She names a figure that’s more than fair, especially considering room and board are included. “That works for me,” I say. “I have two weeks off.”
“Great.” She extends her hand. “So we have a deal?”
I shake her hand, noting how small it feels in mine, how her grip is firm despite her obvious nervousness. “We have a deal. When do I start?”
“Tomorrow morning, if that works? I assume you’ll need to pack…”
“Tomorrow’s good.” I’m glad I already got things cleared with Chief Brokka. “Looking forward to working with you, Sunshine.”
Her body stiffens, and her lips flatten. She tries to hide it, but she might as well be wearing a neon sign that says, “Step back and never say that again.”
The shift is so sudden and complete that I know I’ve hit something big. Whatever story is behind that reaction, it’s carved deep enough to override the connection I was sure we’d both been feeling.
I make a mental note to be more careful with my words around her. Whatever trust I’d been building just took a hit, and I’m going to have to earn it back.
As we stride back toward my truck, I catch myself watching the way she moves, the way she subconsciously checks on the animals as we pass. Whatever brought me up this mountain, I’ve got a feeling this Christmas is going to be anything but ordinary.
And despite the way she’d pulled back at that one word, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe I’m not the only one who felt that spark.
Chapter Five
Laney
It’s two days after Ryder brought his duffle, and I’m starting to understand what efficiency actually looks like.
I stumble out of my bedroom at six-thirty, hair doing its best impression of a bird’s nest, expecting to face the usual morning chaos. Instead, I discover all the outdoor animals have already been fed, watered, and checked on. The scent of coffee drifts from the kitchen, and I find a full pot waiting along with a note scrawled in careful handwriting:Didn’t want to wake you. Coffee’s fresh. - R
It’s thoughtful, and after three years of handling everything alone—from spider removal to truck maintenance to that one memorable incident involving a raccoon family in my attic—having someone think ahead feels… nice. Though I’m careful notto read too much into it. He’s doing his job, being considerate of his employer. That’s all.
Through the kitchen window, I can see him in the yard, apparently in the middle of some sort of standoff with Napoleon. The rooster has his chest puffed out, head cocked in challenge, while Ryder stands perfectly still, hands on his hips, staring back with the same expression I imagine he uses on difficult firefighters.
I pour myself coffee, add cream and sugar, and settle in to watch the show.
The stare-down goes on for a full minute before Napoleon lets out a single, grudging crow and stalks away with as much dignity as an annoyed rooster can muster.
The side door opens a few minutes later, and Ryder steps inside, bringing the scent of crisp morning air. Underneath it lingers something distinctly him—woodsmoke, soap, and that faint warmth that seems to cling to his skin no matter how cold it is outside. It’s the kind of scent that makes my pulse stumble before I can remind myself he’s just an employee who is being polite.
“Morning,” he says, wiping his boots carefully on the mat. “Hope the coffee’s okay.”
“It’s perfect, thanks.” I gesture toward the window. “Looked like you and Napoleon were having a moment.”
“Final negotiations. He’s decided I’m acceptable flock material.” Ryder moves to the sink to wash his hands. “Not a threat to his authority, but not entirely beneath his notice either.”
“High praise from Napoleon. From what his owner told me, he usually barely tolerates new people.”
“Animals test boundaries until they understand the hierarchy. Once that’s settled, everyone’s more comfortable.”
I’m struck by how he talks about animals—not like problems to be managed, but like individuals with their own logic and motivations. It’s the kind of understanding that comes from experience, not just textbook knowledge.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, drying his hands.
“Better since you’ve been here. Having a backup means I’m not lying awake wondering if I forgot something important.”
“Good.” He leans against the counter, maintaining a respectful distance. “Duchess was restless around five. I checked on her—just looked, didn’t disturb her setup. She’s showing some nesting behavior.”
I set down my mug, immediately alert. “What kind of nesting behavior?”
“Rearranging her blankets more than usual, circling her space, getting particular about where things are positioned. In my experience, it can mean labor’s approaching.”
