Page 12 of Oops, I Fell For The Ranch Hand Next Door

“Jessie.”

She stops, looking back over her shoulder.

I pick up the piece of wood she’d been carving and hold it up so she can see the marks her hands left in the wood. “Keep this. Finish it when you’re ready.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” I cross to her and press the wood into her palm, closing her fingers around it. “It’s already yours. You just have to decide what it becomes.”

She stares down at the half-carved wood, then up at me. Recognition passes between us. Permission. The acknowledgment that we’re building toward a thing neither of us planned but both of us need.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

This time, I don’t tell her to stop.

Lunch at the main lodge is loud and warm in all the right ways.

The family table is crowded with Cash at the head, Sloane beside him, and Louanne bringing out platters of food that smell like home cooking. The ranch hands filter in, dusty from morning work. At the far end, Rev from the feed store sits with his sweet tea and his knowing smile, having driven out from town for Louanne’s Tuesday tacos.

I take my usual spot. Jessie hesitates in the doorway until Sloane waves her over to the empty chair beside me. She sits. Her knee bumps mine under the table, and neither of us moves away.

Cash asks about Ruckus, and Jessie tells the broom story. The table erupts in laughter. Under the cover of noise, her knee presses harder against mine. I absorb the warmth of it, the ease of her fitting into this space, these people, this life.

Rev leans back in his chair and studies us with those shrewd eyes that miss nothing. “You settling in okay, Jessie?”

“I think so.” She glances at me. “Everyone’s been welcoming.”

He takes a slow sip of tea. When Jessie excuses herself to help Louanne clear plates, he turns that assessing gaze on me.

“You’re different,” he observes.

“How so?”

“You whistled this morning. Scared the horses.”

“I don’t whistle.”

“You did today.” He takes another sip. “First time in four years I’ve heard you make a sound that wasn’t about work or survival. She’s good for you.”

I don’t deny it. Can’t deny it. “Yeah.”

“You good for her?”

The question lands heavy. I think about Jessie in the meadow, two breaths from shattering. The way she apologizes for existing, the way she can’t accept help without calculating what she owes. The nineteen-year-old she couldn’t save and the mother’s screaming that follows her.

“I’m trying to be,” I say.

Rev nods and sets down his tea. “That’s all any of us can do. Show up. Keep showing up. Let the rest figure itself out.”

He says goodbye to Luanne and takes his leave. I sit alone at the table, watching through the window as Jessie walks across the yard with Sloane. Afternoon sun catches in her hair, turning it honey-colored. She gestures as she talks, animated in a way she wasn’t when she arrived.

She’s coming back to herself. Finding solid ground.

Evening finds me walking toward Bluebonnet. The cabin glows with lamplight. Through the window, I can see her moving around inside, and my hand rises toward the door. Hovers.

I could knock. Could come up with some excuse about tomorrow’s schedule.

But she needs space. Needs time to figure out what she wants without me pushing.