Wild at Heart

Emerson

Late Spring · Montana

The first thing I noticed about Montana was how much sky there was.

I’d lived in the state long enough that the mountains weren’t exactly new to me, but there was something different about seeing them from a narrow county road with nothing but open pasture on either side. The sky stretched endlessly overhead, an impossible shade of blue interrupted by the occasional cloud, and the mountains rose in the distance with snow still clinging to their highest peaks.

It was beautiful.

It was also approximately thirty-five minutes past the last place I’d seen a gas station, my phone had dropped to one bar of service, and I was beginning to wonder whether Caroline Hawthorne had accidentally sent me directions to the middle of nowhere.

I glanced at the navigation screen mounted on my dashboard.

Continue for 4.2 miles.

At least it was still giving me directions.

My car rattled over a rough patch in the road, and something shifted in the back seat. I winced when I heard the unmistakable sound of a cardboard box tipping against another.

“Please don’t be the dishes,” I muttered.

I’d packed my entire life into a ten-year-old Honda Civic, which was an accomplishment considering how much of that life I’d accumulated in the four years since moving into my apartment.

The trunk held two suitcases, a laundry basket full of shoes, and a box of kitchen supplies I’d convinced myself I couldn’t live without. The back seat was occupied by bedding, clothes, books, and a ridiculous number of things I’d forgotten I owned until I’d started packing.

My favorite coffee mug was somewhere beneath a winter coat.

My laptop was wedged between two pillows.

And the small cardboard box labeled IMPORTANT was currently buried under three other boxes because I’d stopped caring about organization somewhere around midnight.

I hadn’t intended to move out of my apartment this week.

Actually, I hadn’t intended to move out of my apartment at all.

Three months ago, I’d had a steady job, a reasonably affordable place to live, and a plan for the next few years of my life.

Then the veterinary practice where I’d worked for four years had been sold.

The new owners had assured everyone that the transition would be smooth. They’d talked about expanding services, updating equipment, and bringing new opportunities to the clinic.

Apparently, those opportunities hadn’t included keeping all the existing employees.

I still remembered sitting across from the practice manager in an office I’d walked past hundreds of times, listening as she explained that my position was being eliminated.

She’d been kind about it.

That hadn’t made the conversation any easier.

I’d spent four years learning everything I could about animal care. I’d cleaned kennels, prepared examination rooms, assisted during appointments, monitored recovering patients, handled frightened animals, and worked enough unexpected overtime to know that veterinary medicine rarely respected anyone’s plans.

I loved the work.

Even the difficult parts.

Especially the difficult parts, sometimes.

There was something about helping an animal that couldn’t explain what was wrong that made the long hours worthwhile.

I’d always intended to go back to school and earn my veterinary technician credentials. I’d researched accredited programs, calculated tuition costs, and spent more evenings than I cared to admit comparing course schedules.

But school required money.

And money required a job.

Which had brought me to my current situation: unemployed, temporarily homeless, and driving toward a cattle ranch where I was supposed to spend the next three months helping with animal care and veterinary coordination.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

Temporarily homeless wasn’t entirely accurate.

I had somewhere to live now.

Caroline Hawthorne had made certain of that.

I just hadn’t seen it yet.

My phone vibrated in the cup holder.

At the next straight stretch of road, I glanced at the screen.

Mom: How much farther?

I smiled despite myself.

My mother had asked me that question twice already.

At the first safe pull-off, I stopped long enough to type a response.

Me: About fifteen minutes, I think. Everything’s fine.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Mom: Call me when you get there. And make sure you ask about the locks on the doors.

I stared at the message.

Me: Mom. It’s a ranch, not a prison.

Mom: I know that, Emerson. I just want you to be careful.

I softened.

Rebecca Blake had spent most of my life worrying about things that hadn’t happened yet. She worried when I drove in bad weather, when I worked late shifts, and when I forgot to answer my phone because I’d fallen asleep on the couch.

Lately, she’d been worrying about me more than usual.

She’d tried not to show it when I told her about losing my job.

She’d tried even harder when I admitted I wasn’t renewing my lease.

But I’d heard the concern beneath every offer to help.

My parents would have let me move home without hesitation. Dad had said as much when I called him after receiving my final paycheck.

There was nothing wrong with moving home at twenty-six.

I knew that.

But I’d spent years building a life that belonged to me. The thought of returning to my childhood bedroom while I figured everything out made the last four years feel as though they hadn’t counted.

It wasn’t a fair way to look at things.

I knew that, too.

Still, when Dad mentioned that his old friend Jack Hawthorne might know someone who needed help with animals, I’d asked him to make the call before he could finish explaining.

Two days later, Caroline had called me herself.

She’d been warm and enthusiastic, asking about my experience at the clinic and whether I’d ever worked around horses or cattle.

I’d told her the truth. Most of my professional experience involved dogs and cats, although I’d helped with horses during school breaks and spent enough time around livestock growing up to understand that large animals required an entirely different kind of caution.

Caroline hadn’t seemed concerned.

She’d explained that the ranch already had experienced employees and an established veterinarian. What they needed was someone who could help keep animal health records organized, coordinate appointments, assist with routine care, and take some of the administrative pressure off the people handling livestock every day.

Three months of paid work.

A furnished guesthouse.

No rent.

I’d nearly cried when she mentioned the last part.

Instead, I’d thanked her and asked when she wanted me to start.

Now, with my apartment emptied and the last of my belongings packed into my car, I was trying not to think about what would happen at the end of those three months.

One problem at a time.

I sent my mother another message promising to call when I arrived, then pulled back onto the road.

A few minutes later, I passed a weathered wooden sign.

HAWTHORNE RANCH

The lettering had been carved into a massive piece of timber supported by two stone pillars. A small cattle brand was burned into the wood beneath the name.

Beyond it, the road curved between fenced pastures that seemed to stretch all the way toward the mountains.

I slowed without meaning to.

I’d known the Hawthornes owned a ranch.

Dad had talked about Jack Hawthorne for as long as I could remember. They’d met when they were young, before either of them had married, and had remained friends through moves, children, and the demands of raising families.

I’d heard stories about Jack’s father, about cattle prices, about winter storms that stranded trucks and shut down roads.

I’d even visited the ranch once or twice when I was younger.

But I hadn’t understood the scale of the place.

There were cattle scattered across the nearest pasture, their dark shapes moving through grass that had turned a vivid green with the arrival of spring. Farther away, a group of horses stood near a water trough. Fences divided the land into enormous sections, and a narrow creek followed the road before disappearing beneath a small wooden bridge.

Everything looked carefully maintained.

Not decorative.

Working.

The fences were sturdy, the gates properly hung, and the gravel road was wide enough for trucks and equipment to pass each other.

I drove another mile before the first buildings appeared.

A large barn stood near a cluster of smaller structures. Beyond them were equipment sheds, fenced working pens, and several houses spread across the property.

I could see a massive farmhouse farther up the hillside, its broad porch facing the valley.

For a moment, I forgot about my dwindling savings.

I forgot about the boxes in my back seat and the uncertainty waiting for me at the end of the summer.

I simply looked.

The property was extraordinary.

And somewhere among all those buildings was a guesthouse with my name attached to a three-month agreement.

My phone chimed.

Turn right in 500 feet.

I followed the instruction.

The paved road gave way to gravel, and my tires crunched over the uneven surface.

I passed a long equipment shed and a row of parked trucks. A tractor sat near an open-sided structure filled with machinery I couldn’t identify.

My phone chimed again.

Continue straight.

I did.

Then the navigation screen froze.

I glanced down.

The little blue arrow representing my car stopped moving.

“Oh, come on.”

I tapped the screen.

Nothing.

The service indicator disappeared entirely.

I looked through the windshield.

Ahead of me, the road split around a large metal building. One direction curved uphill toward what I assumed was the main house. The other led past several barns.

Caroline had mentioned that the guesthouse was near the working part of the ranch, but she’d also said to follow the signs toward the main house.

Unfortunately, the only sign I could see pointed toward something called the north lots.

I hesitated.

Then I took the road to the right.

It seemed like the kind of decision that should have been harmless.

It wasn’t.

The gravel lane opened into a large working yard crowded with equipment, trailers, and ranch vehicles.

A flatbed truck was parked beside a loading area. Several men were moving supplies near one of the barns, and a tractor with a front loader was positioned near a stack of fencing materials.

I slowed.

There was no guesthouse.

There was no welcoming porch.

There was, however, a very large truck approaching from the opposite direction.

I pulled toward the side of the yard to give it room.

The truck stopped.

I stopped.

The driver looked at me through his windshield.

I looked back.

After several seconds, he lifted a hand and gestured toward the space behind my car.

I checked my mirrors.

A long livestock trailer was attempting to turn into the yard.

And I was parked directly in its path.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

I put the car into reverse.

A man walking near the trailer raised his hand, signaling for me to stop.

I braked immediately.

The trailer driver was waiting. The man beside it was speaking into a radio.

And somewhere beyond my windshield, another man had turned away from the loading area and started walking toward me.

Wonderful.

I’d been on the property for less than five minutes, and I’d already managed to interfere with what appeared to be an entire morning’s worth of ranch operations.

I rolled down my window.

The approaching man wore a dark cowboy hat, faded jeans, and a charcoal work shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms.

He was tall.

That was the first thing I noticed.

The second was that he didn’t look particularly pleased to see me.

He stopped a few feet from my door and glanced toward the trailer before looking back at me.

“Morning,” he said. “You looking for somebody?”

His voice was deep and even, carrying easily over the noise of the equipment.

“Yes. Actually, I’m trying to find the main house.”

He glanced toward the road I’d taken.

“You missed the turn.”

“I was beginning to suspect that.”

He didn’t smile.

I cleared my throat.

“My GPS stopped working, and I wasn’t sure which road to take.”

“You’re in the loading yard.”

“I can see that now.”

His gaze shifted briefly to the boxes stacked behind me, then returned to my face.

“Can you back up about ten feet?”

I checked my mirror again.

“There’s someone behind me.”

“He’s holding traffic until we get you turned around.”

The man near the trailer raised his hand in acknowledgment.

I nodded.

“Okay. Just tell me where you want me.”

The cowboy stepped back and directed me with one hand while I carefully reversed. Once I’d cleared the trailer’s turning path, he gestured toward an open space beside the equipment shed.

I pulled into it and shut off the engine.

The trailer began moving again almost immediately.

I watched it pass, relieved that nobody had needed to dismantle anything to accommodate my terrible navigation skills.

When I looked up, the cowboy was approaching my window again.

I opened the door and climbed out.

Standing beside him was considerably more intimidating than looking at him through the windshield.

He had to be several inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and the solid build of someone accustomed to physical work. His dark hair was visible beneath the brim of his hat, and a day’s worth of stubble shadowed his jaw.

He wasn’t dressed to impress anyone.

There was dust on his boots, a faint mark of grease near one cuff, and a small tear along the seam of his work shirt.

But there was something undeniably striking about him.

His face was all sharp lines and restrained expression, his brown eyes steady beneath dark brows.

He looked at me as though he was trying to determine whether I was lost, confused, or about to create another problem.

Possibly all three.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “I didn’t realize this was an active loading area.”

“It’s all right. We got you clear.”

His attention moved toward the trailer as it disappeared around the barn.

Then he looked back at me.

“Who are you here to see?”

“Caroline Hawthorne.”

Something in his expression shifted.

“Caroline?”

“Yes. She told me to come by this morning.”

He studied me for a moment.

“What’s your name?”

“Emerson Blake.”

He went still.

Not dramatically. There was no obvious reaction beyond a slight tightening around his eyes.

But I noticed it.

“Blake?” he repeated.

“Daniel Blake is my dad.”

Recognition settled over his face.

“Jack’s friend.”

“That’s him.”

He looked at me again, more carefully this time.

And suddenly, I knew who he was.

I’d been so distracted by the unfortunate circumstances of our meeting that I hadn’t put the pieces together.

The dark hair. The serious expression. The way everyone around us seemed to know exactly what to do when he spoke.

“You’re Beau,” I said.

He nodded once.

“Beau Hawthorne.”

Of course he was.

Dad had mentioned Beau often enough over the years.

The oldest Hawthorne boy. The one who’d taken over much of the day-to-day management of the ranch. The one Jack relied on when there were difficult decisions to make.

I remembered meeting him years ago at a gathering my parents had attended with the Hawthornes.

I’d been younger, home from school for a weekend, and he’d been standing outside with Jack and Dad when I’d gone looking for my car keys.

I remembered his dark hair and the fact that he’d barely spoken.

Mostly, I remembered that he’d seemed much older than me.

At twenty-six, I wasn’t sure six years qualified as a particularly enormous age difference anymore.

“Right,” I said. “We’ve met before. A long time ago.”

“At your parents’ place, I think.”

“That sounds right.”

He looked toward the road again.

“Did Mom know you were coming this morning?”

“She told me ten would be fine.”

His gaze returned to mine.

“Ten?”

I glanced at the clock on my dashboard.

“Well, ten fifteen now. I got a little turned around.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

I felt the first unpleasant twist of uncertainty in my stomach.

“Is that a problem?”

“What did she tell you about coming out here?”

I hesitated.

“That I should come to the ranch and she’d show me where I’m staying.”

“Where you’re staying?”

“Yes.”

His expression changed again.

This time, the confusion was unmistakable.

I straightened.

“She did tell you I was coming, didn’t she?”

Beau looked toward the main house.

Then back at me.

“What exactly did my mother tell you?”

I stared at him.

“That she was hiring me.”

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Behind him, the work continued. A truck engine started. Someone called for another length of chain near the loading area.

Beau’s face remained controlled, but the muscles in his jaw tightened.

“Hiring you to do what?”

My stomach sank.

“Animal care. Records. Veterinary coordination.” I paused. “She said you needed someone for the summer.”

He looked away.

It was a small movement, but it told me more than anything he’d said.

He hadn’t known.

Oh, God.

He hadn’t known.

“I have the agreement,” I said quickly. “If you want to see it.”

His attention returned to me.

“You signed an agreement?”

“Caroline emailed it last week. I signed it and sent it back.”

“Last week.”

“Yes.”

He took a slow breath.

I could practically see him arranging his thoughts into something suitable for polite company.

“All right,” he said finally.

I waited.

He looked toward the main house again.

“Let me call her.”

I folded my arms loosely across my stomach.

“Did I misunderstand something?”

“No.”

“Because she was very clear about the position. We talked about my experience and the hours and everything else. I wouldn’t have just shown up here without—”

“Emerson.”

I stopped.

His voice hadn’t risen, but there was enough firmness in it to catch my attention.

“You didn’t misunderstand anything.”

I searched his face.

“Then what’s going on?”

He glanced toward the road.

“My mother and I apparently have something to discuss.”

I wasn’t sure whether that was supposed to reassure me.

It didn’t.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and stepped a short distance away.

I turned toward my car, suddenly wishing I’d stayed inside it.

I’d quit looking for apartments.

I’d packed my belongings.

I’d given my landlord the keys yesterday afternoon and driven away from a place that had been mine for four years.

I had enough money to cover a few weeks of expenses if I was careful.

I did not have enough money to start over somewhere else without a job.

And now the man responsible for running the ranch seemed to be discovering my employment for the first time.

I pressed my lips together.

Don’t panic.

There had to be an explanation.

Maybe Caroline handled the hiring.

Maybe Beau wasn’t involved in staffing decisions outside the livestock crew.

Maybe—

“Mom?”

I glanced toward him.

He stood with one hand resting on his hip, his back partly turned toward me.

“Where are you?”

There was a pause.

“Because Emerson Blake is standing in the loading yard, and she’s telling me you hired her.”

Another pause.

He tipped his head back slightly.

“That’s not the point.”

I looked away.

I hadn’t meant to listen.

Unfortunately, the yard wasn’t exactly quiet enough for me to pretend I hadn’t heard.

“Can you come down here?” he asked.

His expression remained serious.

“Thank you.”

He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“She’s on her way.”

“Okay.”

I looked toward the main house.

Then back at him.

“I’m sorry about all this.”

His brows drew together.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I seem to have caused a problem.”

“You didn’t cause anything.”

I studied him.

He sounded sincere.

Not particularly friendly, but sincere.

“Well,” I said, “I did block your loading yard.”

The corner of his mouth moved.

Barely.

It wasn’t a smile, exactly.

But it was the first indication that his face was capable of doing something other than looking serious.

“That part wasn’t ideal.”

I let out a small breath.

“No. Probably not.”

He glanced toward the car.

“You drive all the way out from Bozeman this morning?”

“Yesterday, actually. I stayed with my parents last night.”

“Daniel and Rebecca still in the same place?”

“Yes. Dad says he’ll move when somebody finds a better view, which is apparently impossible.”

Beau gave a quiet nod.

“Sounds like him.”

There was something oddly comforting about hearing him speak of my father with familiarity.

For a moment, I remembered that I wasn’t a complete stranger here.

Our families had known each other for years.

My dad trusted Jack Hawthorne.

Caroline had been nothing but kind to me.

Surely that counted for something.

“How’s your father?” Beau asked.

“Good. Busy. He keeps telling Mom he’s going to slow down, and she keeps telling him she’ll believe it when she sees it.”

“Jack’s been saying the same thing for ten years.”

I smiled.

“Maybe they should start a club.”

He looked at me.

Then, unexpectedly, his expression softened a fraction.

“Wouldn’t do either of them any good.”

Before I could answer, a vehicle approached from the direction of the farmhouse.

Beau glanced over his shoulder.

A dark SUV pulled into the yard and parked beside one of the trucks.

The driver’s door opened, and a woman with shoulder-length brown hair climbed out.

“Emerson!”

Caroline Hawthorne crossed the gravel toward me with an enormous smile.

Relief hit so quickly that I nearly laughed.

“Hi, Caroline.”

She wrapped me in a hug before I could say anything else.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so glad you made it. Was the drive all right?”

“It was good. Beautiful, actually.”

She stepped back, keeping her hands on my arms.

“Look at you. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you in person.”

“It really has.”

“You look so much like Rebecca.”

I smiled.

“She’ll be happy to hear that.”

“How is she?”

“Good. She told me to make sure the guesthouse doors lock.”

Caroline laughed.

“Of course she did. I’ll show you myself.”

Behind her, Beau cleared his throat.

“Mom.”

Caroline turned.

“Beau.”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“Can we talk?”

“Certainly.”

“About Emerson.”

Caroline’s smile faded slightly.

I shifted my weight.

“I can wait by my car.”

“No, honey,” she said immediately. “You don’t need to do that.”

Beau glanced at me.

Then at his mother.

“She didn’t know I was coming,” I said before either of them could continue.

Caroline’s expression changed.

“Oh.”

I wasn’t sure what I’d expected her to say.

That wasn’t it.

“Mom,” Beau said.

Caroline sighed.

“All right. I was going to tell you.”

“When?”

“This week.”

“She’s here now.”

“I can see that.”

His jaw tightened.

Caroline glanced toward me, and something apologetic entered her expression.

“Emerson, sweetheart, I am sorry. I should have spoken to Beau before you arrived.”

I swallowed.

“Is there a problem with the job?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Beau didn’t contradict her.

But he didn’t look particularly happy, either.

Caroline turned toward him.

“I spoke with Graham about the additional help we needed, and I knew Emerson had experience. We discussed the arrangement, and I made the offer.”

“Graham knew?”

“He knew I was looking into it.”

“That’s different from hiring somebody.”

“I understand that.”

“Then you understand why I’m asking.”

Caroline held his gaze.

For the first time, I could see the resemblance between them.

Not in their appearance, exactly.

In the stubborn set of their expressions.

“Beau, I know you oversee the ranch operations,” she said. “And I know I should have discussed the final arrangement with you. But we have been talking for months about how much time Graham and Megan are spending keeping records straight and coordinating appointments. Emerson has four years of veterinary-clinic experience, she’s available for the summer, and she needs work. I thought it was a sensible arrangement.”

“It might be,” he said. “That doesn’t mean we skip the conversation.”

“You’re right.”

The admission seemed to surprise him.

It surprised me, too.

Caroline continued before he could respond.

“I should have told you sooner. That’s on me. Not Emerson.”

Beau looked toward me.

“I know that.”

I wished the ground would open beneath my boots.

There was nothing quite like standing in the middle of someone else’s family disagreement while they discussed whether your employment had been a good idea.

“I really don’t want to create any trouble,” I said.

Caroline turned immediately.

“You aren’t.”

“I appreciate the offer. More than you know. But if this is going to complicate things, I can—”

“Emerson.”

This time, it was Caroline who interrupted.

Her voice was gentle.

“You and I made an agreement. I intend to honor it.”

I looked at Beau.

He seemed to notice.

His expression settled into something more neutral.

“My mother offered you a position,” he said. “You accepted it. That’s not in question.”

Relief loosened something in my chest.

“Okay.”

“What we need to figure out is exactly what your responsibilities will be and who you’ll report to.”

Caroline nodded.

“That sounds reasonable.”

Beau looked at her.

“We’ll talk about the rest later.”

She held his gaze for a moment before nodding again.

“Fine.”

I had a feeling their later conversation would be significantly less polite.

Caroline turned back to me.

“Now. Have you eaten?”

The abrupt change of subject nearly gave me whiplash.

“Breakfast, yes.”

“Good. You’ll have lunch with us if you’re hungry. I made chicken salad this morning, and there’s plenty.”

“Mom,” Beau said.

She looked at him.

“What?”

He glanced toward the loading area.

“I need to get back to work.”

“Then go back to work.”

For the first time since meeting him, Beau looked genuinely tired.

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His eyes settled on mine for a brief second.

Then he turned toward his mother.

“Graham’s at the west barn. I’ll talk to him before lunch. Emerson can meet with us tomorrow morning, and we’ll go over the position properly.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Caroline said.

Beau gave her a look that suggested wonderful wasn’t the word he would have chosen.

Then he turned to me.

“Eight o’clock tomorrow. Ranch office. Mom can show you where it is.”

I nodded.

“Eight. Got it.”

“Bring whatever paperwork you signed.”

“I have a copy.”

“Good.”

He hesitated.

It was barely noticeable.

But for a moment, he seemed to consider saying something else.

Instead, he tipped his hat slightly.

“Welcome to Hawthorne Ranch, Emerson.”

Then he turned and walked back toward the loading area.

I watched him go.

He stopped beside one of the trucks and spoke to a man carrying a clipboard. Whatever he said made the man nod and point toward the equipment shed.

Within seconds, Beau was absorbed in work again.

As though our entire conversation had been nothing more than an interruption to his morning.

Caroline followed my gaze.

“He’s not always that serious.”

I looked at her.

She paused.

“Well. He is serious quite a lot.”

I laughed despite myself.

She smiled.

“Beau takes his responsibilities very seriously. He’s been that way since he was a little boy.”

“I gathered.”

“He isn’t angry with you.”

“I know.”

But I wasn’t entirely sure I believed it.

Caroline’s expression softened.

“He’s angry with me. There’s a difference.”

I nodded.

“Okay.”

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you settled.”

She gestured toward my car.

“You can follow me. I’ll take the road that doesn’t lead through the loading yard.”

I laughed again.

“That would probably be best.”

The guesthouse was nothing like I’d imagined.

When Caroline had told me I’d be staying in a small house on the property, I’d pictured something simple. Maybe a converted bunkhouse with an old sofa and a kitchen that hadn’t been updated since the nineties.

Instead, she led me down a narrow gravel lane lined with cottonwood trees and stopped in front of a charming one-story cottage with pale siding, a covered porch, and flower beds that had recently been planted.

There was a small wooden bench beneath the front window.

A pair of rocking chairs sat on the porch.

Beyond the house, a fenced pasture stretched toward the mountains.

I climbed out of my car and stared.

“Caroline.”

She smiled.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping you’d be comfortable here.”

“Comfortable?” I looked at her. “This is nicer than my apartment.”

She laughed.

“Well, it’s been empty for a while, and we like having somewhere for guests to stay. Jack’s parents had it built years ago, and we renovated it a few summers back.”

I looked around.

The house sat far enough from the main working buildings that the noise of the ranch had faded into the background. I could still hear an occasional engine and the distant call of cattle, but mostly there was birdsong and the sound of wind moving through the trees.

Another house stood farther along the lane, partly hidden by a stand of pines.

Caroline noticed me looking.

“That’s Beau’s place.”

I turned toward her.

“Beau lives there?”

“Yes. He moved into that house a few years ago. Wanted somewhere of his own without being too far from the ranch.”

I looked at the neighboring house again.

It was larger than the guesthouse, with a broad front porch and a detached garage.

A dark pickup sat in the driveway.

Of course it did.

“He’s close,” I said.

“Close enough if you need something. But you’ll have plenty of privacy.”

I nodded.

Privacy sounded wonderful.

So did the possibility of avoiding another uncomfortable encounter with Beau Hawthorne for at least the next twenty-four hours.

Caroline unlocked the front door and stepped aside.

“Come on in.”

I followed her.

The inside smelled faintly of fresh paint and lemon cleaner.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, falling across hardwood floors and a comfortable living room furnished with a cream-colored sofa, two armchairs, and a wooden coffee table.

A woven rug covered part of the floor.

There were framed photographs of Montana landscapes on the walls, a bookshelf near the window, and a small dining table positioned between the living room and kitchen.

The kitchen had white cabinets, a farmhouse sink, and stainless-steel appliances.

A vase of fresh flowers sat on the counter.

I stopped just inside the doorway.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Caroline watched me.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” I looked around again. “It’s just more than I expected.”

Her smile softened.

“Well, good.”

She showed me the bedroom, which held a queen-sized bed covered in a pale blue quilt, a dresser, and a closet with more space than I needed.

The bathroom had a walk-in shower, a deep sink, and neatly folded towels stacked on open shelves.

There was even a small laundry room.

I stood in the hallway, trying to understand how I’d gone from worrying about whether I could afford groceries next month to being offered a beautiful furnished house in the middle of the Montana countryside.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.

Caroline touched my arm.

“You don’t need to say anything.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No, really.” I turned toward her. “I know you and Dad have been friends forever, and I know you’re trying to help, but this is a lot. I don’t want you to think I don’t understand that.”

She studied me for a moment.

“Emerson, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Your father called Jack because he knew you were looking for work. He didn’t ask us to give you a handout. He asked whether we knew of any opportunities.”

I swallowed.

“Okay.”

“And the truth is, we’ve needed help around here for a while. Graham has more on his plate than he should, Megan’s been handling enough paperwork for three people, and coordinating animal care takes time away from other responsibilities.”

She paused.

“I offered you the job because I believe you can do it.”

I looked down at my hands.

“Thank you.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t have things to learn. Ranch work is different from clinic work. But you already know that, and I think you’ll be just fine.”

I nodded.

She smiled again.

“Now, let’s go over a few things.”

We spent the next twenty minutes walking through the house.

Caroline showed me how to adjust the thermostat, where to find extra linens, and which cabinet held the spare batteries.

She explained that the guesthouse had its own internet connection, although service could be unreliable during storms.

There was a small grocery store in Aspen Ridge, along with a diner, a hardware store, and a handful of other businesses. For anything more substantial, I’d probably want to make a trip into one of the larger towns.

“The clinic in Aspen Ridge is excellent,” she told me. “Dr. Foster has been looking after our animals for years.”

“I know someone who works there, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Tessa Morgan. We worked together briefly before she moved.”

Caroline brightened.

“Of course. Tessa’s lovely. You’ll have to let her know you’re here.”

“I already promised I would.”

“Good. It’s always nice to have a friend nearby.”

She showed me a printed sheet on the refrigerator with important phone numbers, including the ranch office, Graham’s number, and the veterinary clinic.

“Beau will go over the work details tomorrow,” she said. “Graham will be your main point of contact for daily assignments. And Megan can help with any paperwork you need.”

I nodded.

“That sounds good.”

“Your usual schedule will be weekdays, but ranch work isn’t always predictable. If there’s an emergency, someone may ask whether you’re available to help. We’ll make sure you’re paid for any additional hours.”

“I understand.”

“And I don’t expect you to spend your evenings working just because you’re living here.”

I looked at her.

She smiled knowingly.

“People sometimes have trouble remembering that when they live where they work.”

I thought about Beau.

Something told me he was one of those people.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Caroline checked her watch.

“I should let you unpack. Jack will want to say hello when he gets back this evening, but there’s no rush. You’ve had a long drive.”

“Thank you.”

“And Emerson?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitated.

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

I shook my head.

“It’s okay.”

“It wasn’t the welcome I wanted you to have.”

“I know.”

She looked toward the front windows.

“Beau’s a good man. Sometimes he forgets that not every problem needs to be solved the minute it appears.”

I smiled faintly.

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” she said, with the kind of affectionate resignation that could only come from raising someone for thirty-two years.

Then she hugged me again.

“Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

I walked her to the door and watched her drive away.

When her SUV disappeared around the bend, I closed the door and stood in the quiet living room.

For the first time all day, I was alone.

I looked around.

At the sofa.

The flowers.

The sunlight falling across the floor.

The little kitchen where I would make coffee tomorrow morning before reporting to work.

A strange tightness gathered in my throat.

I’d spent the last few weeks trying to stay positive.

I’d told my parents I was fine.

I’d told Tessa that everything would work out.

I’d told myself that losing one job didn’t mean I’d failed at building a life.

And I’d meant those things.

Mostly.

But standing in that guesthouse, with an actual job waiting for me the next morning and somewhere safe to sleep tonight, I realized how frightened I’d been.

Not frightened of Montana.

Not frightened of starting over.

Frightened that I wouldn’t be able to.

I crossed the room and set my purse on the kitchen counter.

Then I took out my phone.

I had two bars of service now.

Progress.

I called my mother.

She answered on the second ring.

“Emerson?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I was just about to call you.”

I smiled.

“I made it.”

“How is everything?”

I looked around the kitchen.

“Beautiful.”

“Really?”

“Mom, the guesthouse is nicer than my apartment.”

“Well, that’s wonderful.”

“And the ranch is enormous. I mean, I knew they had a lot of land, but I had no idea how big the operation actually was.”

“Your father said Jack’s family has been building it for generations.”

“Yeah. You can tell.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“Are you happy?”

The question caught me off guard.

I looked toward the living room.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Did something happen?”

I considered telling her about Beau.

About the awkward introduction and the fact that he hadn’t known I was coming.

But I could already imagine the conversation that would follow.

My mother would worry.

She’d ask whether I felt welcome.

She’d offer to call Caroline.

And I didn’t need anyone making this situation more complicated.

“Nothing bad,” I said. “I just got a little lost when I arrived.”

“Lost?”

“Briefly.”

“Emerson.”

“Mom, I’m fine. I found the place.”

She sighed.

“Well, make sure you get some rest tonight.”

“I will.”

“And eat something.”

“I will.”

“And check the locks.”

I laughed.

“I promise.”

We talked for a few more minutes.

She told me Dad was planning to call Jack later in the week and reminded me that I could come home whenever I wanted.

I thanked her.

Then I ended the call before my emotions could get the better of me.

I spent the next hour carrying boxes inside.

By the time I’d brought in my suitcases, unpacked my toiletries, and found a place for my clothes, the bedroom had begun to feel a little less temporary.

I set a framed photograph of my parents and me on the dresser.

Beside it, I placed the small ceramic horse my grandmother had given me when I was a child.

It had been sitting on my bookshelf for years.

I wasn’t sure why I’d packed it.

But seeing it there made the room feel more familiar.

In the kitchen, I unpacked my favorite coffee mug and put it in the cabinet beside the sink.

Then I found my laptop, plugged in my phone charger, and folded the empty cardboard boxes into a stack near the laundry room.

When I finally stopped moving, the house was quiet again.

I checked the time.

Almost five.

I’d been so busy unpacking that I hadn’t noticed how quickly the afternoon had passed.

I opened the refrigerator.

Caroline had stocked it.

There were eggs, milk, fruit, sandwich supplies, and a covered dish with a handwritten note taped to the lid.

Chicken salad. Help yourself. — Caroline

I smiled.

I was going to like that woman.

I made myself a sandwich and ate at the small kitchen table while looking through the information she’d left.

The employment agreement was exactly as we’d discussed.

Three months.

A set hourly rate.

Housing included.

Animal health records, appointment coordination, supply tracking, and assistance with routine care under the direction of experienced ranch staff and the veterinarian.

I read through the responsibilities again.

None of it seemed unreasonable.

Some things would be new, certainly.

I’d never worked on a cattle operation this size.

But I knew how to keep medical records organized. I knew how to handle medication logs, follow care instructions, recognize when an animal needed professional attention, and communicate with veterinarians.

I wasn’t coming here pretending to know everything.

I was coming here willing to learn.

That had to count for something.

After eating, I washed my plate and stepped outside.

The air had cooled slightly, carrying the scent of grass, damp earth, and something faintly sweet from the flowers planted beside the porch.

I leaned against the railing and looked across the property.

From here, I could see a narrow stretch of pasture beyond the trees.

Two horses grazed near the fence.

Farther away, the roofs of the working barns were visible above the cottonwoods.

The ranch was still busy.

A truck moved slowly along one of the distant roads, trailing a thin cloud of dust.

I watched it until it disappeared behind a stand of trees.

Then I looked toward the neighboring house.

Beau’s house.

The dark pickup I’d noticed earlier was still parked outside.

I wondered whether he’d gone home for the evening or whether it had been sitting there all day while he worked somewhere else on the property.

I wondered what he’d said to Caroline after I’d left.

And I wondered whether tomorrow morning would be as uncomfortable as today.

I didn’t know Beau Hawthorne.

Not really.

I’d met him once years ago, and today we’d exchanged perhaps ten minutes of conversation before his mother arrived.

That wasn’t enough to decide what kind of man he was.

But I knew he cared about this place.

I’d seen it in the way he’d watched the loading yard, in how quickly he’d moved me out of the trailer’s path, and in the obvious frustration he’d felt when he learned a staffing decision had been made without him.

He was responsible for a great deal.

I could respect that.

I just hoped he would eventually respect what I had to offer.

I rested my forearms on the railing.

For the first time since losing my job, I had somewhere I needed to be in the morning.

There was a schedule waiting for me.

Work to learn.

People to meet.

A chance to earn money and begin figuring out what came next.

I wasn’t going to waste it worrying about whether I’d made a good first impression on a man who hadn’t known I was coming.

Beau Hawthorne had every right to be frustrated with his mother.

He had every right to expect the people working on his family’s ranch to be capable and dependable.

And I had every intention of being both.

Whatever Beau Hawthorne thought of me, I intended to give him every reason to trust me with the work I’d been hired to do.