PART 2 — THE EMPTY SEAT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

“Mind if I rest my boots here, Ma’am?”

Josephine Miller froze.

For one terrible second, she thought the stranger was making fun of her. Perhaps he wanted to turn her loneliness into another joke for the crowd.

She slowly raised her eyes.

Wyatt Callahan stood beside her, holding a plate piled with food. His expression was unreadable, but there was something steady in his slate-gray eyes.

“This seat is taken,” Josie answered quietly.

Wyatt glanced at the empty bench.

“By whom?”

She swallowed.

“By nobody.”

“Then I reckon I’m in luck.”

He pulled the chair closer, sat down, and placed his plate on the table.

Across the pavilion, Abigail Preston stopped smiling.

The mayor lowered his glᴀss.

Even the fiddle players seemed to forget their tune.

Wyatt picked up his fork and tasted the ham.

“Now, that’s a fine piece of cooking,” he said.

Josie stared at him.

“Thank you.”

“Did you make it?”

“All of it.”

He looked at the enormous serving table.

“Sixty pies, too?”

“Sixty-two.”

Wyatt nodded appreciatively.

“Then I owe you an apology.”

Josie frowned. “For what?”

“For taking only one slice.”

To her surprise, he cut himself another.

A few people laughed, but this time the laughter wasn’t aimed at Josie.

Wyatt leaned back.

“I’m Wyatt Callahan.”

“I know.”

“Then you’ve heard something about me?”

“Everyone has.”

“And what are they saying?”

Josie hesitated.

“That you bought the Henderson ranch.”

“That’s true.”

“That the land is worthless.”

Wyatt glanced toward the distant ridge.

“That’s what people say when they haven’t bothered to understand a place.”

Josie almost smiled.

Before she could answer, Abigail appeared.

“Mr. Callahan! We were beginning to wonder where you’d disappeared.”

Wyatt looked up.

“I’ve been eating.”

Abigail’s eyes traveled to Josie, then to the empty spaces around them.

“Oh, I see.”

She gave a delicate laugh.

“I’m afraid you’ve chosen rather an unfortunate place. The breeze carries the smoke this way.”

Wyatt looked toward the cooking fires.

“Does it?”

“Of course. You would be much more comfortable with us.”

He took another bite.

“I am comfortable here.”

Abigail’s smile stiffened.

“Perhaps Miss Miller hasn’t told you, but she tends to keep to herself. People have learned not to expect much conversation.”

Josie lowered her eyes.

Wyatt placed his fork down.

“Funny thing about people,” he said. “They often complain about a person being quiet after spending years giving her nothing worth answering.”

The pavilion went silent.

Abigail’s cheeks colored.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

The deputy beside her shifted uncomfortably.

Abigail recovered with a brittle smile.

“Well, I suppose everyone has their preferences.”

“Indeed,” Wyatt replied. “Mine happen to include good food and decent company.”

He turned back to Josie.

“Now, Miss Miller, I hear your bakery opens before sunrise. Is that true?”

Josie blinked.

“Every morning.”

“Then I may have to become a regular customer.”

“You’re welcome anytime.”

“Good. I’ll need enough bread to feed a dozen ranch hands.”

Josie’s expression changed.

“A dozen?”

“Maybe more. The Henderson place has been empty too long. I’m bringing it back to life.”

“That will take a great deal of work.”

“I’ve never been afraid of work.”

“Neither have I.”

For the first time, Wyatt smiled.

And Josie found herself smiling back.

The picnic continued, but the town had changed.

People kept looking toward the far end of the table. Some whispered. Others pretended not to notice.

Abigail Preston, however, did not pretend.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon watching Wyatt and Josie with an expression that grew increasingly bitter.

When the meal ended, Wyatt stood and lifted his plate.

“Thank you for the company, Miss Miller.”

Josie nodded.

“Thank you for sitting down.”

He paused.

“Why do you say that as though it was something unusual?”

“Because it is.”

Wyatt studied her for a moment.

Then he spoke quietly enough that only she could hear.

“Perhaps it shouldn’t be.”

He walked away before she could answer.

Josie remained seated, watching him cross the grounds.

For the first time in years, she had not felt like the person everyone was avoiding.

But the kindness of a stranger could not change the way a town behaved overnight.

And Abigail Preston was already planning how to make sure it never happened again.

The next morning, Wyatt arrived at Miller’s Bakery before sunrise.

Josie was kneading dough when the bell above the door rang.

“You’re early,” she said.

“Ranch hands don’t wait for the sun.”

He placed a small leather pouch on the counter.

“I’d like to order bread for twelve men. Every morning, if you can manage it.”

Josie looked inside.

There were enough coins to cover several weeks.

“This is too much.”

“It’s payment for work.”

“You haven’t even tasted the bread yet.”

Wyatt tore off a piece of the warm loaf sitting beside the oven.

He chewed thoughtfully.

“Now I have.”

Josie laughed softly.

He ordered bread, biscuits, and two pies for the ranch house.

Then he noticed a framed pH๏τograph behind the counter.

It showed a younger Josie standing beside a bearded man with kind eyes.

“Your father?” he asked.

“Yes. Arthur Miller.”

“He was a prospector, wasn’t he?”

Josie’s hands slowed.

“He spent most of his life looking for silver. He never found much.”

Wyatt glanced at the pH๏τograph again.

“Did he ever talk about Miller’s Hollow?”

Josie looked up sharply.

“Why?”

“Because I found an old survey map at the Henderson ranch. Your father’s name was written across one corner.”

Josie wiped her hands on her apron.

“My father owned that land. But there’s nothing there now. Just dry ground and rocks.”

“Perhaps he knew something the rest of us didn’t.”

Before Josie could ask another question, the bell rang again.

Abigail Preston entered with two friends.

Her gaze immediately landed on Wyatt.

“Mr. Callahan! What a pleasant surprise.”

Wyatt nodded politely.

“Miss Preston.”

Abigail approached the counter.

“I hope you enjoyed the picnic. Some people were quite surprised by your choice of company.”

Josie kept arranging the bread.

Wyatt took his hat from the counter.

“Then perhaps they should spend less time watching where I sit.”

Abigail’s smile vanished.

She turned to Josie.

“I’ll have a dozen rolls. And please wrap them separately. I wouldn’t want them touching anything else.”

The insult hung in the warm bakery air.

Wyatt looked at her.

“Then I suggest you buy them somewhere else.”

Abigail stared.

“You cannot speak to me that way!”

“I just did.”

He paid Josie, picked up his order, and walked toward the door.

But before leaving, he turned back.

“Miss Miller, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The bell rang behind him.

Abigail watched him disappear.

Then she leaned across the counter.

“You should understand something, Josephine. Men like Wyatt Callahan don’t stay interested in women like you.”

Josie felt the familiar sting.

But this time, she did not look down.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

Abigail’s expression hardened.

And Josie had no idea that the woman standing before her had already begun investigating the one piece of land her father had left behind.

Miller’s Hollow.

Because Abigail’s father had recently discovered something buried beneath it.

Something worth more than every ranch in Oak Haven.

And he intended to take it.

To be continued in Part 3…

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