7. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Colt
It’s been about two weeks since I pitched the idea of the “immersive ranch scheme,” and here I am, with Wade, as he scrolls through applications from people all around the world.
The ad got a lot more interest than I imagined, and I can’t help but let the rising wave of excitement flood through me.
Feels like I’ve been let loose in a candy store.
Too much to pick from and too wired to keep still.
The prospect of finally having real company out here.
Because out on this ranch, loneliness is a frequent visitor made worse because most of my interactions are with a man who's practically a stranger to me, despite the fact that we share half our blood.
Then there are the ranch hands. Good men. Hard working. But their loyalty lays with Wade, and that alone builds a wall between us.
A low grunt rumbles from Wade’s direction, a classic sign that he is unimpressed.
“What is it?” I ask, even though this grumpy routine is basically his default setting.
He shrugs, still scrolling. “None of these people have the backbone to work on a ranch.”
He says it with such confidence, like he knows these strangers personally. It pisses me off. He never gives anyone a real chance—not even my mother. All it took was one big, explosive argument when he finally returned from playing big-shot rodeo cowboy.
Even though I was just a boy, every detail from that night is still crystal clear. My mother, who tried her best to raise me while he was off “chasing his dream”.
His silence said it all. He gave up on her. On our family.
A weak man hiding behind a tough exterior. That’s all he is.
Before I let my mind wander from the task at hand, I force myself to remain calm, knowing that this scheme hinges on Wade’s willingness to give it a shot.
“What exactly don’t you like about these people? They all seem like hard workers, and that’s what we need, isn’t it?”
Wade shoots me a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Okay son, tell me how the 21-year-old kid who’s lived off mommy and daddy’s paycheck while running some doomed side hustle proves they’ve got the work ethic to survive here?”
His stare is so intense that I swear he can also see the flicker of doubt within me.
Sure, he’s got a point. A lot of these applications are from young people looking for a cheap escape rather than an experience to work hard and immerse themselves in the reality of ranch life.
But we are not doing this scheme to get someone who knows the ins and outs from the get-go.
If that were the case, we would have hired in town.
I take a deep breath and offer a compromise. “How about I shortlist a few? The ones with actual work experience, stuff that requires real graft. Then we’ll interview them to get a proper feel for who they are. That way, we’re not going into it blindly, relying on words on a screen.”
Wade’s intense stare continues, and I can see the cogs in his mind turning.
“Fine. You sort it. You want the responsibility; you lead this. If it goes to shit, it’s on you.” His words echo through me. He is actually letting go of some control over the ranch. That’s a first.
But this is now more to me than just a shot at finding decent company. This is a chance to prove Wade wrong. And when have I ever passed up a chance like that?
I smirk. “Fine. Guess we’ll both get what we want then. You get to doubt me, and I get to prove you wrong.”
God, I am running on fumes.
The ranch immersion scheme has taken every spare second of my free time, which isn't much to begin with. All week, I have been up later than I would normally allow myself within my stringent routine, reading applications and organising interviews to accommodate different time zones.
Last night, after the usual tedious task of tending to the horses and checking the paddocks, I spent more hours than I’d like to admit on preparing for today’s interviews.
Six promising candidates, all from different backgrounds, each with something that stood out to me.
Not just work ethic, but personality too.
I need someone who isn’t another Wade, where having a conversation is like drawing blood from a stone.
Especially since I’ll be stuck with ’em, side by side, sunup to sundown, training them.
And of course, Mr. Grumpy-Cowboy didn’t give me the day off so I could focus on recruitment, so I had to drag myself out of bed even earlier than usual to get ahead on the endless list of chores demanding my attention.
I yawn as I glance at the grandfather clock standing tall in the corner of the main house’s hall. The brass hands creep toward 10:15 a.m. Almost time.
The aroma of coffee drifts through the house, luring me into the kitchen. I am going to need a caffeine hit before I head up to the makeshift office that I’ve set up in the abandoned upstairs bedroom.
No one's lived in the main house since my mother left and my grandfather passed. Sometimes I walk through these rooms and feel their absence. Funny, really, considering these days the main house is the busiest building on the ranch. It’s more of a common area now, where the ranch hands grab their meals and coffee, courtesy of Mrs. Maggie Mae.
Mrs. Mae has been part of this ranch longer than I’ve been alive, and she’s the closest thing I have to a mother figure, even if she’s old enough to be my grandmother.
I can go to her for anything, from patching up my worn clothes to receiving advice or calming down when my emotions get the best of me, which happens more often than I’d like to admit.
I put it down to abandonment issues, but those conversations are reserved for my therapist.
I head toward the oversized kitchen and find lunch already laid out on the marble-topped pine island, a fresh pot of coffee waiting beside it. Perfect timing.
I pour myself a large mug, add three heaped spoonfuls of sugar, and pray the caffeine and sugar hit me hard enough to survive the rest of the day. I grab a slice of Mrs. Mae’s banana bread, the one everyone’s always trying to get the recipe for. Not that she has ever shared it.
With my hands full, I make my way into the main hall and start the creaky climb up the wooden staircase towards the office. My heart’s already kicking up.
Why the hell am I nervous?
Is it the weight of the responsibility?
Is it the thought of talking to someone outside of this town?
Or maybe it’s the fear of failing and Wade being right?
Pushing those thoughts aside, I slump into the large leather office chair that still carries the scent of newness. 10:23 a.m. Only seven minutes to go. I quickly devour the banana bread while skimming the first applicant’s file again.
This one was an interesting read, to say the least. And, if I am being honest, I shortlisted the 27-year-old out of sheer curiosity.
When I first read her application, I laughed—it was chaotic, unfiltered, and refreshingly honest. Unlike other polished submissions, hers felt like a candid conversation, completed with self-deprecating humour and unexpected insights.
“Maeve Callaghan.”
Didn’t mean to say that out loud. Her name just slipped out, like I’d already been talking to her. I find myself nervously anticipating our conversation. So, I read her application again.
Application for Ranch Immersion Scheme
Name: Maeve Callaghan
Age: 27
Availability: ASAP
Allergies: Not to animals. Just my life in London.
Cover Letter: Right, so full transparency, I wasn’t planning on applying for this.
I came across it at 1am while doomscrolling as a distraction from my life falling apart.
But then I thought, what do I have to lose?
I’ve worked in hospitality for most of my adult life.
Coffee shops, bars, hotels, you name it.
Basically, I’ve survived every version of the public at their worst. So, I reckon I can survive cows and some dirt.
I’m applying because I’m tired of chasing places that never feel right for me.
I want something real. Something that can provide me with a sense of purpose, and I think this scheme would allow me the opportunity to immerse myself in a lifestyle that might turn out to be my calling.
I’m not pretending I’m God’s gift to ranch life.
I don’t have farm experience but I learn fast and work hard.
I have attached my CV for your viewing. I can also hold a decent conversation, even more so over coffee.
If you give me a shot, I won’t let you down.
(And if you don’t, that’s fair too, at least I can say I tried.) Thanks for reading this, even if it ends up in your digital bin.
I glance at the clock. One minute to go.
I take a deep breath and click on the video call link.
I wait for what feels like the longest minute of my life until a woman appears on the screen.
Even through the grainy image, her golden skin looks so soft it doesn't seem real.
Dark brown hair, threaded with caramel highlights, falls over her shoulders and disappears at the bottom of the frame. I wonder how much longer it falls…
“Hello,” she says, her voice soft and clear—steadier than she looks, like she’s pulling herself together in real time. How relatable.
I cough and sit up straighter than I need to, reminding myself not to let her beauty mess with my judgement.
“Hey, good to finally put a face to the name.” I lean forward slightly, like that would make this less awkward.
Maeve smiles, full pink lips curving warmly. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you—well, virtually, with a two-second lag,” she says, her voice catching just slightly on the last word before she covers it with a smile.
I fight the urge to keep staring, filling in the gaps that the low-res image leaves behind. There is no denying it, Maeve Callaghan is a stunner. And pairing this discovery with the tone of her application makes me really want to know what her deal is.