9. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Wade
I stomp into the ranch house, letting the door swing shut behind me.
The thud echoes louder than expected, making me flinch.
Dammit. I drop Maeve’s bags by the stairs to the right of the entrance with more force than necessary.
I rub my calloused hands down my face and roll out my shoulders, still stiff from the long drive..
Colt had offered to do the airport run. Said he’d cancel his therapy appointment.
I told him not to. He needs those sessions, I know he does.
And whether or not he thinks much of me as a father, I’ll do what I can for him.
Even if that means footing the bill for his therapy sessions, tucked into his paycheck each month as “bonuses.”.
And now, apparently, playing chauffeur for a new ranch hand I didn’t want here in the first place.
Maeve hasn't come in yet. Probably out there taking in the ranch or collecting herself. Maybe both. The tension during the truck ride was enough to choke on, and most of it was my own doing. She'd threatened to run her mouth the entire journey and then, for the most part, didn't.
Part of me was glad. The other part… not so much. The silence gave me too much space to think, especially after that stupid comment.
“Reckon’ you oughta be the one bucklin’ up, angel.”
I close my eyes briefly. Jesus. What the hell was I thinking?
I don't do that. Don't flirt, don't mess around. Not with anyone, let alone a girl half my age who works for me. But she'd been so fired up, all sharp tongue and unfiltered attitude, and something in me wanted to see what she'd do if I pushed back. Whether she'd bite.
God, I was hoping she would.
She went quiet instead. Not shy-quiet. Deliberate-quiet. Like she'd clocked exactly what the comment was and decided it wasn't worth her time.
She’s not what I pictured when Colt said he’d picked a girl from London. Her resume read like someone allergic to commitment, changing jobs more often than I’ve had hot dinners. I’d figured she wouldn’t last too long here, proving my point that no outsider has what it takes to hack ranch life.
But Maeve Calleghan…
She might not quit.
There's something behind those bright blue eyes. Too much fire, too much stubbornness in the way she carries herself, like she’d rather speak her mind than take shit from anyone…
not even her new boss. Even when he towers over her small, curvy frame.
That’s probably what Colt saw in the interview. Drive. Resilience.
Goddamn it. She's here to work. That's all this is, and that's all it's going to be. I'll show her around, lay down the rules, and keep things exactly as they should be—professional and distant. She can think I'm an asshole if that's what it takes to keep the lines clear.
It wouldn't be the first time.
I head to the kitchen. A few of the ranch hands are already gathered, Mrs. Mae too. The smell of pulled pork and fresh cornbread hangs in the air; the table’s laid out. The workday is winding down for everyone else. For me, there's still a pile of paperwork waiting back at the lodge.
I’ve already lost too many hours making the airport run.
I don’t sleep in the main house. Not anymore.
My father built this place to last, said it was the heart of the ranch, where people felt safe and at home.
Not just for the Carter family, but for anyone who needed a place to land.
He had a way of finding folk with nowhere to go and giving them more than just a job. He gave them a second chance.
Bryan’s proof of that. At seventeen, his parents bailed when his ADHD and run-ins with the sheriff became too much for them.
Packed up and left him with thirty days on the rent and no one to call.
My dad took him in without a second thought.
Gave him a roof, steadied him, showed him how to use all that restless energy on something that mattered.
Treated him like a son. Bryan's been more like a brother than a friend ever since.
My father had a gift for that. Knowing what people needed before they knew it themselves. Knowing how to show someone that he cared for them.
I didn't inherit that gift.
After he passed and Ruby walked out, the house stopped feeling like home.
So instead of letting my failures stain the place he built, I built lodges.
One for me, one for Colt, one for Bryan.
The house stays for what it was always meant to be—a place to share meals and good company when the workday ends.
Once the plates are cleared, I retreat to my lodge, where I can wallow in self-pity to my heart’s content, no one around to see it. Just me and my glass of whiskey.
I've barely grabbed a plate when the front door swings shut again. That bloody hinge is holding on by a miracle. I glance up.
Colt steps into the kitchen, Maeve right beside him.
They must’ve crossed paths outside. clock my son's expression before I clock anything else, an easy smile I haven't seen in years.
The kind he wore before Ruby left. Before he had to learn what it meant to be left behind by someone who was supposed to stay.
I never told him the truth about his mom. That she chose the drugs over us—over him—without looking back. I told myself I was protecting him. That a boy shouldn't have to carry that weight on his shoulders. That silence was kinder than the truth.
Some days, I still believed that.
Other days, I think about him sitting in those therapy sessions, working through abandonment issues he can't make sense of because nobody has ever given him the full picture.
Just a mother who left and a father who never explained why.
I wonder then if the silence did more damage than the truth could have ever done.
He deserved better from both of us. But that ship has sailed, and the damage is done. That's the thing that eats at me every damn day, knowing I'm not just a bystander in how broken he feels.
And yet, here's Maeve, pulling a genuine smile from him without even trying.
She's wearing one too. Bright-eyed, laughing at something he just said, like they've known each other longer than the five minutes I left her standing outside. A stranger has managed to do in minutes what I haven't managed to do in years.
There’s a strange knot in my gut, a tightness I can’t quite place. Part of it is warmth, seeing my son happy. The rest… I don’t know. But it hit the second she looked at him like that.
I push it down, grab my plate, and head to the long oak table, settling next to Bryan. The familiar weight of my silent armour slides back into place.
Colt’s voice cuts through the hum of conversation. “Everyone, this is Maeve. She’s our first participant in the ranch immersion scheme we’re trialling.”
The corners of his mouth rise as he gestures toward the table, a hand resting briefly on the small of her back. I notice. So does she; her posture shifting slightly.
She offers polite nods through the introductions, her accent softening the edges of every word. Then Mrs. Mae makes her way over, slower now she’s older, but still beaming with warmth. With a soft, grandmotherly hum, she pulls Maeve into a hug.
“Welcome, sweetie. If you need anything at all, you come find me, alright? I’m basically the mother of this group of lovable buffoons, so don’t be shy, especially if you ever need some girl talk.”
Maeve stiffens and something flickers across her face. Then, just as quickly, her shoulders drop, and her features soften. And I swear… I swear I see a tear slip down her cheek.
I look back at my plate. Not my place. And yet the image stays with me longer than it should. A girl undone by a hug from a woman she met thirty seconds ago. Like it's been a long time since anyone held her like that.
Not my place, I remind myself again.
Once the niceties are over, Maeve and Colt fix themselves a plate and head over to the table. Two seats left, both right next to me. Great.
I’m not surprised when Colt takes the one farthest away, leaving Maeve sandwiched between us.
She offers me a brief smile as she sits. I don't return it, eyes on the plate.
Remember, Wade. Stay distant. Stay professional.
The kitchen fills with overlapping voices and laughter. I nod when I need to, give short answers, keep my eyes on the food. Maeve, though, is already winning the room. Everyone's hanging on her every word, Colt most of all. He hasn't stopped grinning since he walked through the door.
Bryan leans past me. “So, Maeve, you think you're ready for this line of work? It ain't an easy ride. Especially working alongside this old man.” He nudges me, hard enough that I bump into her.
I shoot him a glare. “You’re two months younger than me, Buck. Ease up with the ‘old man’ crap.”
Maeve jumps in before he can reply. “Please. I survived being trapped in a car with him for over an hour while he brooded like a Cowboy Batman. Whatever you’ve got can’t be worse.”
And just like that, the sass is back. Bryan throws his head back and lets out a laugh. “She’s gonna fit right in here, ain’t she, Bull?”
He’s not wrong. She’s barely been here an hour, and she has already settled into the team’s dynamic.
“She’ll be working with Colt anyway,” I mutter, reaching for my glass. “Won’t have to deal with my brooding ass.” I make sure the jab lands, both for her and everyone else.
Maeve doesn’t rise to it. Instead, she leans over me, angling closer to Bryan. “Buck and Bull? What’s the story there?”
She props her chin in the palm of her hand, eyes shining with curiosity.
I push my chair back and take my plate to the sink. I keep my hands busy under the running water while Bryan launches into it behind me.
“Well, ma’am,” Bryan says, puffing up with pride.
“I’m Buck ’cause I’m a wild one. Never stop moving, like a bucking bronco.
Some even say untameable.” He shoots her a wink, and she laughs, bright and real like everything about her.
I scrub the plate a little harder. “And Mr. Carter over there?” he adds, gesturing toward me.
“Back in the day, he was one hell of a bull rider. Hence, ”Bull”.
We were the Buck and Bull Brothers. Been known by that ever since we were troublesome teens. ”
I feel her eyes on my back before she even speaks.
“What made you stop bull riding?”
I turn the tap off.
“That's none of your business,” I say, flat and final, not turning around.
The quiet that follows has a particular weight to it. I don't need to look to know her smile has faded. A moment later Colt's voice smooths it over, easy and practiced. He's been covering for my silences his whole life. One more thing I never meant to teach him.
“Don’t take it personally. He’s like that with everyone, even me.”
He slips an arm around her shoulders, like he's trying to smooth over my typical asshole behaviour. At least I’m staying true to my word.
I set the plate on the rack and dry my hands; eyes fixed on the window above the sink. Outside, the last of the light is dropping behind the hills, the sky bleeding out into deep amber.
Behind me, Colt laughs at something she says. Easy and unguarded.
I stand there, silent.
No one notices. Because it's what they expect.