Page 9 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

He just stares at me. Nothing.

I huff. “I’ll take that as a “I don’t give a shit” then.”

Still nothing.

And yet, here I am, opening my mouth again. “Well, fine. But just so you know, the silent treatment won’t scare me off. I have an annoying habit of oversharing during awkward silences. So, buckle up, cowboy. You’re in for an earful.”

Still nothing. Cool.

Rudeness is the fastest way to offset a good-looking face. And honestly, it's a good reminder—pretty faces often come with terrible personalities, at least in my experience. Wade Carter is just the latest exhibit.

Just as I shift my weight away from him, Wade leans across toward me, closing the distance so fast that I freeze. His face is close enough to mine that I can feel the heat of his breath against my already rosy cheeks. I catch the faint scent of cedar and something warm underneath it, and for a split second, my brain goes completely blank.

His eyes find mine and hold there. It feels so intense that neither of us moves for what feels like an eternity. “Reckon' you oughta be the one bucklin' up, angel,” he murmurs, low and unhurried, laced with a Texan drawl.

Then the seatbelt is pulled firmly across me and clicked into place. He leans back without another word.

The engine rumbles to life, and I'm left sitting there, cheeks warm and completely lost for words. Which, given how I was just running my mouth, is definitely not normal for me.

The rest of the drive unfolds in the same tense quiet. I keep my eyes on the window, watching the landscape shift from busy city streets to open country roads dotted with farmland. The sky widens the further from the airport we get, and the heat seems to ease with it. Guess that's what happens without the city pollution.

With every mile that passes, I fight the urge to steal glances at him. But once we pass a rustic hand-painted sign welcoming us into Wildbrook Hollow, I give in. As I do, his gaze flicks over to me, catching me in the act. A muscle ticks in his jaw before his eyes are back on the road.

Naturally, I open my mouth. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

His thumb taps once against the steering wheel. “Not unless there’s something worth saying.”

I smirk despite myself. “Good to know I don't qualify for a full sentence.”

“Didn't say that.”

“Well,” I mutter, tilting my head as the small town edges into view, wildflowers dotting the landscape in little bursts of colour. “I'll take that as a promising sign. Maybe next week we'll crack two.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Don’t hold your breath,” he fires back.

The truck bumps over an uneven surface as we slowly descend a gravel driveway towards a large ranch house, the tyres crunching loudly in the quiet. Whatever I was about to say next dies on my tongue.

The breathtaking scenery is enough to distract me from the boiling frustration my new boss has stirred up.

The ranch house stands in the heart of what seems like endless acres of land. Its weathered wooden beams show signs of age, but they also add to its rustic charm. It has a wide porch wrapping around the front, with flowers neatly planted on either side of its steps. In the distance, cattle roam the fields, you can even hear their bells chiming faintly. Hills rise in the backdrop, dotted with the vibrant colour of wildflowers—bright blues, deep purples, burnt oranges, and soft yellows. They spill across the land that hasn’t yet been touched by the hands of ranch architecture.

I roll down the window, inhaling fresh air tinged with the scent of grass and sweet flowers and mingled with the tang of hay.

The truck rumbles to a stop, gravel settling beneath the wheels. Wade climbs out, the door creaking softly as he closes it He circles around, boots crunching on the driveway, and pulls my door open. In the distance, a bird chirps once and goes quiet.

“Welcome to Meadow Bell Ranch, Maeve.” His voice is flat, his face unreadable. Not a hint of warmth. Before I can manage a polite thank you, he's already striding toward the ranch house with my bags, leaving me and my jittering nerves alone. I step out and stand there for a moment, just breathing it in. The air, the quiet, the sheer openness of everything around me.

I take a deep breath and step out of the truck. As my feet hit the gravel, warmth settles somewhere deep inside me. A quiet feeling tells me I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. This could be the place I’ve been searching for, despite the challenge of dealing with moody cowboys.

Chapter Four

Wade

I stomp into the ranch house, letting the door swing shut behind me. The thud echoes louder than expected, making me flinch. Dammit. I drop Maeve’s bags by the stairs to the right of the entrance with more force than necessary. I rub my calloused hands down my face and roll out my shoulders, still stiff from the long drive..

Colt had offered to do the airport run. Said he’d cancel his therapy appointment. I told him not to. He needs those sessions, I know he does. And whether or not he thinks much of me as a father, I’ll do what I can for him. Even if that means footing the bill for his therapy sessions, tucked into his paycheck each month as “bonuses.”. And now, apparently, playing chauffeur for a new ranch hand I didn’t want here in the first place.

Maeve hasn't come in yet. Probably out there taking in the ranch or collecting herself. Maybe both. The tension during the truck ride was enough to choke on, and most of it was my own doing. She'd threatened to run her mouth the entire journey and then, for the most part, didn't.