Here, I couldn't stop thinking about that cabin.
I'd barely slept, my mind replaying the moment over and over. The way the light had caught the windows. The careful craftsmanship in every log, every joint. The swing hanging from the oak tree, waiting for children who would never play there. Wyatt had built our dreams out of wood and stone, and then had to live with the empty monument to what we'd planned.
The thought made my chest ache. Imagining him alone in those rooms we'd designed together, drinking coffee on the porch we'd talked about, sleeping in a bed meant for two.
Or worse. What if he lived there with someone? A nice, sweet girl who hadn’t run out on him. Who made his dreams a reality. Someone who fit in with this family better than I ever had. Someone who loved him better than I ever did, even if it had been with every piece of my heart.
The thought forced me out of bed, into the shower, into clothes that were still too nice for ranch work despite being my most casual. I needed to get to town soon and buy some proper work clothes. But not today. Today was too raw, too fragile. Today I needed to focus on work and not on the way my name had sounded in Wyatt's mouth yesterday—like a prayer and a curse all at once.
The main house was already bustling when I arrived for breakfast. I'd tried to skip it, but Louisa had made it clear that breakfast was mandatory. "We're feeding you properly while you're here," she'd said in that tone that brooked no argument. "No more of this city nonsense of coffee and anxiety for breakfast."
I could hear them all inside as I climbed the porch steps. Owen's rumbling voice reading something aloud from the paper. The sizzle of bacon in Louisa's cast-iron skillet. Maggie's fingers clicking across her laptop keyboard. The scrape of a chair—probably Clay arriving late as usual.
I paused at the screen door, gathering courage. Then took a breath and walked in.
The conversation stopped like someone had hit a switch.
Owen looked up from his paper, his weathered face neutral but kind. Louisa turned from the stove with a spatula in hand and a smile that was trying too hard. Maggie's fingers froze over her keyboard, her dark eyes assessing. Clay paused mid-reach for the coffee pot, his usual grin faltering.
And Wyatt.
He sat at the far end of the table, coffee mug gripped like a weapon, shoulders tense beneath his work shirt. He didn't look up, but I saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his knuckles went white around the ceramic. He was drinking his coffee like armor, like if he just focused on that dark liquid, he could pretend I wasn't there.
"Morning, sweetheart," Louisa said, her warmth covering the awkward silence like a blanket. "Sit. Pancakes are almost ready."
I took the only empty chair, which happened to be directly across from Wyatt. Because of course it was. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
"Sleep well?" Owen asked, folding his paper with deliberate care.
"Fine, thank you." The lie came easily. I'd had years of practice pretending everything was fine.
"Good, good." He cleared his throat. "Supposed to be another hot one today. You'll want to get your barn work done early."
"Already planned on it."
Louisa set a plate in front of me—pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, enough food for three people. "You're too thin," she said, as if that explained everything.
"Mama thinks everyone's too thin," Clay said, finding his voice again. "Last week she told Buster he needed to put on weight, and that man's three hundred pounds if he's an ounce."
"Buster's all muscle," Louisa defended, returning to the stove. "That's different."
The normalcy of their bickering eased something in my chest. This was what I'd missed—not just the big moments but the small ones. The gentle teasing, the casual abundance of food and affection, the way they moved around each other with practiced ease.
"Heard you got the grand tour yesterday," Maggie said, her tone carefully neutral. "See everything you needed?"
My eyes flicked to Wyatt involuntarily. He was staring into his coffee like it held the secrets of the universe.
"Yes," I managed. "The operation is even more impressive than the reports suggested."
"Guess we're startin' early then," Wyatt muttered, standing abruptly. His chair scraped against the floor with a sound like nails on a chalkboard. "Got work to do."
He left without looking at me, taking his coffee and his anger and his hurt with him. The screen door banged shut behind him with a finality that made everyone wince.
"He's not a morning person," Clay said into the awkward silence. "Never has been."
We all knew that was a lie. Wyatt had always been the first one up, the first one ready to face the day. He just wasn't ready to face me.
"Don't mind him," Owen said gruffly. "He'll come around."
