Ellie didn't need to turn around to know Wyatt Callahan was behind her. She could feel it—the sharp, unmistakable prickle of his gaze boring into her back as she worked on another section of the fence. She sighed, wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand, and braced herself for whatever critique he had lined up this time.
"You know, you could just say 'hello' like a normal person," she called out, still focused on securing the wire to the post in front of her.
Wyatt's voice carried across the field, warm and dry as the Texas sun. "Hello, Bennett. Nice day for a fencing lesson, isn't it?"
She turned, hammer in hand, to find him leaning casually against his horse, his hat tipped back just enough to reveal those annoyingly piercing blue eyes.
"Lesson?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Last I checked, I wasn't paying for a teacher."
He smirked, one side of his mouth tugging up in that infuriatingly cocky way of his. "Good thing I'm offering this one for free. You're welcome, by the way."
Ellie planted her hands on her hips, her hammer dangling from one of them. "Let me guess, you rode all the way out here to tell me I'm doing it wrong?"
"Not wrong," he drawled, sauntering closer. "Just…inefficient."
Her grip tightened on the hammer. "What exactly is inefficient about what I'm doing?"
He stopped a few feet away, his gaze sweeping over the stretch of fence she'd just repaired. "For starters, you're stretching the wire too loose. First good storm we get, and that section's coming down."
Ellie clenched her jaw. "I've been doing it the way Jim showed me."
Wyatt tipped his hat back further and shrugged. "Jim's a good man, but he's old school. There are easier ways to get the job done. Want me to show you?"
"No," she said quickly, spinning back toward the fence.
"No?" he echoed, clearly amused. "You're really going to let your pride keep you from learning something that might save you hours of work?"
Ellie bent down to grab another section of wire. "It's not pride. It's the fact that every time you show up, it feels like you're looking for a reason to remind me I don't belong here."
He was quiet for a beat, long enough that she thought maybe he'd finally walked away. But then his voice came, softer this time. "That's not what I'm doing, Ellie."
She froze, the unexpected gentleness in his tone catching her off guard.
"You think I want you to fail?" he continued.
"Yes," she said, turning to face him. "Isn't that exactly what you've been hoping for? So I'll pack up, sell the ranch, and get out of your hair?"
Wyatt shook his head, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "You don't get it, do you?"
"Then explain it," she snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Because all I've seen from you so far is judgment and criticism."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "You're right. I've been hard on you. But it's not because I want you to fail. It's because I know how damn hard this life is. And if you're not ready for it, it's going to chew you up and spit you out."
Ellie blinked, his words landing harder than she wanted to admit.
"This ranch?" he continued, gesturing around them. "It's more than just fences and cattle. It's a legacy. And if you're serious about keeping it alive, then yeah, I'm going to push you. Because anything less, and you won't make it."
Her chest tightened, a strange mix of anger and understanding warring within her. "You don't get to decide what I can handle, Wyatt."
"I'm not trying to," he said, his voice steady. "But I've been doing this my whole life. I know what it takes, and I'm telling you—it's not about proving me wrong. It's about proving it to yourself."
Ellie stared at him, the intensity in his gaze making her feel like he was looking straight through her.
"I don't need your approval," she said, her voice quieter now.
"I know," he said simply. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."
She hated that he sounded so reasonable, hated that part of her knew he was right. But she wasn't about to admit that out loud.
"Fine," she said after a moment, crossing her arms. "If you think you can do it better, be my guest."
Wyatt's mouth twitched, and for a second, she thought he might actually smile.
"Alright then," he said, stepping past her and taking the hammer from her hand. "Watch and learn, Bennett."
For the next hour, Ellie watched as Wyatt demonstrated his method for stretching and securing the wire. She hated how effortless he made it look, like it was second nature to him.
"See how tight that is?" he said, stepping back to admire his work. "Won't budge, even if you get a bull rubbing up against it."
Ellie rolled her eyes. "Okay, Mr. Expert. Let's see if I can replicate your brilliance."
He handed her the tools, his smirk firmly in place. "Be my guest."
She took the hammer and wire clamps, determined to match his precision. Her first attempt wasn't perfect, but it was better than her earlier work. She could feel his eyes on her, silently evaluating, but for once, he didn't say anything critical.
When she stepped back to inspect her work, Wyatt nodded. "Not bad. Little more tension next time, but you're getting there."
Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Did Wyatt Callahan just give me a compliment?"
"Don't let it go to your head," he said, leaning against the fence post.
She smirked, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Well, I appreciate the lesson. Even if your delivery needs work."
"You're welcome," he said, tipping his hat. "And for the record, I don't want you to fail, Bennett. But if you're going to make it out here, you've got to be tougher than this ranch. Tougher than me."
Ellie met his gaze, her pulse quickening at the challenge in his eyes. "Don't worry, Callahan. I've been underestimated before. I always prove them wrong."
Wyatt's smirk softened into something closer to a smile, but he didn't say anything else. He simply mounted his horse and rode off, leaving Ellie to wonder what exactly she was proving—and to whom.
That night, Ellie sat on the porch, her legs stretched out in front of her and a cold bottle of water in her hand. The stars were brilliant against the inky black sky, the kind of view she could never have seen back in the city.
She thought about Wyatt, about his words, his unexpected flashes of kindness. He was infuriating, sure, but there was something about him that stuck with her—something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"Whatever," she muttered to herself, taking a sip of water. "He's just another obstacle. One I'm going to overcome."
But as she stared out into the darkness, she couldn't shake the feeling that Wyatt Callahan might be more than an obstacle. He might just be the storm she'd been waiting for.