Chapter Forty Five
Maeve
You'd think packing up after a trip away would be normal for me. I've done it enough times. A suitcase, a bag, a taxi to the airport, and onto the next thing.
But this doesn't feel like packing up after a trip away.
This feels like I am packing up to leave home.
I came here with almost nothing—one suitcase, one bag, and the emptiness of someone who has spent most of their life living out of a suitcase because nowhere felt right to settle.
Now I somehow have double the amount I arrived with, and it'snot the extra suitcase that's making it hard to breathe.
It's the boots sitting on top of the pile.
The ones he picked out. I set them carefully on top of the clothes and zip the case shut before I can think about it any longer.
Iris sits cross-legged at the end of the bed, watching me with that expression she reserves for when she knows something I'm not saying yet.
“You’re sure about today?” she says eventually.
I lift the second suitcase onto the bed and start packing away my toiletries. “Yes.”
“Meave.”
“Iris.”
I look over, and she gives me that look. The one that says I know you’re lying.
“Look, I don’t want to go back to London. When do I ever? But I can’t stay, girl.”
She watches me another moment as I gather the remaining items, before getting up and shutting the suitcase lid.
“Go and talk to them,” she says. “Both of them. Before we leave. Otherwise, you’re going to be on that plane regretting it, and I am not dealing with ten hours of sad Maeve. Flying is terrifying enough.”
Despite everything, I almost laugh. “Iris—.”
“I mean it.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. “You don’t have to try to fix it. You don’t have to make it ok. Just say what you need to say to both of them. Say your goodbyes. So you don’t leave this place with regrets.”
Too late, I think, but I don’t dare say it out loud to her.
“Fine,” I fold, and she pulls me into a tight squeeze before releasing me, turning me around and slapping my butt to move me forward.
I find Colt around the back of the barn where the lessons take place, gathering saddles, walking back and forth from the tack room with that focused quiet he gets when he's using work to keep his head down.
He clocks me the second he comes back out.
His shoulders tighten slightly before I even reach him.
He folds his arms, leaning them on the top railing, eyes fixed on the dirt.
I come to stand next to him. The midday sky is clear, sun beaming down on us with a vengeance.
From here, I can see the cattle moving around the far pastures, hear the horses within the barn softly neigh, and hear the distant rumble of trucks moving.
Everything seems so normal, like it’s any other day out here, but I have to remind myself it isn’t.
“I’m leaving today,” I say softly. “Just wanted to say bye.”
Nothing.
“I know I am the last person you want to speak to right now.” I keep my voice as gentle as I can, shoving down the overwhelming emotions I am currently feeling. “And I'm not asking you to say anything back. I just couldn't leave without—”
“What do you want, Maeve?”
Flat. Quiet. The voice of someone who has already been through enough and doesn't have anything left for another round.
“I just want to say I'm sorry,” I say. “For everything. I never wanted any of this to hurt you.”
“But it did.”
The silence that settles between us is thick and uncomfortable and entirely deserved. I look at the side of his face. At the hurt sitting in the set of his jaw, the tension around his eyes. Hurt I put there, and I try to find the words to reach him.
“He loves you, Colt,” I say eventually. “He's been protecting you your whole life,” I say quietly. “In ways you probably still don't fully—.”
“Did you know?”
I stop.
“Did you know I wasn’t his?”
The question comes out with such heavy weight on it that I know I have to tread really carefully here. Just tell the truth; that's all I need to do.
“I—I worked it out,” my thumb now circling my wrist. “I confronted Wade about it, and he confirmed it.”
“You knew.” He turns to look at me for the first time. His eyes are dark and completely still in a way that is worse than anger. “You knew, and you didn't tell me.”
“It wasn't my story to tell—”
“You knew.” He says it again, quieter this time, like he's still making it real for himself. “You knew something that fundamental about my life and you just, what? Decided that was fine? Decided I didn't deserve to know?”
“Colt, I—.”
He cuts me off. “Go.” His voice is angry, not in the raised kind of way. Just one that says “I am absolutely done with you.” Someone who has hit their limit. “Just go, Maeve. Go back to London and leave us alone.”
I stand there for a second, my heart breaking into pieces. I deserve this. Deserve his coldness. I’m the one in the wrong. But as I turn to walk back toward the house, my eyes fill and spill over.
I find the porch swing by instinct more than decision, dropping onto it and pressing my hand against my mouth in attempts to muffle my sobs.
I will not fall apart loudly, not when the ranch is peaceful and quiet.
I grip the end of the chair, digging my fingers into the wood as tight as I can.
Angry at myself for ruining something good here.
For losing everything that could have been.
I am going to miss it. Miss this chair in the morning. Miss getting up early and completing a hard day's work. Miss all the banter with the ranch hands. Miss my new friends. Miss the town. Miss Colt. Miss Wade. Everything.
I think about the work I've done here. The hours spent pulling the riding school together—the procurement strategy, the budget restructuring, the local supplier contacts I spent weeks building from nothing.
The moment Wade looked at it and said this is good in the way that said he actually meant it.
I was good at it. I am good at it, better than I've let myself believe for a long time.
Better than the mind-numbing London jobs ever asked me to be, with their mundane little routines and their ceiling of modest expectations.
Somewhere in the years of making myself useful without making myself visible, I forgot that I am genuinely capable of building something.
Not just maintaining what already exists.
Actually building. And here, I built something real.
I found and lost my home all in the space of six months. Losing the place that allowed me to grow and be a part of something more than just a pit stop in my life. Nothing is ever going to come close to this.
“Hey.”
Wade’s voice comes from somewhere ahead of me. And I hate how comforted I feel by it instantly.
I look up; he’s standing by the steps, hat in hand and a look on his face that shows he is hurting as much as I am.
He closes the distance, places himself next to me with arms open.
I lean into them without a second thought, letting him hold me and the tears pour out completely.
The breakdown bubbling below now breaking the surface.
My face pressed against the solid warmth of his chest while his arms come around me and he holds on.
After a while, the crying runs itself out the way it does, leaving that hollowed quiet behind it. I pull back and wipe my face with the back of my hand; I probably look terrible.
“He didn’t want to speak to me.” My voice is uneven. “Didn’t even want to say bye.”
Wade looks taken aback. “Bye?” he questions.
I look up at him. “I’m leaving today.”
He lets out a slow breath through his nose and looks out over the top of my head for a moment. I watch him absorb the news. Then he looks back down at me.
“You don’t have to—”
“Wade, I need to stop you there.” I press my lips together firmly, steadying myself. “I need to go. I can’t be here getting in between you two. The only way you guys have a fighting chance of getting back to good footing is if I am not here. I won’tbe the reason you guys fall apart permanently.”
Wade moves, getting on his knees in front of me. Holding the swing chair either side of my thighs.
“Do I have to beg you, angel? Because I will.” I stare down at him, at the man who is breaking in front of me, and it’s making it hard to breathe. “I’m serious.” His voice is fractured. Hands tightening on the swing chair.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
Wade looks up at me, finding my eyes and holding them with that intensity that has undone me since the very beginning. “I love you, angel.”
My eyes fill immediately, and I reach down, putting my hands against his face. Feeling the rough of his jaw under my palms. His eyes close briefly at the touch.
“I love you too,” I say. And I mean it with every part of me, fully and without reservation, which is exactly why what comes next costs so much.
“I still have to go.” I extinguish the flicker of hope on his face, hating myself for it.
“This isn't easy. Not even slightly. But it's what needs to happen right now.”
His hands come up and cover mine where they still rest against his face.
I lean down to press my forehead against his, and we stay there, breathing in the same small space, and I try to memorise all of it.
Taking in how it feels to have him close, committing the solidness and warmth of him to memory.
I think about what I’m also leaving. The work. The friends I’ve made. The version of myself that existed here—confident, happy, and content. She exists, and that’s what this place has taught me.
I hear the trucks rattle in the distance, getting louder. People rolling in for lunch at the main house. It pulls me back to what I need to do.
“I have to go,” I whisper into the small space between us. He doesn’t say anything, just holds my hands where they are for one more second, giving them a small squeeze.
It takes all my energy to pull back; he slumps back, allowing me to rise to my feet. “Bye, Wade.” My voice is barely there. “Thank you. For everything.”
I see him exhale, head facing up with his eyes closed. I walk back through the front door, and I close it softly behind me.
It’s only when I am fully in the hall, confirming no one is around, that I press my back flat against the wall, hands over my mouth, and I let it all wash over me. I cry, trying to keep my sobs as quiet as I can. Failing, because Iris comes down the stairs in moments.
She doesn't say anything. She comes and stands beside me, putting her arm around my shoulders. I lean into her and let her hold me because sometimes, there is nothing to say and the only thing that helps is someone by your side.
“I know,” she says quietly, after a while.
“It's the right thing,” I say into her shoulder.
“I know that too.”
“Then why does it feel like this?”
She doesn't answer that. There isn't an answer for it, not one that helps. She holds me a little tighter.
Eventually, I pull myself together. Wipe my face with the back of my hand, straighten up, and take one long breath.
“Come on,” Iris says softly. “Let's get some food.”
The kitchen is warm, the familiar smell of coffee and a home-cooked meal pulling me in.
Mrs. Mae takes one look at my face when we walk in, giving me a small smile while we grab our food.
The ranchers scatter in, joining us at the table until it’s a full house, minus two.
Because Wade and Colt are nowhere to be seen.
I look around the kitchen as I eat, trying to memorise it without being obvious. When the plates are cleared, Mrs. Mae comes to stand at the end of the table and looks at me with those steady eyes that see everything, even the things you try to hide.
“You're leaving today.”
“Yes,” I say.
She comes around the table without another word and pulls me into a hug that is fiercer than I expect. I hold on and press my eyes shut, breathing through it carefully. I try hard not to fall apart again.
She pulls back and holds me by the shoulders. “You stay in touch, sweetie,” she says.
I nod, and then she pats my cheek once. Turning back to her kitchen.
Iris takes the bags to the truck as I take a moment in the hall to breathe. I still can’t believe I am leaving, but it’s the right thing to do.
If I say it enough, I can overshadow any doubts in the back of my mind.
I step out onto the porch, and Naomi is standing right there, sitting on the top step. Her knee bouncing erratically. She looks around when the door opens, standing up quickly.
“You’re actually going,” she says.
“I'm actually going.”
In an instant, she pulls me into a hug. Both arms wrapped around me so tightly that if I wasn’t already finding it hard to breathe, I would be now. I hold on to her.
“I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you too.”
We are both crying now, which doesn’t stop even when we pull apart from each other. We smile at each other, but my eyes drift to the view of the ranch. The distant fields of wildflowers, the barn, the paddocks, the small dots in the far pastures that I can identify as cattle.
I breathe it in one last time.
I have spent years going through a lot of places, temporary trips that never felt right to me, all for the sake of finding somewhere I could settle.
And then, I came here and found it.
“Maeve.” Iris's voice comes from the bottom of the steps. I look over at Naomi, and she smiles at me. I pick up my bag and haul myself into the taxi.
Meadow Bell Ranch gets smaller in the wing mirror as the taxi pulls away. I keep my eyes forward and my hands folded in my lap. I don't let myself look back after the first few seconds because I know if I keep watching it shrink; I won't hold it together for the drive.
When it disappears completely, I let myself cry.
Not just for Wade. Not just for Colt, or the swing on the porch, or the kitchen dinners, or the boots in my suitcase.
For the version of myself I found here. The one who stayed late over spreadsheets, not because she had to but because she actually cared about what she was building. The one who was capable of everything she put her mind to.
For the place that finally felt like home.
And for the quiet, terrifying knowledge that somewhere out there—there might not be another place like it.