26. Savannah
26
SAVANNAH
The Starfire Ranch embraces me like a dream, coaxing me to linger in bed despite having spent the night imagining myself doing some serious herding.
Following everything that transpired at Lakefall Valley, I never thought I’d find myself waking up under a country quilt, breathing in the pure, brisk air that carries the distinct scent of dew-soaked grass only found on a ranch that has weathered hundreds of seasons.
I help Bianca carry our breakfast to the table, a spread that could rival any country feast. Toast, jam, sausages, bacon, eggs, the works, along with an array of freshly squeezed juices.
I eye the colorful bottles curiously, and Bianca says, “All from our own harvest. Mountain berries, cherries, and carrots.” She points to each one.
“Amazing, Bianca!”
“Where’s Hux?” Micah asks, loading up his plate with a hearty helping of scrambled eggs. He’s seven years younger than his brother, brimming with youthful energy, and in his physical prime. I can’t help but notice the similarities between them, the sharp, defined features that seem to run in the family.
“Still getting ready,” I answer.
“He’s forgotten how cowboy gear works!” Micah chuckles. Suddenly, his attention shifts to the footsteps approaching. “Speak of the devil!”
My stomach momentarily forgets about Bianca’s breakfast, churning with reactions that have nothing to do with digestion. Hux has swapped his usual suit for a checkered shirt and jeans, cinched with a worn leather belt. There’s nothing quite as stirring as seeing a man dressed in clothes that speak of ruggedness and hard work, with muscles subtly defined under the fabric.
“Good morning,” Hux greets us, his voice tickling me with that familiar, rough-edged tone of having just woken up. But this time, there’s a subtle undertone that hints at the outdoors.
“Morning, darling,” Bianca pats him on the shoulder, her eyes lingering on the belt. “I haven’t seen you wear that in a long time.”
Hux glances at me as he sits next to me, murmuring, “It’s my dad’s.”
I run my fingers over the chunky buckle, remarking, “It looks good on you.” I feel a strong connection to his history, yet I can’t ignore the heat building at the base of my core. I’m already imagining the clink of that buckle when I undress him tonight.
After breakfast, Bianca sees us off. We head to the stable, where Ranger and Ruby bark excitedly, meeting the Comettis’ herding dogs for the first time. Under Micah’s keen observation, the dogs greet each other. Micah comments, “They seem to get along, but I’ll probably have Gunner keep ours with him, let them stick with the cattle this morning. ”
Only those with a trained eye can spot the subtle body language in dogs. I notice it, too. Ranger, while staying quiet, subtly tries to assert his dominance, even as Micah’s pack has already established their alpha.
As we gear up the horses, I feel an overwhelming sense of belonging, like I’ve finally found my tribe. Hux’s horse, a magnificent black stallion with a striking white snout, towers beside us. Misty, already seeming like his best friend, nuzzles against him. With a shared enthusiasm, we ride out, the cold morning air invigorating, filled with the earthy smells of the ranch—fresh hay, leather, and the distant scent of pine from the surrounding woods. It’s a world apart, a place where every breath feels like a new lease on life.
Soon, the dawn breaks, mist hangs over the fields, and the light paints the landscape in a smooth, pinkish hue. We embark along what Micah refers to as the ‘Fire Trail,’ a rugged path leading us eastward and marked by the traces of countless hooves that have beaten this route. It’s one of the two main arteries of the ranch, its counterpart being the ‘Star Trail’ that winds through the northern pastures.
Hux’s attention is momentarily captured by a silhouette in the distance, an old cottage that stands in contrast to the modernized structures peppering the rest of the ranch. This one, forgotten by time, wears its dilapidation like a badge of history. As we pass, I notice Hux’s posture stiffen, tension evident in the way he holds the reins. His gaze lingers on the cottage even as we leave it behind.
“What’s there?” I ask, curiosity piqued by his distraction.
“An old foreman’s quarters,” he murmurs, his tone dismissive. With a shake of his head, he urges his horse forward to rejoin the group.
We traverse the rolling valleys and undulating hills, crossing over babbling streams that cut through the landscape. The morning dew clings to the grass, making the terrain slick under the horses’ hooves. Keeping the herd close becomes a dance of precision and guidance.
“What do you think, Sav?” Micah asks as we reach the crest of a hill, the vast expanse of the ranch unfurling before us. “South or southeast?”
Surveying the stretch of greenery, I weigh our options. “Southeast,” I decide, pointing to where the land rolls more gently. “Especially since these guys are a new mob,” I nod toward the cluster of sheep, their wool dotted with morning dew.
“Southeast, it is,” Micah confirms, and we adjust our path accordingly.
Our ride resumes with the familiar rhythm of ranch work. When a couple of stubborn sheep decide to stray, Ranger and Ruby are quick to herd them back under Micah’s sharp commands. It’s impressive to see the dogs respond to him, as they usually only heed my calls, but today, Micah’s authority is unquestionable.
Suddenly, two other sheep break from the path, heading toward a treacherous section of the valley. “Ho! No!” Micah’s shout echoes, but he’s too far away to intervene.
“I’ve got it!” I blurt out, urging Misty into action. Ranger dashes alongside us, his body language focused as we flank the wayward sheep. We navigate carefully, avoiding the denser brush that could trap the animals—or us. With strategic maneuvering and Ranger’s intense collie stare, we coax the sheep back toward safety.
Rejoining the group, the brothers break into applause. “That was incredible, Savannah,” Micah compliments, his voice filled with genuine admiration .
From the corner of my eye, I catch Hux blowing a discreet kiss in my direction, his gaze full of pride and affection.
As we reach our destination, the reality of my return to ranch life settles over me like a welcome blanket. Though we moved to Helena, the essence of the ranches and farms never really left me. But this—this vibrant, unbridled landscape—is the real West, and it feels like coming home.
The sheep are safely herded, and we’re winding down for the day.
“Hey, Mic, think you can handle things from here? I’m taking Savannah down to the river,” Huxley calls out, already halfway to his plan.
Micah throws a knowing grin at his brother. “Go on, you two. I’ve got these sheep and the dogs well in hand.”
I dismount Misty, taking a moment to kneel by Ranger and Ruby. I cradle Ranger’s face in my hands, then move on to Ruby, my usual way of thanking them for their dedication. “Be good. Stick with Micah,” I instruct, their tails wagging in response.
Once they’re off with Micah, it’s just Hux and me. He points toward the horizon, where the river carves a winding path through the land. “We’re going three miles down that way,” he says, the mischief in his eyes unmistakable. “Race ya!” And with that, he’s off like a shot, spurring his horse into a full gallop.
“Damn it!” I curse under my breath, swinging back up onto Misty. We burst forward, hooves thundering against the earth. The landscape becomes a blur of greens and browns as we race past, the wind tearing at our clothes and hair. The ride is a breathtaking blur of motion, an exhilarating dash that ends all too quickly when we reach the riverbank.
“Woo-hoo!” I pull up, my laughter ringing out as I throw my arms up in victory .
“You’re just too damn fast, Savannah Mitchell!” Huxley grins, his horse catching its breath beside him.
“Did you let me win?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“No way. My horse wouldn’t have allowed that,” he protests.
“Maybe your horse is just a gentleman, letting Misty lead,” I chuckle.
“I reckon your girl is just as feisty as her rider,” he shoots back with a smile, hopping off the saddle.
We secure our horses to a nearby tree and wander to the riverbank, where the steady flow of the river provides a soothing backdrop. Captivated by the shimmering light on the water, I let the peacefulness sink in.
“Fancy a dip?” Hux suggests, a roguish grin playing on his lips.
“Best idea you’ve had all day,” I fire back, enthusiasm bubbling over.
“All the way, Sav. All the way,” he taunts, his eyes tracing my movements as I hesitantly peel off my layers.
His piercing eyes, a captivating shade of coffee brown mixed with burned caramel, lock onto my last remaining pieces of clothing. As his eyes trail down, their hunger evident, they finally come to rest at my cleavage.
I pause, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Are you sure we’re good here?” I glance around, half-expecting an audience. Maybe city living has dulled a bit of my old boldness. But even back on my ranch moons ago, I never quite shook the feeling that prying eyes might be lurking, even though I never truly thought of it as a nudist camp.
“So what if they see?” he laughs off the concern.
“Hux?”
“Trust me, we’re safe, baby,” he reassures me, hastily kicking off his boots and stripping down his leather leggings. As he loosens the buttons of his shirt, he throws out, “‘Water is the catalyst for love.’ Who said that?”
“Michael Phelps, maybe?”
“Me!” he proclaims proudly, and with a whoop, he dives into the river, naked as his first day in the world.