Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Ty tossed another saddlebag onto the table, the sound echoing in the empty cabin. He’d saddled his horse already and was just packing up shit, getting ready to leave. The only question was—was he headed back to the ranch or after Lark?
“Stupid,” he muttered, pacing the length of the room. “Goddamn stupid.”
Every word out of his mouth since she’d stormed off replayed in his head on a loop. He should’ve told her sooner. Should’ve stopped her. Should’ve done something.
Instead, he’d stood there like an idiot while she rode away, Luke Vincent on her tail. Luke better fucking protect her or he’d kick his friend’s ass.
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp, then crouched to dig through the gearbox by the hearth. Extra ammo. Canteens. Rope. He threw them onto the table beside the saddlebags.
“Real smooth, Grady,” he growled under his breath. “You fall for her, sleep with her, and then let her find out you were hired to make her fucking miserable and erode her confidence. Great job, asshole.”
Outside, the wind had picked up again, carrying the distant scent of rain. The clouds rolling over the ridge looked dark, heavy—another storm building.
He was buckling the last strap when he heard hoofbeats. Steady. Fast.
Caesar barked once and shot toward the porch as Jake Nolan rode into view, his horse lathered and breathing hard. Ty’s gut clenched. The Ghost didn’t ride that fast unless something was wrong.
Jake swung down before the horse had fully stopped. “Tracks are gone,” he snapped, tossing his reins over the post. “Damn rain’s washing out everything south of the ridge. Cat’s either holed up or moved on.” His gaze swept the cabin, then settled on Ty. “Where’s Lark?”
Ty’s jaw tightened. “Gone.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Gone how?”
“Luke came by this morning,” Ty said, voice flat. “She overheard him. Found out about the deal with her old man.”
Jake let out a low whistle, pulling off his hat and shaking his head. “Well, hell. What kind of deal did you make with her father?”
Ty bristled. “A stupid one. He wanted her to realize that being a wildlife photographer is a rough life.”
Jake arched an eyebrow. “So he wanted you to make life a little tough for the princess?” He shrugged. “Better she find out now, where it’s fairly safe. Now she can go back to her ivory tower.”
“She’s not a fucking princess. She did just fine out here. She’s—” He stopped, grinding his teeth. “She’s better than I deserve.”
Jake grunted, his gaze gleaming with a hint of knowing. “And now?”
“She took off with Luke. I figured he’d escort her around until she calmed down.”
Jake frowned. “Funny. I just came up the creek bed about a mile out. Saw Luke, but not Lark.”
Ty’s blood went cold. “What?”
“Yeah. He was by the water, riding along the bank. Alone.”
The air in Ty’s lungs turned to ice. He swore under his breath. “Son of a bitch.”
Jake’s expression hardened. “You think he lost her?”
“Or she gave him the slip,” Ty said grimly. “We talked about heading toward the falls yesterday. She wanted a picture of bears. I said there was a family of black bears up that way. She might’ve gone there.”
Jake cursed softly. “Alone?”
Ty met his gaze. “You’ve seen her. Angry and stubborn? She’d walk straight into a storm before admitting she needed help.” He grabbed a rifle and saddlebags and headed outside. “Damn it, Jake, if she’s out there and that cat’s still prowling—”
Jake didn’t need him to finish. He followed Ty, already grabbing the reins of his horse. “Then we’d better ride.”
Ty nodded once, swinging into the saddle. The guilt still gnawed at him, but now it was drowned out by a sharper, cleaner instinct—fear.
For the first time in his life, it wasn’t his own hide he was worried about.
“Let’s move,” he said, heels digging into his horse’s flank. “We follow the ridge east, then drop toward the falls.”
Jake fell in behind him without another word, the two of them riding hard into the wind.
The storm was coming fast, with dark clouds rolling over the peaks and the smell of rain and danger thick in the air.
And all Ty could think—over and over—was please, let me find her in time.
Lark wiped at her eyes with the back of her sleeve for what felt like the hundredth time. The sting of tears mixed with cold mountain air, leaving her face tight and raw.
The ride had been long and silent, and she hadn’t really been watching where she was going. Her mind kept looping over the same words—He lied. He took a deal. He used me.
Every time she tried to breathe through it, her chest squeezed tighter.
Ty’s voice still echoed in her head, low and rough—It wasn’t supposed to go that far.
But it had. And now she didn’t know what had been real. The nights by the fire? The quiet mornings? His touch, his kiss, the way he’d looked at her like she was the only thing that made sense in the world?
Her throat ached.
She’d told herself she wasn’t crying over him. That she was angry. That she was done. But she wasn’t. Not really.
Luke had hung back, giving her space, but then her horse had gotten spooked by something and took off. She hadn’t been expecting the horse to bolt and by the time she’d gotten control of him, she was all turned around.
The terrain was unfamiliar—dense spruce and granite boulders slick with moss. The air had a heavy, charged stillness that meant rain wasn’t far. Her horse snorted, uneasy, the whites of his eyes flashing.
“It’s okay, boy,” she murmured, patting his neck. “Just a little further. We’ll find our way back.”
She didn’t want to admit it aloud, but she was also trying to prove something—to Ty, to her father, maybe even to herself. That she could handle the wild. That she wasn’t some spoiled city girl who folded the moment things got uncomfortable.
When the trees thinned and she heard the roar of water, she straightened.
The falls that Ty had told her about came into view—tall and silver against the dark rock face, mist rising like breath into the cooling air. Her heart lifted, despite everything. It was breathtaking. Wild and untamed and exactly what she’d come for.
Then she froze.
At the base of the falls, half-hidden by brush, was a massive brown bear.
And three cubs.
Her pulse jumped, but her photographer’s instinct overrode her nerves. She’d found what she’d been searching for—wildlife in its element. Proof.
Slowly, she dismounted, keeping her movements smooth. “Easy, boy,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
She slipped the camera from its bag, crouching low as she adjusted the lens. The sound of the falls masked her soft clicks as she snapped the first shots—the mother bear’s head lifting, droplets glinting in her fur, the cubs tumbling near the rocks.
It was perfect.
Her heartbeat steadied. For the first time all day, she felt like herself again—focused, alive, doing what she loved.
Then, her horse let out a sharp whinny.
The sudden movement startled her. She turned just in time to see him rear, eyes wide and rolling, before bolting back down the trail.
“Wait! Wait!” she shouted, stumbling after him a few steps—but he was gone in seconds, the sound of hooves fading into the trees.
Her camera slipped in her shaking hands. “Damn it.”
That’s when she felt it.
The prickle at the back of her neck. The unmistakable awareness of being watched.
She turned slowly.
Not twenty yards away, a mountain lion stood just beyond the brush—sleek, golden, and coiled with predatory stillness. Its tail flicked once, eyes locked on her.
Her heart lurched into her throat.
She looked back toward the bear, and her blood ran cold. The mother had risen onto her hind legs, enormous and silent, her dark gaze fixed not on the lion—but on her.
Lark’s breath came fast and shallow. She realized with sickening clarity that she was standing between a protective mother bear and her cubs… and a hungry predator circling from behind.
Two predators. One terrified human.
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Her camera hung from its strap, forgotten.
The lion shifted its weight, muscles rippling under tawny fur. The bear huffed, lowering to all fours, cubs scrambling behind her.
Lark swallowed hard, every nerve screaming. The trees were too far. The rocks were too slick. Running was suicide.
“Okay,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Easy now. We’re all good here.”
The bear growled—a deep, rolling sound that vibrated through Lark’s bones.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything but the roar of the falls.
And all she could think—absurdly, painfully—was that Ty had been right about one thing.
Out here, the wild didn’t care how capable you thought you were.
It only cared if you survived.