Mountain Rancher (Rugged Hearts Duet #1)

1. Abigail

Chapter One

ABIGAIL

“Ugh, these shoes were not made for what I’m putting them through right now.” My sister-in-law Melody adjusts her cute maternity sundress as we power up the gentle slope. “Who decided a ‘hot girl walk’ was appropriate for someone seven months pregnant?”

“Don’t blame me,” Savannah chimes in from behind us. Her ponytail swings with each step. “I suggested yoga by the pond, but nooo. Somebody”—she nudges Jasmyn—“said we needed to ‘work those glutes.’”

Jasmyn shrugs, not the least bit apologetic.

“Fresh air is good for the baby. Besides, Wyatt mentioned that Melody’s been restless at night.”

“Oh, did he now?” Melody raises an eyebrow at her husband’s betrayal. “Tell me, what else does my darling husband share about me when I’m not around?”

“Only the good stuff.” I pat her arm. “Like how you’ve been organizing and reorganizing the nursery at three in the morning.”

“I’m nesting!” Melody defends herself, but she’s laughing. “It’s a documented biological phenomenon.”

The Wyoming sun beats down on my shoulders as I follow my three sisters-in-law along the familiar trail that winds around the Clayton Ranch. My childhood home has been in my family for generations and sprawls across the landscape with its rolling hills, pine forests, and grazing pastures.

We crest the hill, and I pause to take in the view.

From here, I can see all the way to the main house, the barn, and the outbuildings clustered in the valley. The ranch looks smaller from up here, though I know it stretches for ten thousand acres in every direction. It’s strange being back. It feels both completely at home and somewhat out of place.

“I still can’t believe Jace and Lindsay are getting engaged,” Savannah says, breaking the silence. “I mean, we all saw it coming, but still."

"I was sure it would take those two forever," Jasmyn says with a laugh. "Talk about the slowest burn in history."

I smile, thinking about my brother and his fiancée. For years, they'd been "just friends," both secretly pining for each other while everyone around them saw what they couldn't. The ranch hands even had a betting pool going for when they'd finally get together.

"Sometimes the best relationships start as friendships," Melody says, rubbing her belly absently. "You already know all the worst parts of each other and love them anyway."

"Speaking of relationships," Savannah turns to me with that look in her eye that makes me want to run for the hills, "how's your love life going in the big city, Abby?"

I groan. "Nonexistent. Between work and traveling to client sites, I barely have time to water my plants, let alone date."

"But you're meeting people, right?" Jasmyn presses. "Handsome executives? Dashing creative directors?"

"Sure, lots of people," I say vaguely. "Just no one special."

The truth is more complicated. I've had a few dates in the past year, but nothing that sparked. Nothing that made me want to rearrange my schedule or check my phone constantly for messages. Nothing like what my brothers have found.

“What happened to that investment banker?” Jasmyn asks. “The one you mentioned at Easter. David, right?”

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “It didn’t work out. We wanted different things.”

What I don’t add is that what David wanted was someone who would prioritize his career over her own. Someone who would be content playing corporate wife and would host dinner parties and eventually step back from her own work to raise children. No thanks.

“That’s too bad,” Melody says, but I can tell she doesn’t really mean it. None of them liked David much when I mentioned him. “But you know, being single isn’t the worst thing.”

“Says the woman whose husband brings her breakfast in bed,” Jasmyn teases.

Melody pats her baby bump. “True, but I had my fair share of terrible dates before Wyatt.”

They don’t say it, but I know what they’re thinking. I’m the last Clayton standing, the only one without a partner. Wyatt has Melody, Brody has Savannah, Luke has Jasmyn, and now even my baby brother, Jace, is engaged to Lindsay. I’m the odd one out.

“Honestly, I’m too busy for dating right now. The Houston office is launching three new investment portfolios, and I’m leading the team.”

It’s not a lie. I do have a successful career. My corner office has a view of the Houston skyline, I closed on my own condo last year, and I’ve been shortlisted for a promotion that would make me the youngest financial director in the firm’s history. By any objective measure, I’m doing great.

So why does coming home always make me feel like I’m somehow falling short?

Savannah speaks carefully. “You know, not all guys are intimidated by successful women.”

“I know that.” I might have responded a bit too quickly. “But between work and... well, work, I just haven’t met anyone worth rearranging my life for.”

We reach a fork in the trail, and Melody stops to press her hand against her back.

“I hate to be the party pooper, but I think I need to head back. My ankles are swelling just looking at the rest of this trail.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jasmyn offers. “I told Luke I’d be back to help with Maisey’s lunch anyway. She’s going through a phase where all food must be cut into perfect squares or she won’t touch it.”

I smile, thinking of my adorable niece. “The Clayton stubborn streak appears early.”

“You can say that again.” Jasmyn sighs, but her eyes are soft with affection.

“Are you heading back too?” Melody asks me and Savannah.

Savannah hesitates. “I wouldn’t mind going a bit farther, but not all the way to the lookout point.”

“I’m going to the lookout,” I decide. “I haven’t seen the view from up there since Christmas.”

Savannah and Jasmyn exchange a glance that doesn’t escape my notice.

“What?” I ask.

“The trail to the lookout got pretty torn up during the spring storms,” Savannah explains. “Brody mentioned it’s on the repair list, but the ranch hands haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“And there was a small landslide on the north approach,” Jasmyn adds. “Luke says it’s not really stable.”

I wave away their concerns. “I grew up hiking these trails. I’ll be fine.”

“Just be careful,” Melody warns. “Wyatt would kill me if something happened to his baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby,” I remind her with a grin. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“You’ll always be the baby sister to them,” Savannah says, and I know she’s right. No matter my professional accomplishments or financial independence, to my four brothers, I’ll forever be the little girl they taught to ride and rope.

We say our goodbyes, and I watch as Melody and Jasmyn head back down the trail toward the house. They’re moving at a pace that accommodates Melody’s pregnant waddle. Savannah continues with me for another fifteen minutes before she, too, turns back, extracting one more promise from me to be careful on the damaged trail.

Alone at last, I pick up my pace.

The silence of the Wyoming countryside wraps around me, broken only by the occasional bird call and the whisper of wind through the tall grass. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with air that smells of sage and earth and summer.

As I walk, my mind wanders to the life I’d imagined for myself as a teenager.

Back then, I assumed I’d follow my mother’s path and marry someone local, probably a rancher or maybe someone from town, have children young, and make my life here.

Instead, I left for college and never really came back except for holidays and the occasional weekend. I became the “ambitious” Clayton, the “career-focused” one. Those labels sometimes feel like subtle criticisms when mentioned at family gatherings. As if choosing a different path somehow means I’ve rejected everything they value.

The truth is more complicated. I love my job and the life I’ve built in Houston. I love the energy of the city, the challenges of my work, the independence of answering to no one but myself. But sometimes, in quiet moments like this, I wonder what I’m missing.

The trail narrows as I climb higher, and loose rocks skitter away beneath my feet. The path ahead looks sketchy. There’s a section where the earth has been carved away, leaving a crumbling edge with a clear view of the twenty-foot drop below.

I pause and consider my options.

The financial analyst in me calculates the risk and finds it unacceptable.

But the Clayton in me, the part that grew up on this land, pushes forward, confident I can navigate the narrow ledge that remains.

I grew up climbing these hills, racing my brothers to the lookout point, and earning bloody knees and scraped elbows as badges of courage. One washed-out trail isn’t going to defeat me.

I take another careful step. Then another. The ledge narrows to barely the width of my foot.

Almost there. Just a few more steps and I’ll be past the worst of it.

The ground shifts beneath me.

At first, it’s subtle. A slight tremor, a soft crumbling sensation.

Then suddenly, I’m falling.

Dirt and rocks cascade around me as I claw desperately at anything solid. My nails break against stone and my knees scrape raw against rough earth as a scream tears from my throat.

Twenty feet below, the rocks wait.

By some miracle, my flailing hand catches a stunted juniper shrub growing from the hillside. The sudden halt of my descent sends pain shooting through my shoulder, but I hang on with everything I have. My feet dangle in open air. Blood runs warm over my knuckles where bark has torn skin. Every muscle in my body strains to maintain my grip.

I try to pull myself up, but the movement causes a cascade of dirt around the shrub’s roots.

I freeze and watch in horror as the plant begins to pull loose from the hillside, roots exposed like veins against the red earth.

My phone is in my back pocket, completely inaccessible. No one knows exactly where I am. Pain shoots through my ankle, and I’m pretty sure I twisted it during the initial fall. It’s now throbbing in time with my racing heart.

The ranch house is too far away for anyone to hear me, but I scream anyway, my voice thin against the vast Wyoming sky.

“Help! Help me!”

This isn’t how it was supposed to end.

Not before I made partner. Not before I figured out if my life in Houston was actually making me happy or just keeping me busy. Not before…

Suddenly, a deep voice cuts through my panic.

“Hang on!”

I look up to see a muscular cowboy rushing down the unstable slope toward me.

The shrub shifts as the roots pull farther from the earth. I can feel my grip weakening and see my blood making my handhold slippery. My arms burn with the effort of supporting my entire body weight.

I choke back a sob. “Please! Hurry! It’s giving way!”

Right as my grip fails, the cowboy’s hand closes around my wrist.

For one terrifying moment, I think he might not be able to hold me.But then he braces himself against the hillside and pulls.

Man, he’s strong.

I scramble with my free hand and find purchase against the slope so I can help him drag me up inch by painful inch until I’m pressed against the hillside beside him. By the time I’m up, both of us are breathing hard from exertion and adrenaline.

“Are you hurt?” he demands, his eyes scanning me for injuries.

I can’t answer. Can’t think. I’m alive. I’m not splattered across the rocks below.

And this stranger saved me.

So I do the only thing my adrenaline-soaked brain can manage. I kiss him.

My lips crash against his. For a second, he freezes. Then his hand slides into my hair, and he kisses me back.

Hard.

Oh.

What begins as gratitude transforms into something else entirely.

His lips are firm and confident. They claim my mouth with an intensity that makes my knees weak. I fist my hands in his shirt as I pull him closer. His beard scrapes deliciously against my skin.

I’ve been kissed before, but never like this.

His tongue sweeps against mine, and I make a sound I barely recognize as human. He tastes like coffee and mint and something uniquely male that makes me press closer.

His strong arms wrap around me, one hand at my lower back, the other still tangled in my hair. Our bodies are flush against each other. Through the thin material of my blouse, I can feel the hard planes of his chest and the steady beat of his heart.

The rational part of my brain, the part that makes calculated investment decisions and leads boardroom presentations, has completely shut down.

All I can process is sensation. His mouth on mine, his hands holding me tight, and the heat building between us.

When the cowboy finally pulls back, both of us are breathing hard, and his amber eyes are dark with desire.

That's when reality hits me like a bucket of ice water.

I know those eyes.

“Hunter?” I gasp. “Hunter Thomas?”

“Hey, Abby.” A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth. The same mouth I just kissed like my life depended on it. “It’s been a while.”

For a second, all I can do is stare at him.

The last time I saw my brother Brody’s best friend Hunter, he was twenty-three years old, all lanky height and boyish charm. He’d been working as a ranch hand while finishing his agriculture degree. I remember him in faded jeans and worn boots. His frame was still filling out, and his hair was always falling into his eyes as he helped during calving season.

This man standing before me is... not that Hunter.

The man standing before me now is a force of nature.

His shoulders have broadened into a wall of muscle that strains against his blue plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with veins. His chest is solid and tapers down to a narrow waist, where his belt buckle catches the sunlight. Those worn jeans now cling to powerfully built thighs that speak of countless hours in the saddle.

The boyish softness of his face is gone, replaced by sharp angles and a strong, chiseled jaw now covered with a neatly trimmed beard. His amber eyes seem more intense and his dark hair is shorter now, but still thick, with a slight wave that makes my fingers itch to run through it again.

“Hunter, I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you. I was just… the fall… I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

My words tumble out in a breathless rush as I take a step backward, only to feel the edge of the trail crumble slightly beneath my heel.

Shit.

Hunter’s hand shoots out instantly and wraps around my wrist to pull me away from the edge.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart.” His gaze drops to my mouth with an intensity that makes my pulse skyrocket. “I’m not.”