Page 39 of Saltwater Cowboy

I set my fork down, watching Wren as she popped a syrup-drenched piece of pancake into her mouth like she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “That’s… sad.”

She shrugged. “Now she has more time for me… and baby Silas when he’s born.”

I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, debating whether I should pry for more details. But Wren didn’t need much prompting.

“She’s working at the coffee shop now because she didn’t have a job either.”

That caught me off guard. Rose didn’t exactly strike me as the small-town coffee shop type.

I let out a slow breath. “Wren, you probably shouldn’t be telling me this.”

She grinned, completely unbothered. “Why not? You’re family.”

I shook my head, hiding a smirk. This kid was trouble.

After breakfast, we cleaned up the kitchen—well, Wren cleaned up the kitchen, since I was pretty sure the mess was her doing in the first place. But, to her credit, she took it all in stride, humming as she wiped down the counters and placed the dishes into the sink.

Once the chaos was under control, we grabbed our hats and headed back outside. The sun was already climbing higher, casting that perfect morning glow over the farm. It was just another day of getting things ready for the farmer’s market tomorrow.

We made our way over to the garden, the air warm but not yet too hot, and I handed Wren a small basket. “Alright, let’s get to work. We need some tomatoes, maybe a few zucchinis, and definitely more of those peppers.”

She nodded eagerly, already diving into the rows of plants with enthusiasm. Her small hands were quick, picking the ripe vegetables and carefully placing them in the basket. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched her move between the rows of greenery. She might’ve been small, but she was as serious about this farm life as any grown-up.

“Look, Uncle Wells!” Wren held up a giant zucchini like it was a prize. “This one’s bigger than my head!”

I gave her an approving nod. “That’s the one. Good job.”

We worked in the garden for another hour or two, gathering up tomatoes, cucumbers, and a few more herbs. The fresh scent of the earth, mixed with the faintest hint of basil, filled the air. There was something grounding about it all.

After we finished picking everything, we took the baskets to the back porch, where I’d already laid out the table for prepping. Wren handed me each vegetable as I cleaned and cut, sorting everything into piles for the market tomorrow. We both worked in rhythm. Wren shared elementary school gossip as the day slowly stretched on.

By the time the sun started to dip lower in the sky, we had everything ready—baskets packed with fresh produce, neatly labeled, and stacked for tomorrow’s sale.

“Good work, kiddo,” I said, wiping my hands on my jeans and tipping my hat. “Looks like we’re ready for the market.”

She beamed up at me, proud of the day’s work. “We make a great team.”

I ruffled her hair. “We sure do.”

As the light faded and the moon started to rise, I loaded Wren up in my truck and drove her home.

“Thank you for a great W Squared Day, Uncle Wells.”

“My pleasure, Little Bird. Thank you for your help.”

SHUT UP!

I seethed the entire drive home. The odds of running into the irritating guy from the plane were literally a million to one. The last thing I expected this morning was to end up at his house.

I pulled into the driveway and practically sprinted to my room, my bed a beacon of comfort. I yanked off my bra, sinking into the warmth and solace it promised.

I must’ve passed out the moment I hit the bed. When I finally stirred, it felt like I’d been asleep for days. The light outside had dimmed to a dusky haze, and the quietness in the house made my head spin. My body was heavy, groggy, the kind of tired that seeps into your bones.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the fog, when a familiar voice drifted upstairs from below.

Wells.

It was faint, but unmistakable—probably dropping Wren off. I could hear the soft hum of his deep drawl, then the sound of the front door clicking shut.