Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~4 min read
Chapter 2: Ground Rules
COLE
The cabin was clean. He’d made sure of that — swept, fresh linens, the water heater running. Whatever else he thought about hosting a city journalist for three weeks while she wrote a piece about his ranch, he wasn’t going to let it be said that he was inhospitable.
He showed her the cabin without particular ceremony. Small porch, main room, kitchen that was functional rather than attractive, the bathroom that had been updated when his mother updated it in 2019 and which was therefore the nicest room in the structure. He walked her through it and she walked behind him taking it in with those sharp eyes that hadn’t stopped moving since she got out of the car.
She was taking mental notes. He could see it happening.
He had been told by the magazine’s coordinator that Wren Porter was one of their best — five years on staff, known for features that went deeper than the subject, a voice that readers trusted. He had been told she was professional and prepared and would be unobtrusive. He had filed this information in the category of things people said before the actual situation revealed itself.
He turned from the kitchen to find her looking at the window over the sink, which faced east toward the horse barn.
“Ground rules,” he said.
She turned. She had dark hair pulled back in a practical way and was wearing clothes that were wrong for the ranch — not egregiously wrong, not a sundress and sandals, but city-wrong in the specific way of clothes that were chosen to be appropriate without any real knowledge of what appropriate meant out here. She’d figure it out. They usually did, eventually.
“Up at five,” he said. “If you want to see how the ranch actually runs, you need to be moving when it starts moving. Breakfast is available in the main house from five-thirty but nobody’s waiting for you.”
“Five,” she repeated.
“Second: you don’t follow me into the working areas of the property without my say-so. The fields, the pens — not without me knowing you’re there. It’s not about the article, it’s about you not getting hurt.”
“Understood.”
“Third.” He looked at her directly. “Don’t touch the horses without asking first. They’re working animals. Some of them don’t like strangers.”
“Don’t touch the horses,” she said.
“Any questions?”
She smiled.
It was a good smile — easy and quick, the kind that probably put people at ease and probably got her what she wanted in interview situations. He catalogued it in the category of things to be aware of.
“What’s the best time to ask questions?” she said. “For the piece.”
“Evenings,” he said. “Not during working hours.”
“What counts as working hours?”
“Five am to seven pm, roughly. Depends on the day.”
“And you’re available for questions in the evenings?”
“I said evenings were better. I didn’t say I’d be sitting around waiting.”
She held the smile. “Fair.”
He handed her the key to the cabin — actual key, not a keypad, which was one of about a thousand things that would be different here from wherever she usually stayed — and moved toward the door.
“Mr. Hargrove,” she said.
He stopped.
“I’m a good observer,” she said. “I learn fast and I don’t need things repeated. I’ll do my best not to be in your way.”
He looked at her over his shoulder.
“Three weeks,” he said, which was not agreement or disagreement, just the shape of the situation.
He went back to his work.
That night he told himself he’d done the right thing agreeing to the piece. The ranch needed the revenue that came with this kind of exposure — his land agent had been clear about that, his mother had been clear about that, the bank statements had been clear about it for two years. The drought had taken a chunk out of the operation and they hadn’t fully recovered. Three weeks of a magazine journalist and a nice feature story that brought in some agritourism interest was a practical decision.
He was not thinking about the smile.
He went to sleep at ten and was up at four-thirty like always, which was before the rooster, which was before everything.
He thought: she’ll last two days before she asks to cut it short.
He made coffee and went out to the barn.
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