Page 6 of Lost in the Reins

I grunt in response, not trusting myself to say anything more. It’s not like I had much of a choice. When I’d agreed to this arrangement, it had felt like nothing more than a desperate solution to an even more desperate problem.

Now, with her standing here in the middle of my family’s cabin, it feels a whole lot more personal than it did over the phone. I shift my weight, the wood floor creaking under my boots. She doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, she looks calm—too calm, like she’s already figured out how to handle whatever mess she’s walked into.

Before I can dwell on it, there’s a loud clatter from upstairs, followed by Emma’s unmistakable voice calling out, “Uncle Wes! The cat knocked over the lamp, but it’s not broken! Mostly!”

I close my eyes and sigh. “Mostly,” I mutter under my breath. “Excuse me for a minute.”

I head for the stairs, but before I can make it halfway, Emma appears at the top, clutching a slightly bent lampshade. Her face lights up when she spots Paisley. “Do you write books about cats? Because our cat is kind of a menace, but he’s also really cute, so maybe he could be in a book.”

Paisley laughs. “I’ve never written about cats, but I’m all about switching things up at the moment. What’s his name?”

Emma holds up the lampshade like it’s a trophy. “His name’s Trouble.”

“Trouble,” Paisley repeats, a smile tugging at her lips. “Sounds very fitting.”

I can tell Paisley is already charmed by my niece’s wild antics. Figures. Emma’s got a way of winning people over, even when she’s hauling around a bent lampshade and a kitten that’s caused more trouble in two days than I care to recount.

“Trouble is my mom’s cat.”

Her comment gives me pause. “He’s not her cat,” I correct, my voice gruff. “Your mom didn’t even know him.”

Emma frowns, defiant. “She would’ve liked him, though. Mom always said cats are smart. They can tell when you’re sad. Trouble’s smart like that. He sleeps on my bed when I miss her.”

The knot in my chest tightens, the one that always shows up when she talks about her mom like this. I rub the back of my neck, avoiding Paisley’s gaze as she stands silently a few steps behind me, like she’s stepped into a family scene she’s got no right to witness.

“Well,” I finally say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be, “if Trouble’s so smart, maybe he’ll figure out how to stay out of my way in the morning. I’m tired of stepping on his tail.”

Emma doesn’t take the bait. She just hugs the kitten tighter and steps back into her room, muttering something to Trouble about how “some people just don’t get it.”

I glance over my shoulder at Paisley, half expecting her to make some comment, but she doesn’t. She just stands there, watching Emma’s door close with a look I can’t quite place.

“Let’s get you to your room,” I say, jerking my chin toward the hall. “Before the cat tears up something else.”

She doesn’t move right away, still looking at the spot where Emma stood. “She’s got a good heart.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, already heading toward the guest room. “She gets that from her mom.”

Paisley follows me without another word, her heels clicking softly on the wood. When we reach the end of the hall, I push the door open and step aside. “Here. Bed, dresser, door that shuts. Hope you didn’t expect anything fancy.”

She steps inside, her gaze sweeping the room, but her expression stays neutral. “It’ll do.”

Colt appears in the doorway, clearing his throat. "I've got to head out. Those fence posts in the north pasture won't fix themselves." He looks at Paisley, his expression softening. "Welcome to Whispering Pines. Don't let my brother scare you off."

"Not likely," she says, and there's something in her tone that makes me want to argue, even though she hasn't really said anything worth arguing about.

I wait until Colt's boots have retreated down the stairs before speaking. "Breakfast is at five." When she blanches, I almost smile. Almost. "Five-thirty if you're running late. Coffee's ready by four-thirty."

"Four-thirty?" She looks like I've just suggested she wrestle a grizzly. "In the morning?"

"Ranch doesn't run itself." I cross my arms, leaning against the doorframe. "And since you're here to learn about authentic ranch life..."

"Right." She nods, squaring her shoulders like she's preparing for battle. "Authentic. That means early mornings and..." She glances down at her outfit. "Probably not these shoes."

"Probably not," I agree. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant sound of Emma talking to that darn cat. Finally, I push off the doorframe. "I'll let you get settled."

"Wait." Her voice stops me halfway through turning. "About Emma... I'm sorry if I overstepped. With the cat thing."

I study her for a long moment. There's genuine concern in her expression, not just the polite kind city folks usually offer. "You didn't," I say finally. "Emma's got her own way of... processing things. The cats help, I guess."

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