"Scots," he added, like that explained everything.
"Yes," I repeated, and my voice softened because this was what Hank did. He kept things grounded. He'd been here since the beginning. Helped build this place, never treated me like a delicate rich girl with a hobby the way the rest of the town did. He treated me like his boss. Sometimes like a niece. Sometimes like a woman he worried about because he'd watched me grind myself into dust to make this place work.
"You got everything ready," he said.
"I'm doing it," I said.
Hank's brows lifted. "Rose, it looks ready."
"It's not ready until I say it's ready."
"Aye," he said, and the word was so wrong in his mouth that I almost smiled.
He cleared his throat. "Got a small issue."
My gut clenched, because "small issue" was what people said right before everything fell apart.
"What," I said flatly.
He held up his keys. "Truck battery's dead."
I stared at him.
"That's… that's it?" I asked, suspicious.
"That's it," he said. "I tried jumping it. No go. I need to run into town for a new one before the guests arrive."
I looked out the window toward the yard, where the ranch truck sat like a stubborn brick.
Of course. Fine. We could handle a dead battery. That was a problem with a solution.
"Take my car," I said, reaching into my pocket for my keys.
Hank's eyes narrowed. "Rose?—"
"Take it," I repeated. "Get the battery. Bring the receipt. I'll deal."
He hesitated like he wanted to argue, then took the keys.
"Trails are checked," he said, giving me one less thing to worry about. "We cleared the fallen branches after the last wind. Everything's good."
I nodded, swallowing my own tension.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
Hank's expression softened. "You'll be fine today."
I didn't answer, because if I said what I actually felt, it would come out like:I'm always fine until I'm not.
Instead I turned back to my checklist and pretended the inside of my head was as organized as the guest mugs.
By noon,I'd done everything twice.
I was halfway through rechecking the linen closet when Kaya appeared in the doorway.
Kaya was not just another employee. She was also one of the few people who could call me out without getting stabbed with a clipboard. Twenty-four and fearless, she had a talent for saying the truth like it was a casual observation about the weather.
"You're spiraling," she said without preamble.
