Ellie Bennett gripped the steering wheel of her battered Jeep, staring out at the cracked dirt road ahead. The GPS had cut out twenty miles back, her cell service shortly after, leaving her with nothing but the faded map her uncle had left in the glovebox. The world outside her window felt like a different planet compared to the glass-and-concrete city she'd left behind. Here, the hills rolled endlessly, dotted with live oaks and brush, the sun casting long shadows as it dipped lower in the sky.
She hadn't been back to Wildwood since she was ten years old, and now, here she was, driving into the heart of Texas Hill Country to save a ranch she barely remembered.
"This is it," she whispered, more to herself than anyone. She turned onto the long gravel driveway, her tires crunching noisily over the stones.
The Bennett Ranch sign loomed ahead, its paint faded, one corner hanging off the post. "That's a good omen," she muttered, grimacing. She slowed as the ranch house came into view, and her stomach sank. The white clapboard exterior was stained with rust-colored streaks, the porch sagged under its own weight, and the roof looked like it hadn't been patched since the Clinton administration.
Ellie cut the engine and stepped out, the dry heat immediately wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket. Dust stirred under her boots as she took a few tentative steps toward the house.
She hadn't even reached the porch when a loud, gravelly voice called out behind her.
"Hey! You lost?"
Ellie turned, her gaze locking on a man sitting tall on a chestnut horse at the edge of the property. His cowboy hat cast a shadow over his face, but she didn't need to see his expression to feel the hostility radiating off him.
"Nope. Pretty sure I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be," she replied, crossing her arms.
The cowboy urged his horse closer, his movements smooth and confident, like he was born in the saddle. As he approached, the setting sun caught his features—sharp jaw, dark stubble, and piercing blue eyes that practically glared at her.
"This is Bennett land," he said, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Yeah, I know," Ellie said, straightening her spine. "I'm Ellie Bennett. I inherited the ranch."
The man stiffened, his hands tightening on the reins. "You're George's niece?"
Ellie nodded. "That's me. And you are?"
"Wyatt Callahan," he said, the name landing like a challenge. "Your neighbor."
She blinked. "Well, nice to meet you, Wyatt. And thanks for the warm welcome," she added sarcastically, brushing past him to retrieve her duffel bag from the Jeep.
"I didn't invite you here," Wyatt said, his tone colder now. "Your uncle may have left you this land, but don't think for a second you know what you're getting into."
Ellie spun on her heel, duffel slung over her shoulder. "Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?"
Wyatt dismounted, his boots hitting the dirt with a thud. He towered over her, all broad shoulders and quiet intensity. "It means this isn't some vacation spot, city girl. Ranching's not for everyone, and from the look of you, I'd say you're in way over your head."
Heat flared in Ellie's chest, not from the sun but from the blatant insult. "Thanks for the unsolicited opinion, but I'll manage just fine."
Wyatt's lips curved into a humorless smile. "We'll see about that."
With that, he turned back to his horse, mounted in one fluid motion, and rode off toward the fence line.
Ellie stood there, fuming. She hadn't even set foot inside the house, and she'd already made an enemy.
"Welcome to Wildwood," she muttered under her breath, hauling her bag toward the porch.
The inside of the house was no better than the outside. Dust covered every surface, cobwebs hung in the corners, and the air was stale, as though the house had been holding its breath since her uncle's passing.
Ellie dropped her bag by the door and surveyed the living room. A sagging couch sat against one wall, a pair of cowboy boots abandoned beside it. A stack of old newspapers covered the coffee table, and a photograph of her uncle hung crookedly above the fireplace.
"Home sweet home," she said, pulling a bandana from her pocket and tying it over her nose. She found a broom in the corner and started sweeping, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.
This place wasn't just a fixer-upper. It was a disaster.
By the time night fell, Ellie had managed to clear one room of dust and debris, but exhaustion weighed heavy on her limbs. She sat on the edge of the couch, staring out the window at the vast, dark expanse of the ranch.
She'd always dreamed of having a place to call her own, a sanctuary away from the chaos of city life. But now, faced with the reality of running a ranch, she wondered if she'd bitten off more than she could chew.
The next morning, Ellie woke to the sound of cattle lowing in the distance. She threw on a pair of jeans and boots, grabbed a granola bar, and headed outside to take inventory of what she was dealing with.
The barn was in slightly better shape than the house, but not by much. The roof had a gaping hole near the back, and several stalls were missing doors. The small herd of cattle her uncle had left behind looked thin and unkempt, their coats dull in the morning light.
"Alright, guys," she said to the nearest cow, who blinked at her with large, unimpressed eyes. "We're all in this together."
She made a list of immediate repairs and supplies she'd need, then headed into town to find the nearest feed store.
Wildwood was a quintessential small town, with a single main street lined with shops and a diner. Ellie parked her Jeep and walked into the feed store, where the scent of hay and leather greeted her.
"Well, I'll be damned," a cheerful voice called out. "Ellie Bennett, is that you?"
Ellie turned to see a plump woman with silver hair and kind eyes behind the counter. "It's me," Ellie said with a smile.
"Claire Riggins," the woman said, coming around to give Ellie a quick hug. "Your uncle used to talk about you all the time. Said you were a spitfire, just like your mama."
Ellie chuckled. "I'm not sure about that, but it's nice to see a friendly face."
"What can I do for you, sweetheart?"
Ellie handed over her list. "I need to get the ranch up and running again."
Claire scanned the list and frowned. "You've got your work cut out for you. Wyatt Callahan doesn't seem too thrilled about you being back."
Ellie's jaw tightened. "Yeah, I noticed. What's his problem?"
Claire hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Let's just say there's some bad blood between your families. Wyatt's been running his ranch like a fortress ever since his father passed, and he doesn't take kindly to outsiders—especially Bennetts."
Ellie felt her frustration bubble up again. "Well, he's going to have to deal with it, because I'm not going anywhere."
Claire grinned. "That's the spirit. Let me get you set up."
By the time Ellie returned to the ranch, her Jeep loaded with supplies, she felt a renewed sense of determination. She wasn't about to let Wyatt—or the state of the ranch—get the better of her.
But as she pulled up to the barn, she saw a familiar figure leaning against the fence, arms crossed over his broad chest.
"What now?" she muttered, climbing out of the Jeep.
Wyatt straightened, his gaze cool and assessing. "Your cattle broke through the fence again. If you can't keep them on your side, we're going to have a real problem."
Ellie slammed the truck door. "It's my first day, Wyatt. Cut me some slack."
He raised an eyebrow. "Slack isn't going to fix the fence, city girl. You better figure it out before someone gets hurt."
"Thanks for the advice," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
He smirked, tipping his hat. "Don't mention it."
As he walked away, Ellie clenched her fists, fighting the urge to throw something at his retreating back.
"Game on, Callahan," she muttered. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."