Page 10 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

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.”