“You’ve been spending a lot more time at the stables lately,” I say, turning in my seat, slightly letting my guard down. “I saw you out there with Dixie yesterday. She’s…a lot.”
“She’s got a mind of her own,’’ Wyatt admits, his gaze fixed on the road. “She’s not mean, she just spooks easily. Think the people we got her from were a little too heavy-handed.”
“Wasn’t there a horse you guys had when we were kids that used to jump anytime anyone came near it? What was it called?” I ask, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to retrieve the name. “It was something ridiculous…”
“Rocket!’ we both exclaim in unison.
The sound of our voices ringing out together makes me laugh.
“Man, you remember that horse?” Wyatt asks. ”You and I spent weeks coming up with that name because we were so convinced he’d be fast. We had to get rid of the damn thing a few years later because he kicked a wrangler so hard he broke the guy’s collarbone.” He shakes his head at the memory.
I can’t help but see a flicker of the old Wyatt as he remembers our childhood at the ranch.
“Well, whatever you’re doing with this one, it’s working,” I say, noticing the way his face has softened a fraction. “Alex was telling me last night how much he likes riding her.”
I beam as I remember the way his big brown eyes lit up. “He really looks up to you, Wyatt. The way you handle the horses.”
Wyatt’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t look away from the road, but I can see him processing the compliment. I know he feels he’s not doing enough for Alex, but the kid clearly adores his father.
Before I know it, we’re pulling up to the parking lot at the auto shop.
It’s exactly what I expected. A sprawling, gravel yard lined with rows of rusting motor skeletons and grease-stained car lifts.
The air here smells like a toxic cocktail of old oil, burnt rubber, and heavy-duty degreaser.
A large metal shed sits at the center, its faded blue corrugated walls covered in faded vintage traffic signs and a layer of grit that looks decades thick.
Wyatt cuts the engine and shifts around in his seat, his large frame blocking out the midday sun from his window.
“Look, I don’t need you to come in with me,” I say, grabbing my bag and meeting his gaze. “I’m not a child that needs babysitting. If I need you, I’ll call you.”
He raises an eyebrow, his hands still resting on the steering wheel. “You sure?” he asks, voice laced with reservation.
I can’t deny, there’s something attractive about the way he wants to protect me. I felt a spark of it that night he dragged me out of the bar. It’s just the constant one-eighties he keeps pulling on me that leave me reeling.
“Of course I’m sure,” I respond, my hand already on the door handle.
I need this win. I need to show him and myself that I haven’t lost my edge just because I’ve been hiding away on his ranch.
Wyatt looks at the shop, then back at me. A shadow of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Okay. Just don’t go breakin’ jaws.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide the small twitch of a smile.
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” I retort, slipping off the passenger seat and throwing him a look over my shoulder.