Ellie stood in the middle of her barn, hands on her hips, staring at the tangle of ropes and pulleys dangling from the rafters. The contraption looked more like a medieval torture device than a hay loft hoist, but it was supposed to make stacking feed easier. Supposed to.
She'd spent the better part of the morning wrestling with the thing, but no matter how many times she adjusted the ropes or yanked on the pulleys, the hoist refused to cooperate.
"Why can't anything on this ranch just work?" she muttered, glaring at the offending mechanism as if sheer force of will could fix it.
The sound of an approaching truck broke through her frustration. Ellie froze, her stomach sinking. She knew that engine.
Sure enough, Wyatt Callahan's truck rolled up the driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust. He parked near the barn and stepped out, the ever-present cowboy hat tilted low over his eyes.
Ellie groaned, swiping her hands down her jeans. "You've got to be kidding me."
Wyatt stopped in front of the barn, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Morning, Bennett. Looks like you're having some trouble."
"Observant as always," she shot back, crossing her arms.
His lips quirked in a half-smile, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he tilted his head toward the tangle of ropes. "What's the problem?"
"The problem," Ellie said, gesturing to the hoist, "is that this thing is ancient, and it hates me."
Wyatt stepped inside, his boots clicking against the concrete floor. He studied the setup for a moment before looking back at her. "You're trying to lift those feed bags into the loft with this?"
"That was the plan," she said, her tone defensive.
He raised an eyebrow. "You've got it rigged wrong. The pulleys are reversed. No wonder it's not working."
Ellie's face burned. "Well, excuse me for not being a hoist expert."
Wyatt walked over to the mechanism, inspecting it closely. "You're not far off. Just need to re-thread the ropes and tighten the brackets."
Ellie narrowed her eyes. "And let me guess, you're going to offer to fix it for me?"
"Only if you ask nicely," he said, flashing her a grin.
She scowled. "Pass. I'll figure it out."
Wyatt leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Suit yourself. But you're going to spend the whole day fighting with it when I could have it running in ten minutes."
Ellie hated that he was right. She hated even more that he knew it.
With a sigh, she threw up her hands. "Fine. Fix it. But don't expect me to thank you."
Wyatt's grin widened, and he grabbed a wrench from her toolbox. "Wouldn't dream of it."
True to his word, Wyatt had the hoist running smoothly within ten minutes. Ellie watched from the corner of the barn, arms crossed, trying not to let her irritation show.
When he finished, he tested the system by hauling up a bag of feed. The ropes glided effortlessly, the pulley creaking but holding firm.
"There," he said, lowering the bag back to the ground. "Good as new."
Ellie stepped forward, inspecting his work. "Great. Now you can leave."
Wyatt chuckled, leaning against the wall. "You're welcome, by the way."
She shot him a glare. "I didn't ask for your help."
"No, but you needed it," he said, his tone easy. "And there's no shame in that."
Ellie opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn't wrong.
"Fine," she said begrudgingly. "Thank you."
Wyatt tipped his hat, a smug grin tugging at his lips. "Anytime."
After Wyatt left, Ellie spent the next few hours hauling feed into the loft, grateful for the time to work in peace. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop replaying their conversation in her head.
Why did he have to be so infuriatingly competent? And why did she keep letting him get under her skin?
By the time she finished, her arms ached, and her shirt was soaked with sweat. She was just about to head to the house for a much-needed shower when her phone buzzed in her pocket.
It was Claire.
Claire: Rodeo planning meeting tonight at the town hall. You coming?
Ellie groaned. Another meeting.
Ellie: Do I have to?
Claire: Yes. And wear something cute. You never know who'll be there.
Ellie rolled her eyes but texted back a reluctant agreement.
That evening, Ellie walked into the town hall wearing her best pair of jeans and a light blue button-up shirt. She didn't want to admit it, but Claire was right—showing up mattered.
The room buzzed with conversation as people gathered around tables, discussing plans for the upcoming rodeo. Ellie found a seat near the back, trying to keep a low profile.
"Fancy seeing you here," a familiar voice drawled.
Ellie looked up to see Wyatt standing beside her, his hat in his hands and that infuriating smirk on his face.
"Do you just follow me everywhere, or is this some kind of cosmic joke?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Neither," he said, sliding into the seat next to her. "But if you're planning to enter the rodeo competition, you're going to need all the help you can get."
Ellie frowned. "Who says I'm entering?"
"Claire," he said with a shrug. "She mentioned it at the feed store."
Ellie made a mental note to have a word with Claire later.
"Well, don't get your hopes up," she said. "I'm not planning to win."
"You should," Wyatt said, his tone serious. "It's not just about the competition. It's about showing people you're serious about this ranch."
Ellie studied him, trying to figure out what his angle was. "Why do you care?"
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. "Because whether you like it or not, you're part of this community now. And if you're going to stick around, you might as well do it right."
Ellie stared at him, caught off guard by his sincerity. For a moment, she almost believed he actually wanted her to succeed.
But before she could respond, the mayor called the meeting to order, and the room fell silent.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of logistics and planning. Ellie did her best to keep up, taking notes on everything from cattle categories to event schedules.
Wyatt stayed quiet for most of the meeting, only chiming in when someone asked his opinion. But every now and then, Ellie caught him glancing her way, his expression unreadable.
As the meeting wrapped up, Claire caught Ellie by the arm.
"Walk with me," Claire said, steering her toward the door.
Ellie followed, glancing over her shoulder to see Wyatt watching them leave.
"He's got it bad, you know," Claire said once they were outside.
Ellie frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Wyatt," Claire said with a knowing smile. "He's not nearly as subtle as he thinks he is."
Ellie shook her head. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" Claire said, her grin widening. "He's been hovering around you like a moth to a flame. Trust me, I've seen it before."
Ellie sighed. "Even if you're right, it doesn't matter. Wyatt and I are oil and water."
Claire shrugged. "Sometimes oil and water make the best fireworks."
Ellie didn't have a response to that, so she said nothing, her mind racing as she climbed into her Jeep and drove back to the ranch.
Fireworks or not, she wasn't about to let Wyatt Callahan derail her plans. She had a ranch to save, a legacy to build—and no time for distractions.
At least, that's what she told herself.