I climbed out of the truck just in time to see her kick the tire and mutter something I was too far away to catch. Probably a string of words that’d make old Mrs. Jenkins down at the general store blush.
“City girl?” I asked, squinting.
“Car trouble,” she snapped, arms crossed like I’d personally summoned the radiator leak.
It figured. The first real snow of the season and she shows up in a car held together with willpower and duct tape.
By the time we had her suitcase loaded and her car strapped to the back, I was already itching to get back to the ranch. Not because of her, exactly. Because of what she meant. She was the new owner. On paper, anyway. And her arrival meant one more reminder that the man who raised me—who trusted me withevery corner of that ranch—was gone. And a part of me went with him.
We didn’t speak much on the drive, which suited me fine. I had too much swirling in my head anyway. Between the biting cold, the late feed delivery, and the bank breathing down our necks, I didn’t need another complication.
But she didn’t seem like the complication type—not right away. She stared out the window like she was trying to memorize the land, her gaze sweeping over the skeletal trees and frozen pastures. Her fingers occasionally brushed Duke’s head, and he didn’t growl, so that was something.
“You always glare at newcomers, or is that just for me?” she asked once, her voice quiet, teasing.
I didn’t answer. Not because I was trying to be rude. I just didn’t know how to tell her I’d been bracing for this since the day her grandfather died.
We drove past the eastern pasture where the fence had given way last week. I made a mental note to fix it—again. Maybe with repurposed wood from the shed. If the snow didn’t cave the roof in first. Every creak, every sag, every missing shingle was a wound I felt in my own bones.
When we finally pulled up to the ranch, she sat forward, craning to see out the window.
“This is it?” she asked.
I nodded. “Starcrest Ranch.”
She opened the door and stepped out slowly, as if the snow might swallow her whole.
“Looks like a postcard,” she said.
I followed her gaze. The place did look good in the snow. Clean. Peaceful. Like it wasn’t crumbling at the edges.
But I knew better. The front gate needed replacing. Half the barn roof was patched with a tarp. The furnace worked when it felt like it. And that was just the beginning of the bleeding.
I should’ve warned her. Should’ve told her the truth before she’d ever stepped foot in Montana. But part of me had hoped she’d take one look at the house, see the work needed, and head back to wherever she came from. Sell it. Let me figure out the rest.
Instead, she’d marched in, set down her bag, and claimed ownership like she was staking a flag.
Now, I stood outside in the cold, watching the light from the kitchen flicker to life. The bitter wind whipped around me, a stark contrast to the small warmth beginning to glow inside.
Duke barked once, then lay down at my feet.
“She doesn’t belong here,” I said under my breath.
Duke’s ears twitched but he didn’t argue.
Still, there was something about the way she looked around—like she was trying to match the pieces of this place to something she used to know. Maybe a memory of her mother. Maybe nothing at all.
I walked back to the barn to check on the generator and found Sheriff Harris already waiting in his cruiser by the gates.
“Evening,” he said, stepping out and pulling his coat tighter against the biting air. “Heard the Henderson girl arrived.”
“She’s here,” I replied.
“She staying long?”
I shrugged. “Too early to say.”
He studied me for a second, his breath misting. “You tell her about the bank yet?”
