It’s not exactly warm, but it’s something.
The rest of the journey passes by silently, and the quiet stretches between us like an unspoken truce.
It gives me the opportunity to take in my surroundings, and I let my gaze drift beyond the passenger window.
When I first saw this place listed on the letting’s website, I had fallen for it instantly. A sprawling ranch and animal sanctuary, cradled by towering mountains, with its own campsite for hikers and climbers—what was not to love about that? Now, seeing Mountain View Ranch in person … it’s even more breathtaking than I had imagined.
Outside, the sun sinks lower, spilling amber light across the rolling fields, and casting long, golden shadows that stretch over the land. Some fields remain untouched, like vast canvases waiting for nature’s brushstrokes, while others pulse with quiet life, cattle grazing in slow, rhythmic movements, and horses flicking their tails as they wander near weathered wooden fences.
A cluster of old barns stand in the distance, their beams worn and sun-bleached and closer to the mountains, where the last light grazes the peaks in warm hues. The campsite is barely visible—just a scattering of structures nestled against the wild, untamed landscape. Yet its presence lingers, like a quiet promise of adventure.
Beside me, the man—whose name I suddenly realise I don’t even know—takes a turn onto a narrow dirt track. The road winds upward towards two cottages perched at the top.
He pulls the truck to a stop outside the first one, and my breath catches. It’s exactly as it had appeared in the photos. The rustic stonework, the branches of a climbing plant curling gently along the edges, the way thesunlight casts dappled patterns against the wooden shutters. A slow smile tugs at my lips. This is home.
My grumpy chauffer pushes open the truck door and steps out. I unbuckle my seatbelt and follow, the light air immediately brushing against my skin. My eyes drift toward the two cottages ahead, taking them in; their sturdy, timeworn exteriors stand against the backdrop of open fields and distant peaks. They’re just as picturesque as I had imagined, but the knowledge that one of them is where I will live makes them even more striking.
Circling to the back of the truck, I pause briefly, my gaze flicking toward the neighbouring cottage.
"Who lives next door?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
He pulls open the boot with little care, the movement brisk, impatient.
"That’s where I live."
"Oh …"
The response slips out before I can stop it, not in surprise, exactly, but as if I hadn’t quite prepared for that answer.
He lets out a breath and then nods toward the suitcases.
"You want help with these? Or are you going to insist you can manage only to wrestle with them again?"
He looks at me one eyebrow raised, and I swear the corner of his mouth twitches. Maybe he’s not quite as grumpy as he pretends to be.
I narrow my eyes at him, aiming for reluctant amusement but probably showing some of my annoyance too. "You can help," I concede, if only to avoid the inevitable struggle he’d clearly be waiting to enjoy watching. "Thanks."
He doesn’t reply, just nods and takes hold of both cases, one in each hand, and hauls them out with effortless ease. His strength is evident, but there’s no showmanship, just efficiency, as if he’s eager to be done with this. I hesitate for a beat before falling into step behind him towards the cottage.
"So," I say, my tone light in an attempt to ease the tension, "Since we’re going to be neighbours, it might help if I knew your name?"
"Ford," he answers. A brief pause, then: "… but you probably won’t see much of me."
I blink at his quick dismissal, tilting my head slightly.
"Why’s that?"
He shifts the weight of my bags in his grip.
"I work, Sunshine … keeps me busy."
Sunshine. That name again. I don’t like it. There’s no warmth in it, no teasing edge, just something vague and dismissive, as if he couldn’t be bothered to remember my name.
Why he’s decided to refer to me this way, I have no idea. But it bothers me more than it should.
I nod, adjusting the strap of the bag across my shoulder. "What if I have any issues with the cottage?"
He puts down the cases at the door.
