Page 10 of Wrangled Love

He swivels his head. “What’d you say, city slicker? My hearing ain’t as good as it used to be.”

“Said you’ve got catlike reflexes. I’m impressed.” No harm in letting him think I mean it.

Earl grins. “All those years of dodging potholes and raccoons have paid off.”

“Looks that way,” I say, tightening my grip around Caleb.

I sigh in relief as we pass the welcome sign to the ranch. It’s the only place that’s ever felt like home. As soon as the taxi pulls up to the cottage, I help Caleb out before grabbing his booster seat.

Earl’s already unloading our luggage and stacking it on the porch. “Remember, cash only,” he reminds me.

It figures he’s holding on to the old-school way of doing things. I take out a hundred-dollar bill and hand it to him when he finishes with the bags.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say.

Earl stuffs the bill into his front pocket, not bothering to ask if I want change.

“Mighty kind of you, city slicker.” He takes out a crumpled business card and hands it to me. “Call me the next time you need a lift, you hear?”

“Sure.” I slip the card into my pocket.

Right after I get a root canal and volunteer for a wasp nest removal with my bare hands.

Thank god Heath’s loaning me one of his trucks for the summer so I don’t have to ride with Earl again. His heart is in the right place, but the same can’t be said for his lane position.

I watch him hop into the driver seat, his car rattling when he turns it on. As he drives away, he lives up to his reputation, clipping a fence post on his way out.

It’s a miracle we made it here in one piece.

Caleb and I are left alone on the front porch. He stands behind me, holding his dinosaur to his chest as he takes in his surroundings. Silver Saddle Ranch is a world away from the suburbs of Chicago and my penthouse overlooking Central Park. I take a deep breath, hoping I did the right thing by bringing him here.

Taking a step forward, I knock on the door, frowning when there’s no answer. I check my watch, noting it’s a quarter past one. Heath said Briar spends her mornings handling cabin maintenance, and I wonder if she’s behind schedule today. After knocking again, I jiggle the knob and find it’s unlocked.

I stick my head inside. “Hello? Anyone home?” I’m only met with silence.

I glance down at Caleb with a smile. “Why don’t we go inside and look around?”

He stares at me, blinking slowly, his expression unreadable. I exhale and hold the door open, motioning for him to follow me into the house before closing it behind us.

Becoming a father overnight has been a shock to the system. The constant disconnect with Caleb has me questioning if I’m failing him as a dad. But when I look at him, I remember I’m all he has, and giving up isn’t an option.

When we step inside, I take a look around. The space looks like a snapshot of the nineties. Pastel wallpaper lines the entryway walls, and vinyl tiles cover the floor. There’s even popcorn texture on the ceiling.

I glance into the living room off to the right, which is similarly styled. The walls are a faded beige, and a worn floral-patterned couch is positioned in front of a circular coffee table. A built-in curio cabinet against the far wall displays a mismatched collection of teacups.

The place hasn’t changed one bit since the last time I saw it. Julie and Samuel lived here briefly after they got married but quickly outgrew it. Since then, several ranch hands lived here untila few years ago, when Briar moved in. Julie told me Briar has plans to fix it up, but it doesn’t look like she’s made much progress.

When I enter the kitchen, the linoleum floor creaks and the scent of pancakes and cinnamon lingers. The faded yellow wallpaper is covered with decorative plaques with sayings like “Farm Fresh Eggs” and “Rise and Shine.” A bulky white oven with worn dials sits against the far wall, and an ancient fridge leans slightly to one side, propped up by a folded piece of cardboard under one foot. A rooster-shaped clock ticks away on the wall, its tail feathers forming the pendulum.

I’m definitely not in New York anymore.

Despite the downstairs being outdated, it’s spotless. No dishes are in the sink, the counters have been wiped down, and the floors are impressively clean, which is remarkable, considering we’re on a ranch, and dust has a habit of tracking into the house. I spent enough time at the Halsteads’ ranch house to learn that the hard way.

Caleb and I are still in the kitchen when I hear the front door open, followed by hurried footsteps in our direction. Briar rounds the corner, panting as if she sprinted the whole way. She rushes past us to the sink, her back turned, so I don’t get a good look at her.

“Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,” she says over her shoulder, her voice slightly muffled. “One of the cabins had a clogged drain, and of course, it had to be the one with a couple who had nothing better to do than supervise. The husband, Carl, must’ve asked a dozen times if I knew what I was doing—bold of him, considering it was his brilliant idea to pour baking soda and vinegar down the pipes.” She dries her hands on a towel covered in cartoon chickens.

“I wasn’t expecting you to…” I trail off when Briar turns around, and I finally get a good look at her.

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