Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, and heat crawled up Lark’s neck.
Behind those dark eyes, she could see him cataloging everything about her—the pristine North Face jacket, the spotless Patagonia hiking pants that still had the sharp creases from its packaging, the gleaming Salomon boots that had probably cost more than he made in a week.
Her REI shopping spree was written all over her in price tags and perfect stitching.
Though her camera—an expensive piece of equipment—had seen action and was something she was clearly comfortable using.
His assessment was swift and clearly unfavorable.
“Excuse me?” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, but she was tired of being underestimated before she’d even opened her mouth.
Ty's gaze flicked to Tara, then back to her, lingering on the tiny diamond studs in her ears that caught the morning light. “Ty Grady. I’m your guide.” He didn’t offer his hand, just stood there with his arms crossed, the German Shepherd sitting alert at his side.
His own clothes told a different story—work-worn jeans with honest stains, a flannel shirt soft from countless washings, boots that had seen real miles.
“Though I’m starting to think this whole thing might be a waste of everyone’s time. ”
“A waste of—” Lark stepped forward, her camera forgotten, the expensive leather strap sliding against her pristine fleece. “You don’t even know me.”
“Don’t need to. I can see everything I need to see right here.
” His eyes traveled deliberately over her spotless gear, pausing on the creases in her hiking pants and the jacket that had never seen a drop of rain.
“When’s the last time you spent a night without room service? Or Egyptian cotton sheets?”
The condescension in his voice made her want to throw something—preferably her ridiculously expensive water bottle—at his smug face. “When’s the last time you spent five minutes without being a complete ass?”
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe even amusement—but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.
“Look, princess—”
“Don’t.” The word cracked like a whip, and her manicured fingers tightened on her camera strap. “Don’t call me that.”
This time the surprise stayed longer, and she caught him studying her face with more attention, his gaze lingering on the determined set of her jaw rather than her perfectly applied makeup. Good. Let him see that she wasn’t some delicate flower who’d wilt at the first sign of conflict.
“Ty.” Tara’s voice cut through the tension as she moved between them, her worn jeans and comfortable flannel a stark contrast to Lark’s outdoor catalog perfection.
“What Luke probably didn’t mention is that Lark has been preparing for this trip for months.
She’s not some tourist looking for a scenic photo op. ”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, his eyes returning to her pristine Smartwool socks visible above her unblemished boot leather.
“And Lark,” Tara continued, turning to her with a meaningful look, “Ty guides for us here at the ranch sometimes. He’s the best tracker in three counties, and he knows the backcountry better than anyone.”
Lark wanted to argue, wanted to demand a different guide, but she could see the problem before she voiced it. “What about the other guides? Luke mentioned he had several on the payroll.”
Ty's jaw tightened, and she noticed a thin scar running along his temple that his cowboy hat didn’t quite hide.
“Case is... occupied with his new woman. Jake’s running point on the community center build.
Logan’s got deputy duties, so he can’t leave.
And Mike’s needed at the Monroe ranch for calving season. ”
Something in the way he said “Monroe ranch” made her pause. There was weight there, emotion carefully controlled, and she sensed he wouldn’t speak further about it.
“So it’s me or nobody,” he continued. “And frankly, I’m thinking nobody might be the safer option for someone wearing a thousand-dollar jacket to hike in.”
“The hell it is.” The words were out before she could stop them, her perfectly polished nails digging into her palms. “I didn’t come across the country to be turned away by some mountain man with an attitude problem.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Mountain man?”
“If the flannel fits.” She gestured at his worn shirt, so different from the crisp button-downs and Italian suits she was used to.
For a moment, she thought he might actually smile.
Instead, he stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
Close enough to smell pine soap and something essentially male that made her pulse skip, close enough to see that his hands were scarred and callused in ways that spoke of real work.
“You sure about this, city girl? Once we’re out there, there’s no calling for backup when you break a nail.” His gaze dropped to her French manicure, perfect and untouched by anything more strenuous than typing.
She lifted her chin, refusing to step back even though his proximity was doing strange things to her breathing and making her very aware of how soft and sheltered she must look next to his weathered strength.
She considered firing him, but she had never backed down from a challenge in her life.
Something else she’d inherited from her father.
His poking at her and insistence that she couldn’t handle herself only made her want to prove herself even more.
She met his gaze evenly. “Try me.”
They stared at each other, and the air between them crackled with challenge and an awareness—something that made her very aware of how his shoulders filled out that flannel shirt, how his presence seemed to dwarf her despite her expensive outdoor gear.
“Tara,” she said without breaking eye contact, “please tell Mr. Grady that I can handle whatever he thinks he can dish out?”
“Oh, I think he’s getting that message loud and clear,” Tara said dryly. “Ty, will you at least agree to give her a fair chance? And maybe show her the same respect you’d show any other client?”
Ty was quiet for a long moment, his gaze never leaving Lark’s face. She could practically see him weighing his options, and she held her breath.
Finally, he grunted. “We leave at dawn tomorrow. And we do this my way, or we don’t do it at all.”
It wasn’t exactly gracious, but it was an agreement. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
Caesar chose that moment to stand and pad over to Lark, sniffing curiously at her pristine boots. When she automatically reached down to let him smell her hand, Ty's expression shifted slightly.
“That’s Caesar,” he said, and for the first time, his voice held something other than irritation.
“Hey there, handsome,” she murmured to the dog, who decided she passed inspection and allowed her to scratch behind his ears, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the light as she moved.
When she looked up, Ty was watching with an unreadable expression, his gaze lingering on the way she handled his dog with genuine warmth rather than the careful distance most wealthy people maintained.
“Dawn,” he repeated, already turning toward his truck. “And princess? Pack light.”
As soon as Lark disappeared inside the main house, probably to sulk about his attitude or hopefully reconsider her life’s choices, Ty felt Tara’s eyes boring into him.
He’d known Tara Morgan for a few years now.
She’d welcomed him and his brothers to the area, accepting them without prejudice, and trusting them to work with their visitors at her guest ranch and helping them with getting settled on the mountain.
But now, she didn’t seem too pleased with him.
“Well, that was impressive,” Tara said, crossing her arms. “I haven’t seen someone be that much of an ass since West tried to run me off the ranch.”
Ty winced. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?” Tara stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“That woman in there just spent the last ten minutes standing up to you without backing down once. She could have demanded a different guide, could have called her father to complain, could have thrown a tantrum. Instead, she held her ground and earned Caesar’s approval at the same time. ”
Ty glanced back at his dog, who was still sitting where Lark had scratched his ears, looking like he’d been betrayed by her departure. Traitor.
“Look, you don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand.” Tara’s voice carried the authority of someone who’d learned to manage difficult men through years of ranch life.
“Lark Prescott isn’t some spoiled brat playing dress-up.
She quit a job at her father’s company to pursue photography.
She’s been training for months for this trip.
And she chose to come here, to stay with me, because she needed someone who’d believe in her. ”
The weight in Tara’s voice made Ty look at her more carefully. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s not my story to tell. But I will say this—that woman has more courage than half the men who come through here looking to prove something in the wilderness. She’s fighting for something real.”
Ty kicked at the gravel with his boot heel.
The morning sun was climbing higher, burning off the mist that clung to the mountains, and somewhere in the distance he could hear cattle moving through the pastures.
All of it peaceful, normal—unlike the knot of obligation and resentment sitting in his chest.
“The backcountry is no place for amateurs,” he said finally. “One mistake out there and people die.”
Tara’s stern expression cracked into a grin. “That’s why they hire guides.”
“Tara—”
“Ty.” She reached out and touched his arm, her voice gentling. “I’m not asking you to go easy on her if she can’t handle it. I’m asking you to give her a chance to prove she can. There’s a difference.”
Ty stared out at the mountains, thinking about Mitchell Prescott’s cold voice on the phone, about Tony’s family struggling to keep their ranch, about the impossible position he’d been put in. How was he supposed to keep Lark safe while simultaneously making her miserable enough to quit?
“She’s tougher than she looks,” Tara continued. “But she’s also been told her whole life that she’s not good enough, not strong enough, not capable enough. Don’t be another voice in that chorus.”
Caesar wandered over and nudged Ty's hand, probably wondering why they were still standing around talking instead of heading home. Ty absently scratched the dog’s head, remembering the way Lark had crouched down to Caesar’s level, the genuine warmth in her voice when she’d greeted him.
“I’ll try not to be a complete bastard,” he said finally.
“That’s all I’m asking.” Tara smiled. “Well, that and maybe apologizing for calling her princess. She really didn’t like that.”
Ty thought about the flash of hurt he’d seen in Lark’s eyes before the anger took over. Yeah, he’d definitely struck a nerve there.
“We leave at dawn,” he said, turning toward his truck. “Make sure she knows to pack light. And tell her to leave the jewelry at home.”
“I will. And Ty?” Tara called after him as he opened the truck door. “Try to remember that not everyone who has money is the enemy.”
Ty paused, his hand on the door handle. Easy for Tara to say—she didn’t have someone holding a family’s livelihood hostage to ensure cooperation.
But as he drove away from Redemption Ranch, Caesar’s head sticking out the window beside him in the passenger seat, he thought about the way Lark had stood up to him, chin raised and fire in her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t as helpless as her father wanted her to believe.
The question was: what the hell was he supposed to do about it?