by Claire Cain
“Right! Well, then let me tell you about this new space I found.”
Mom made an ooo sound, always ready to hear War’s next big idea. I enjoyed it too. He had an energy and excitement about life I’d lost at some point. I just felt… tired. Like a neglected saddle, the leather leached of any finish and unpatchable in the torn places. And I couldn’t say I didn’t know why. I did. That whole feeling—well, that and realizing I had no prayer of finding a wife and building a family if I kept at work the way I had been—had pushed me to make a change.
But here, months later, I still felt tired. And kind of old. Like someone should bring along a replacement.
You should be grateful, not whining.
That inner voice’s admonishment was well placed. I should’ve been grateful. My father hadn’t lived this long. He’d had a family, sure, but he hadn’t even hit his thirtieth birthday. I tried to start my day with gratitude, knowing each sunrise was a gift not everyone got. But damn, sometimes that practice was pure discipline. Especially lately.
“Don’t you think, honey?” Mom asked.
“Sorry, what?” I must’ve been farther in my head than I’d realized.
Warrick wiggled his eyebrows at me like he thought he knew something I didn’t know. Ugh, this kid.
“I was saying that I leased this great space over by the Silver Ridge Brewery, the second mill building. It’s walkable from anywhere in town. I’m setting up a bootcamp-style class. If there’s enough interest, I might expand it to become a gym, but I figured I’d start small.” He leaned back and eyed me.
The waiter, Brodie, popped over and took our orders—Mom and I got the same thing we always did, and Warrick got one of about fifteen things he rotated through with an extra side of guac. Once our menus were out of the way, War’s eyes settled back on me.
Then came that little flash, the look I’d seen before and recognized as a slip of vulnerability, and it took off any edge I had. He was tough, but he wanted my approval. He had it, always, but I needed to remember that at times like these.
“I’m sure there’ll be interest. People always want something coming out of the season before summer. Can you get the equipment you need?” I could float him if he needed, though knowing him, he didn’t.
“I’ve got a fair amount of it already, actually. I got tires and sledgehammers. I’ll round up ropes, and I got approval to install bars for pull-ups. I’ll be tailoring my workouts to simpler routines until I’m earning enough to build out a bit more.” He scooped salsa onto a chip and chomped down cheerily.
One thing I appreciated about Warrick was his conservative approach to entrepreneurship. He might seem a little all over the place sometimes, but he never spent what he didn’t have, and he always had a business plan. Occasionally, I forgot how methodical he was, because that sunny disposition and charm tricked me into thinking he was more fly by the seat of his pants than he really was.
What I’d never fully appreciated was that being serious and dedicated could look different. I knew that, but my own version of focus had meant excluding almost everything else and waking up to realize those fields I wanted to harvest had gone fallow.
Maybe I envied Warrick’s ability to juggle his projects and social life and still stay connected to his family. He might not have a wife and kids yet, but he seemed to constantly spend time with people, no app needed, and he was eight years my junior. He had time.
“Sounds wise, honey. And what about…” She raised her brows.
“Dating? Nah, no dating for me these days. That’s all Wyatt’s specialty.”
Mom perked up. “Really?
My glare should’ve withered him, but nothing could penetrate that thick skull of his. Plus, I hadn’t been hurt like he had, and though it’d been years, I understood he wanted to be pressured about this even less than I did. Though he went out, I had noticed it was never with the same woman twice, and they all seemed to be a more fun version of my own first dates. “Nothing sticking, no. But I do have another date lined up for tomorrow night.”
“Anyone we know?”
Damn, but I hated disappointing her. She’d given so much of herself, and all three of us knew she wanted grandkids. Desperately. She’d already claimed Wells and Liam’s baby as her own grandchild, though she was technically a grandniece. Or something? Whatever, I hated not being able to tell her I had someone amazing, and we’d start cranking out babies tomorrow.
“Remember how there’s no last names? So it’s specifically made so you can see a photo but maybe don’t know the person. From her photo, I couldn’t tell. She seems nice enough from chatting a bit.”
“Oh, this is from RuralMatch, that app,” she said, nodding like she understood.
“Yeah, how do you—” I froze.
Warrick jumped in. “Wait. Wait. Mom, are you on RuralMatch?”
She blinked furiously and ducked her face into the margarita Brodie had just delivered.
“Seriously, are you?” he prodded.
“No! I’m not. I’ve just heard a few friends talking about it.”
The blush on her cheeks was saying something, but I couldn’t tell what. “It’s okay. Obviously, no luck for me yet. Everyone’s been nice, but no sparks or… anything yet.”
Warrick snorted and glugged down his entire water like it was a double shot.
“What?”
He raised his brows and waited a beat before saying, “This is your problem. You just said it out loud. I don’t get why you haven’t figured it out yet considering you are reasonably intelligent.”
“Do enlighten me.”
He chuckled and sipped his water. “You said they’ve all been nice. You’re always talking about how these girls you talk with are nice.”
“What’s wrong with nice? You’re the nicest person I know.”
“Of course I am. That’s not the point. There’s nothing else to these women other than nice for you, and that’s not what you want.” He pointed at me with his pinky finger before he took another drink.
“That’s just… stupid.” Brilliant comeback. “Everyone wants a nice girl. Don’t pretend like that’s something I—”
“Of course you want nice, and that’s great. But my point is, all these women are to you is nice. That doesn’t mean all they are is nice. It just means that between you, there’s nothing else. You don’t see their picture and want to date them. You don’t find something out about them and say, ‘Gee, I’d like to know more about her.’ No, you just think, ‘Huh, she seems nice. I’ll date her,’ like that’s all you’ve ever wanted, and it’s BS. Samantha was so nice that you hardly knew she was there, and your breakup was more like a casual business lunch. You want more than just nice, and until you admit that, you’re hosed.” He crunched a chip loudly to emphasize his point.
Our traitor of a mother did nothing but duck her head and study her margarita.
Brodie delivered our food, which broke the moment open, thankfully, but I couldn’t let it go entirely. When he left us, I spoke up. “They’re not just nice. This girl I’m meeting tomorrow is a teacher, okay? I like that. I want someone who likes kids. That’s more than just nice.”
Warrick accentuated his unimpressed gaze with a slow-motion blink. “Two words: Leo. Morrison.”
I sighed. “Leo and I had no chemistry. None.”
“Yeah, but you crushed after her for at least a year before you figured that out, amiright?”
“I did.”
I wouldn’t deny that. Leo was intimidating as hell if you didn’t know her very well, and I hadn’t. I didn’t think of myself as easily intimidated, but she wasn’t someone you could just walk up to and ask out. In the end, our dates and our one and only kiss fizzled, and after that, we decided on friends.
“Leo drew you in because a, she’s freaking gorgeous, and b, she’s got fire. She’s also really nice and thoughtful to the people she loves. But mostly? She’s got a backbone like a steel rod and attitude for days.” His affectionate smile was
for Leo since he seemed completely annoyed by me.
“I won’t disagree with any of that. All true.”
He widened his eyes, somehow even more than they already were, and jutted out his neck as if to say, Well?
“What? Yes, I liked her. She’s great. We’re friends. She’s married.”
He rolled his eyes, complete with a head whirl to follow and a frustrated sigh. “It’s not about Leo specifically. My point is you’ve got to find someone like her—with a personality that challenges you and makes you think—rather than some nice, vanilla girl whose name you can hardly remember.”
“I remember their names—”
“Not my point.”
“Let’s talk about something else, okay? And Wyatt, you enjoy your date and don’t worry about your bossy brother. But… also maybe consider what he’s saying.” She gave me a soft smile, and I nodded to show I’d heard her. “And now, we need to talk about Wilder.”
Thinking about Wilder, the middle of us, never failed to bring all thoughts about the future to a screeching halt. Because talking about Wilder reminded me of how I’d failed him, even if I knew there was nothing I could do to help him if he wasn’t here and wouldn’t let me in.
Someday, he’d be back. I hoped. Mom confirmed whenever she could that he planned to come home when he retired, and supposedly, he always said yes.
So I had to get my crap together before then so I could be the brother he needed me to be because that day was fast approaching.
As though I needed another reason to figure myself out. But… how?
SEVEN
Calla
Jeans were not adequate snow pants. I knew this, but I had no other option. I didn’t have snow gear, and my porch steps were completely covered. More than that, I needed to get out of this little house, and shoveling the porch and maybe some of the path to the driveway would double as a little exercise too.
Mostly, I couldn’t stand being alone with myself in there any longer. I’d cried more since arriving here than I had in the last decade combined. Even when Candy died and at her funeral, I’d barely teared up. I’d been in a weird shock and damage control combo mode that kept me jumping through the next hoop and moving forward.
Some of that had been fueled by the anger. I didn’t call Candy “Mom” or “my mother,” even in my own mind, because she’d shifted from being a mom to a manager slash friend slash pimp around fifteen, when I’d been spotted at a mall. She’d had me at sixteen, so she’d been barely thirty, and young-looking at that.
She’d missed out on a lot by keeping me and raising me. She’d had my grandmother’s help for the first twelve years, until Gran passed, but the older I got, the more I understood why she wanted to be my friend and relished being mistaken as my older sister.
I became her ticket. Not just to wealth and fame and access to things, but to a life she never got to live for herself. And by being my manager, she didn’t even have to live vicariously. She was there, in it.
She died there, too.
I heaved that thought and a shovelful of snow off the porch onto the ever-growing pile and huffed, working to catch my breath. I’d heard jokes about thin air in the mountains, but right now, my lungs had an intimate understanding with that reality. My lower back ached already, so I pulled in my stomach muscles and dropped my shoulders. I didn’t want to pay for this little escape with any injuries. I’d been doing my yoga, but shoveling should be a cardio class in itself. Maybe I could monetize that somehow and become a cardio shoveling maven instead of a popstar.
“Let me do that for you.”
The deep voice startled me from the rhythmic push and lift of my efforts. I straightened to see Wyatt Saint standing a few feet from the porch steps, knee-deep in snow. He wore the same canvas brown jacket from every other time I’d seen him but this time held a shovel in gloved hands. His eyes were shaded by sunglasses, and for some reason, this whole look was really working for him, until I remembered how rude he’d been.
“I’ve got it,” I said, only slightly breathless, returning to my work. “I should do it.”
“You could hurt yourself.”
“Uh, so could you.” I refused to breathe as hard as my lungs demanded, so I kept my mouth shut and sucked in air slowly through my nose instead of panting like I wanted.
He leaned on the shovel’s handle. “Less likely since I do this often. When was the last time you shoveled? Or for that matter, did anything at this altitude?”
Um, never? “Don’t recall.”
“You’ll end up with altitude sickness. Or having a heart attack.”
I shot him a glare without really looking, then scooped another pile of snow off the side, effectively clearing the main area. I just needed to get the stairs, then a few feet of the path, and I’d call it good.
He heaved a breath like I’d already worn through his patience, then took a few steps so he stood at the bottom of the three stairs. “I’m happy to do it.”
“So am I. You don’t need to trouble yourself.”
His lips pursed just slightly. “It’s no trouble.”
A disbelieving laugh shot out of me. “I’ll be fine.”
“Listen, I don’t mean to be pushy, but we can’t have you hurting yourself, all right?”
Something about that comment made me stop. “Do you mean that generally, or me specifically?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We just don’t want anyone getting hurt. Shoveling, especially at this altitude, can sneak up on you.”
His cheeks were flushed, but they had been when he approached. He didn’t meet my eye, and it clicked—his brother had told him who I was. Why it annoyed me so deeply that he wanted to take over the shoveling when I already felt completely exhausted by the fifteen minutes I’d done didn’t make sense. Years of suppressing any flare of emotion like smothering a fire had burnt away my ability to back down and walk away.
Maybe because I’d been by myself and suddenly felt desperate for conversation. Maybe because it really pissed me off that he thought he knew anything about me. Then there was the whole raging fire set in a parched grassy field.
Whatever the reason, I let my temper get the best of me.
“I don’t know why you find me so intolerable, but please just leave me alone. You don’t need to talk to me, and I’ll do my very best to avoid you. Deal?”
He reared back. “I have no issue with you.”
I scoff-snorted. “Right. That’s why you’ve been rude every time we’ve interacted since that first night.”
Even behind his sunglasses, he blanched. “Pardon?”
“Admit it. You have a problem with me.”
His jaw tensed. “I don’t want any trouble. No drugs, no… whatever else you’re into. We’re a simple family, we’re nice people, and we don’t—”
I held my hand up to stop him, and it did. “I don’t know you, Mr. Saint. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re not always a presumptuous jerk. You can do me the courtesy of not believing everything you read about me. And for the time being, I’ll finish this shoveling, and you can have yourself a nice day.”
He swallowed.
“My—I apologize.” He stepped back. “Yes. Have a nice day.”
He turned on his heel and plodded back along the snowy path. I watched him go before I started in on the stairs, determined not to focus on why his assumptions bothered me so much. He didn’t know me. I sure didn’t know him. And why should I care what some random uptight, judgey cattle rancher thought of me?
Hours later, Warrick Saint’s cheery energy hit me the minute I opened my front door. He held out a canvas bag.
“This is a half loaf of bread from Rise and Shine in town. It’s part coffee shop, part bakery, and the owner is also the baker. She’s a genius.”
I took the bag. “Thank you. That’s so nice. I need to get back into town and check it out. The sign looked adorable.”
“It is adorable. Hi
ghly recommend.”
His giant smile was completely genuine. I wondered if the man even knew how to fake a smile. He was just so darn nice.
Much unlike his moody brother.
“Well, good. Top of my list, then.” I held up the bag and stepped back, preparing to shut the door.
“Oh, sorry. I wanted to invite you to dinner at the house tomorrow—the main house. Totally no pressure, but I figured you might want to get out. And I can guarantee no press or photos or anything. My mom’s coming up and my brother’s cooking. Low-key, but we’d love for you to come if you’re comfortable. And again, no pressure at all if not.”
I opened my mouth, then clamped it shut. A fish out of water.
“Yikes, I guess not comfortable. Totally fine, Ms. Rice. I didn’t mean to overstep, and I promise I’m not—”
He must’ve thought my hesitation stemmed from the invite itself and not the jump of anticipation and dread at being around others. I needed company, needed conversation and friends, and it’d been so long since I’d had that. So long since I’d allowed myself to connect with people other than Jenna. Plus the whole loneliness of this place was starting to get to me.
But his brother did not like me at all, and an intimate meeting with only a few others between us sounded tricky. Yet, I still wanted it.
“Call me Calla. And please, just… I’d love to come. That’s so kind of you, and I’d love to.”
He waved away my thanks.
“I know we’re isolated, and you likely wanted that when you booked this place. But I don’t want you to feel lonely or, you know, bad.” He shifted his big booted feet. “Also wanted to check if you need anything from town. I’m heading down this afternoon and would be happy to bring you whatever you need. I noticed you don’t have a car…”
“Ah, yeah. Never learned.”
