Page 16 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

Maeve’s all twisted up over why Wade won’t give her the time of day, and honestly, it bugs me. Why should it matter so much? Then I remind myself—he’s her boss. Everyone wants to be liked by their boss, right? And Maeve’s dead set on making everyone like her. Easy enough for most folk ’round here, but it’s hard to explain to her that she isn’t the problem, he is.

“They’ll come around eventually, Maeve. Don’t sweat it,” I say, even though I’m not sure I believe it. Still, kinder to let her think there’s hope.

“C’mon, let’s hit the calving pen. Bet those pregnant heifers are dying for their feed.”

She drops the rake and meets me at the barn doors. I only notice how much I am grinning when my cheeks start to ache. And then, without thinking, I catch her wrist. “Come here, for God’s sake.”

She turns, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

I reach up and start picking the hay out of her hair. “There ya go.”

She laughs, cheeks flushing pink. “Thanks. Guess I’m a messy ranch hand.”

We exit the barn and head to the next job. I tell Maeve about the time I tried to ride old Buster, the crankiest mule on the ranch, which resulted in me being bucked clean in the air. I landed in a fresh pile of cow dung with Gramps standing over me, laughing and saying, “shoulda listened to this old man,” ’cause he did, in fact, warn me not to.

Maeve’s hand lands on my shoulder, her other clutching her stomach as she laughs so hard it sounds like she might burst. I grin, trying not to laugh too, but hell, it’s hard when she’s like this.

That’s when I spot Wade.

He’s lingering near the paddock outside the barn—the one where we teach the beginners and children how to ride. His eyes aren’t on me. They’re on Maeve. And it’s not the first time I’ve caught him close by lately. Usually, I wouldn’t see him until dinner time. Now he’s hovering often within earshot.

What’s he playing at? Watching over us to micromanage? Waiting for the smallest fuck-up to pull the plug on this whole scheme? It sure feels like it. There is no other reason he would be watching Maeve like a hawk. And it sure as hell ain’t because he likes the girl—he’s made that abundantly clear to everyone. Even Mrs. Mae gave him a proper earful for the way he talks to her. Not that it made a difference.

“Afternoon, Wade. Everything ok?” I call out, making sure he knows I clocked him.

Maeve instantly quiets. Her posture straightens; head tilted towards him with practiced civility. But her glare is a quiet challenge, like she has also noticed that he has been keeping close tabs on her.

“With all that laughing, I’m gonna assume the damn jobs are actually done,” he sneers, tone as dry as the Sahara Desert.

Before I can say a word, Maeve fires back, “On to the next one now, Boss. We’re just over here getting along and enjoying ourselves while getting the job done.” There’s a pause and a slight change in volume as she gets closer to him. “I guess that’s not something everyone’s familiar with.”

With a little swing of her hip, she strides right past him, leaving Wade momentarily speechless.

“She has the grit,” I remark, echoing his words from when we first started looking for candidates.

Wade doesn’t answer. He just scoops the pile of saddles by his feet and hauls them over to the rack by the barn.

My legs double their effort to catch up to Maeve. For someone with such short legs, she moves bloody fast. By the time I reach her, she’s already elbow deep in feed prep. Silent, brows furrowed, laser-focused on the task at hand.

I stop, watching for a moment, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Wade’s presence has a way of flipping the mood on its back. He sucks the life out of everything he’s around, but I won’t let him when it comes to Maeve. She’s the first good thing that has happened to the ranch in God knows how long.

I just want to fix what Wade’s done to Maeve. To get that smile I’ve come to love back where it belongs. I never want to see her upset, especially over him. And I really hate that I care as much as I do… It leaves me vulnerable.

But at the moment, that doesn’t matter. What matters is making sure Wade does not chase Maeve off the ranch and back to London. So, I rack my brain on how to make this better.

We haven’t spent time together outside of work or the usual staff dinners. Maybe that’s what she needs. A change of scenery. No chores. No energy-sucking leech looming over us. Just me, her... and maybe a stiff drink?

Does she even drink? I’ve only ever seen her with coffee or water. Fuck, why am I overthinking this? Just fucking ask her, you idiot.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I blurt, “Maeve, don’t suppose you wanna chill after dinner? You know, hang out. As friends,” I add that of, trying not to sound too keen. “Maybe grab a drink? No pressure if not, just thought you know it’d be… nice.”

What the hell was that ramble? Jesus Christ.

Maeve pauses what she’s doing, then steps towards me, placing a hand on each of my arms like she’s trying to steady me. She looks at me, really looks at me. And then, she flashes a soft smile, the kind that says that she noted my nerves.

“Colt, chill,” she says, with a laugh. “Of course I'd love to hang out. You're a pretty cool dude. I reckon it'll be a laugh. But just to be abso-fucking-lutely clear, I refuse to drink wine. Nobody likes Wine Drunk Maeve. She's feral.”

I blink, head tilting. “Feral how?”