Page 4 of Love Wells Kept

“Come say goodbye before you head out?”

“I’d never go anywhere without saying goodbye first, Kit.”

Kate

Between calculated sips of tea and mouse-like nibbles of scone, I stave off the nausea gurgling low in my throat. Though it’s bright enough to have everyone at the table squinting slightly, the window frost is so thick I can’t feel the warmth of the sunrays despite the way they cloak me.

One by one, ranch hands grab their bagged lunches, fill dented travel mugs with coffee—one of the first things I had an aversion to, hence the tea—and wearily heckle each other in the large kitchen.

In the middle of a strategic slow trickle of tea down my throat, I glance over the rim of my mug in time to watch Rhett pick his nose and wipe it on Odessa’s forearm, which is swiftly followed up by an attempted spoon-stabbing in retaliation. If it were a knife, or maybe even a fork, I’d intervene. This morning I’m too exhausted, and the last thing I want to deal with is the two of them arguing, so I pretend not to notice.

“Mom-uh.”

I loathe the additional syllable Odessa’s started adding to the ends of words when she’s annoyed.

So much for me not getting involved.

Odessa whines while wiping her brother’s snot off on his shirt. “He’s being disgusting.”

Rhett’s unfazed. He’s focused solely on driving a salt grinder around the table like it’s a truck.

I set my mug down with an exhale. “Odessa, why don’t you go down to the barn and help your dad so you two can get on the road sooner?”

Her lips purse. “Does that earn me more money toward the horse I’m gonna buy?”

“It earns you grace for trying to stab your brother, so you don’t have to sit in your room grounded for the rest of spring break.”

“But he started—”

I tilt my head, giving her the look. The one that means I’m not fucking around. The one that all of our ranch hands know not to argue with. The one that’s landed me in a fight or two with women who didn’t understand when to quit running their mouth.

The chair makes a grating nose as Odessa pushes back from the table, rolling her eyes. “Fine-uh.”

In socked feet, she tromps across the floor, clearly doing her best to cause a scene. Though nobody notices, since there’s still half a dozen cowboys lingering around the island, scarfing down scones and coffee before they start their day. They should consider themselves lucky that Austin, the eldest Wells brother, isn’t here yet. He doesn’t exactly appreciate dillydallying.

The scone and tea seem to be sitting fine, so I leave Rhett to happily play pretend at the table and begin cleaning up the mess my hurricane-force family left behind.

It’s merely the start of a long day around here. Baking homemade bread for sandwiches, driving an hour and a half away to Sheridan—the closest small city with large enough grocery stores to feed our entire crew—then assembling tomorrow’s bagged lunches for twenty cowboys. Not to mention, the bunkhouses we have on site for the guys need to be cleaned. And to think I used to do it all myself.

Though the number of “ranch wives” has increased exponentially in the last few years, the work seems never ending. Maybe it’s because of all the extra kids. Though Denny and his wife, Blair, live in the town of Wells Canyon now, she’s here with their toddler almost daily. Blair’s best friend, Cassidy, married our ranch foreman, Red, and because she runs her own leatherworking business, she has the flexibility to be here as often as she wants. Austin’s wife, Cecily, works in the kitchen full time with Beryl…at least, she will until she gives birth in a few months.

It’s truly a family-run ranch in every sense of the word. Fresh out of my care-aide program in college, I moved here to provide hospice care to the Wells family matriarch, Lucy. And from the moment I stepped foot on this property, I knew it was someplace special. A place I’d never want to leave.

Not only because of the stunning sunsets that cloak the valley in a golden glow, or the crisp mountain air, or even the overwhelming feeling of being away from it all. The Wells family took me in and filled my life with so much joy, even as they were losing the source of theirs.

And it just so happened that Lucy’s middle son, Jackson, was my soulmate. We fell in love sitting in this very kitchen, talking for hours over chamomile tea when neither of us could sleep. Somehow it seems fitting that Lucy was my one and only patient, because no other job placement would’ve felt right after that.

I stare down at the suds gathered in my hands, realizing I apparently zoned out in the middle of washing up. Who knows how long I’ve been standing here, water at full blast into the farmhouse-style sink, slippery hands wringing together. After a quick rinse, I shut the tap off and head to the pantry.

Bread time.

I could make sandwich loaves with my eyes closed. And on a day like today, that sounds lovely. Get some rest and be productive.

“You look a little pale, honey.” Beryl wipes a damp cloth over the countertop, collecting stray crumbs the cowboys left in their wake. “Still sick?”

I shake my head, reaching behind me to tie the ivory apron strings in a neat bow at the small of my back. “Just need a couple good nights to get back to one hundred percent.”

“Well, good thing it’s only you and Rhett tonight. Make sure you get to bed the same time he does.”