Chapter Twenty Eight
Colt
A soft knock on the door interrupts our flow.
We’ve been at this for over an hour, and it felt like nothing.
Almost easy. Wade and I have been talking through projections, arguing about budgets—he is a go big or go home person, where I am a play it safe kinda guy—going back and forth on the idea of breeding competition horses and training the riders.
It’s felt like the most natural thing in the world for us. Like we’ve always done this.
Yet, the reality is that this is the longest time we have been in a room alone together.
A second knock echoes, and we both say “come in” in unison. Though Wade’s deep projected voice smothers mine with ease.
Maeve stumbles into the room, struggling to balance the over-stacked tray in her barely-successful attempt to open the door with her elbow. Both Wade and I jump up to help her, Wade a little bit faster than me as he grabs the tray from her.
“I got it,” he looks down at her, and I return to my seat, eyes locked on their interaction. She just nods, her bright eyes gleaming from the light that is shining through the window.
“Batman saves the day,” she laughs, and hearing it instantly makes me shuffle in my seat with excitement. Wade places the tray of food on the end of the desk, pushing papers out of the way to make room.
“Well, Mrs. Mae figured you’d both forgotten that it was lunchtime, so I grabbed some bits for you both,” I must be smiling at her, because she smiles back at me. “Lucky for you, there was just enough; the boys almost cleared us out.”
“What's this?” Wade's hand hovers over five tickets fanned out on the corner of the tray.
Maeve sets down her coffee cup with a little too much innocence. “Erm, well…” There’s a slight hesitation in her voice. “So, there’s a rodeo show in two weeks. And I thought I'd treat us all to tickets to it.” She shrugs like it's nothing. “You, Colt, Bryan. And I invited Naomi.”
I reach over and pick one up, turning it over in my hand.
Great. A wholesome family outing with my ex.
“Figured it'd be fun,” Maeve adds, already moving on like she hasn't just casually detonated something. “Consider it one of the last things on my country bucket list before I go back to London.”
The reminder kicks me in the gut.
Wade picks up one of the tickets, turns it over once, and sets it back down. “Sure.”
Just like that.
I look at him, but he's already reaching for his plate like he didn't just agree to set foot inside a rodeo arena for the first time in God knows how long.
Wade Carter, who hung up his rope and never looked back.
Who hadn't been within spitting distance of a bull riding event since the day he quit.
And he'd just agreed like Maeve had asked him to pass the salt.
I set my ticket back down next to his and say nothing.
“Well, you boys gotta eat; after all, it must take a lot of energy to work hard together and not kill each other. I merely came up to check that I didn’t need to be a mediator.”
I go to reassure her that everything is fine, but Wade’s voice drowns mine again.
“We are fine here, Maeve, no need to worry about us.”
“Who said I was worried about you, Mr. Carter?” An eyebrow raised and a hip popped to the right gives it that extra sassy flavour I love about Maeve.
Wade doesn’t bite back, just gives a grimace, taking the plate of chilli and sitting on the small sofa away from the desk. Clearly bored of the interaction going on.
Maeve comes around to my side of the desk, leaning over my shoulder, eyes on the screen, her hand settling on my shoulder blade as she reads. “What am I looking at?”
“Riding school,” Wade calls from the sofa, a mouthful of food. Classy man.
“Hm.” She scans it for a second. “Competition? As in horse racing? You know I could be your first student. Get the whole thing started.”
I lean back in my chair and look up at her. “You have gotten better; I'll give you that. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Hey, did you not see me the other day? I am basically a pro now.”
“The horse was barely moving.”
“She was trotting.”
“She was thinking about trotting.”
Maeve laughs and straightens up, grabbing a cup of coffee off the tray that she clearly bought up for herself. Caffeine fiend.
Wade's eyes haven’t left her since she walked in. It’s not the usual intense glare, he is just watching with soft eyes as he spoons his lunch quickly. I have no idea if she notices, but I do.
She heads for the door. “I want a discount when it opens.”
“You want a discount on something that doesn't exist yet,” I call after her. Something that might not even be up and running before she leaves.
“Well, duh. Mates' rates,” she says at the door, turning around to face me, “Make sure you eat,” she demands.
“Yes, ma'am,” I say, then she’s gone.
I grab my plate and settle it in front of me. I'm still smiling when I turn back to the screen. Something about her just does that—cuts right through whatever tension is sitting in the room. So much so that I almost forget Wade is still here.
He stands, placing his empty plate on the tray before lifting it.
“Can we continue this tomorrow?” he asks, slipping back into that monotone cadence he's known for. “Food's put me in a coma. Ain't gonna be no use to you now.”
A month ago, I’d be angry at him. Trying to get rid of me. But now I know he’s genuinely tired, picking up on his little habits such as rubbing the back of his neck or restlessly fidgeting with his fingers.
I nod, still smiling.
“Thanks for giving me this chance, Son.” Then he's gone too. Leaving me to sit with those words.
The sun’s already dipping behind the mountains when I head back to the main house. Dinner’s the only thing on my mind now. That, and the hope there’s something left that isn’t instant noodles.
As I breach the entrance of the house, the usual slam of the front door announcing someone has entered, I hear Maeve’s voice echo through the hall, “Colt, is that you?”
I follow the direction it came from, excitement buzzing under my skin like a livewire.
That is, until I see she is not alone.
I am unexpectedly met by a very lively kitchen. Usually everyone has gone to their respective homes, whether that’s the bunk house or their own places, to wind down for the evening before repeating it all the next day.
The scene is pure chaos. Snacks cascade over the length of the table; two of the ranch hands, Maverick and Dean, are jokingly pushing and laughing at each other, causing Bryan to snort in his glass of what I can only assume is Bourbon—his go-to.
Maeve is next to a very stressed-out Naomi, who is sat at the island, head resting in her hands as her fingers pull at her colourful braids.
“Girl, it’s going to be so good,” Maeve grabs onto Naomi’s shoulders, lightly shaking her, causing her to sit back up and revealing a small smile.
“I have a month,” Naomi says flatly.
I reach past them for a beer from the bucket on the island. “A month for what?”
“Our girl Naomi is planning the charity event of the century,” Maeve says, eyes already scanning the papers in front of them. “And she thinks it's going to be terrible when it most certainly will not.”
“The main act cancelled, Maeve.” Naomi straightens. “Dawn of Dawson was the whole pulling factor. We're a small town. Nobody's driving out here just for drinks, karaoke, and a mechanical bull.”
“You got Asher's band to come into town?”
Asher Dawson. Naomi's childhood best friend.
The boy who'd made it out of Wildbrook Hollow and into one of the biggest country bands in the country.
Also, the boy I'd spent a considerable amount of my younger years hating for reasons I'mnot particularly proud of. He was everything that I wasn’t.
Confident, lovable, talented, and always had the attention of anyone he ever wanted.
Including Naomi, who at the time was the person I leaned on the most.
“I didn't know you two still talked,” I say, keeping my voice easy.
She looks at me, all soft and a little confused. “We've always stayed in touch.”
I turn for the table before my face gives away the old emotions that have resurfaced toward the guy.
“He had to cancel,” Maeve continues behind me. “But you will still put this event on the map.” Maeve drums the counter with her hands, getting us ready for whatever this idea of hers is. “We are going to do it Coyote Ugly style.”
The room goes quiet.
Maeve looks around like we’re the anomaly in the room, even though she is the only one who knows what the hell she is going on about.
“Oh, come on guys, you have a bar basically inspired by the movie. And it’s where the event is taking place. So, let’s lean into it.”
“Keep going,” Naomi says, clearly doing her best to hide the doubt in her voice, and epically failing.
Maeve leans forward, eyes bright now.
“What better way to pull people into a small town than real-life handsome hardworking cowboys.”
She's trying not to laugh at her own idea, which means she knows it's either brilliant or insane.
“We auction dates. City money will absolutely show up for that, and the boys—” she looks around the table, “will do it because it's for a good cause.”
There's no hesitation in her voice. Only a demand dressed up as a suggestion.
“Count me the hell in,” Bryan announces. Of course he does.
Maverick and Dean echo in agreement. I roll my eyes; these guys, of course they’d love the idea of being paraded about like a prize just to get some female attention.
“Excellent.” Maeve drops into the seat beside Naomi, pulling a blank sheet toward her. “Let's start a list.”
Naomi's eyes find mine across the room, holding for a beat too long with a cocky smirk that tells me she is up to something.
“Put Colt on there,” she says.
“Obviously.” Maeve grins without looking up.
I should argue. I open my mouth to do exactly that, and then I catch Maeve glancing up at me. Something about the quiet expectation in it makes the argument disappear before it gets anywhere.
I take a pull of my beer and nod once.
“Fine.”
I'll probably regret it. But the way they both smile makes it difficult to care right now.
I listen to Naomi as she runs through her plans for the event, showing off some of the artwork she’s had commissioned.
“Mom would’ve loved this,” the words slip out before I can think better of them.
I don’t really talk about her much. Not in this setting.
Naomi understands right away, reaching over and squeezing my hand lightly. “She’d have taken over the decoration committee, no question,” she says with a soft laugh.
I let out a quiet breath, my hand staying under hers for a second longer than I mean it to. “Yeah,” I say, and it actually feels good to say it out loud.
For a moment, I let myself sit in it—the idea of her being here, seeing all of this. Not just the event, but the life around it. The ranch, the people, this strange little family that’s formed without me really noticing.
It isn’t perfect. But it’s real.
And she would’ve liked that.
We get back to planning, the table filling back up.
Multiple laughs overlap. Dean throws something at Bryan.
Maverick reaches for Maeve's beer and nearly loses his hand for it.
Maeve and Naomi have their heads together over the list, adding names, crossing them off, laughing about something I'm not close enough to hear.
I sit back and let it all move around me.
And it occurs to me, just like that, that this house has stopped feeling like a glorified staff room.
I would've eaten my hat if someone had told me I'd feel like this again. But here I am. And God, it feels good.