Chapter 4 Dom
DOM
The Lazy Moose looked exactly like the kind of place where a man could find peace. Wide, open fields. Sturdy ranch house. Blue sky stretching so far you half expected to hear a soundtrack swell behind you.
And also—horses.
I stood beside Noah, watching them from what I considered a safe, reasonable distance. “So, just to be clear…they can smell fear, right?”
Noah snorted. “They’re not sharks, Dom.”
“Disagree. They’ve got those big, intelligent eyes and that judging energy.” I gestured at one who was definitely staring at me too long. “See that one? She knows I don’t belong here.”
“That’s Caramel,” Noah said dryly. “She’s a sweetheart.”
“Caramel is plotting my downfall.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Anyway, we’ve got a big Lucas family holiday coming up. We used Claire’s graduation in Washington as the excuse.”
Claire, his sister-in-law.
“Big deal for her,” I said. “And for you guys.”
“Feels like it’s been a long time coming,” he said, a proud glint in his eyes. “She’s already got plans for her own practice. She’ll be running the town in no time.”
“Smart move. Vets have job security. People love their animals.”
“Not to mention,” Noah added with a smirk, “my brother is thrilled about slashing our vet bills.”
I let out a short laugh. “Is that why you guys encouraged her in the first place? Long-term investment?”
“Gotta think ahead,” he said, grinning.
Then he nodded toward the house. “I would’ve offered you my place while we’re gone, but there’s a wedding coming up, and both mine and Elia’s places are basically guest houses now.”
I turned to him with my eyebrows raised. “Oh, Noah! You even considered leaving me in charge of this place? I’m touched.”
Noah snorted. “Not in charge. Elia barely let the wedding planner have the keys. No way he’d trust you.”
“Wow. Way to boost a guy’s confidence.”
“Nothing personal. We’ve got Hank, anyway. Wedding or not, nothing happens to this place under his watch.”
Good old Hank. The foreman ran this ranch as if it were his own.
I glanced back at the spread, the horse-infested spread. “Appreciate the thought, but I’ll take my chances at the motel. Less risk of me breaking something expensive.”
“Or getting trampled.”
“That too.”
Noah smirked, leaning against the fence. “You know, old Bill over at the fishing shop is thinking of retiring. Maybe you ought to buy the place. You used to talk about fishing.”
“Fishing,” I repeated, mulling it over. “You know I haven’t actually fished in, like, a decade?”
Noah shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t run a business selling fishing gear to people who do fish.”
He had a point. It wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever heard.
I exhaled, letting my gaze drift out over the Montana horizon. Big sky. Big space. A whole different rhythm from what I was used to.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. “For now, I just wanna have a zen moment.”
Noah clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Just try not to zen yourself into stepping in horse shit.”
“Good call,” I said. But my mind was already on the next plan. “Hey, you mentioned a Raven Bluff trail?”
Noah nodded. “Beautiful trail. If you hike all the way, you end up at Blodgett Pass.”
“Sweet.”
Noah’s smirk deepened. “And you’re aware you’re in Montana now, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you by needing a search party to come find me.”
“I dunno, Dom. Last time you went hiking, you Googled ‘how to walk downhill safely.’”
“Hey! Don’t twist my history,” I complained. “I was a perfectly average lawyer until I lost a bet with an adrenaline-junkie client. Next thing I know, I’m learning to belay and start fires without matches. Turns out, surviving’s kinda addictive.”
He laughed. “When were you thinking of heading out?”
I glanced at the sun. There were still some hours left. “Now.”
“You’re eager,” he said, then looked me over. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Got everything I need.”
He gave my shoulder a pat and turned as Hank called his name. I gave Caramel one last wary look before heading back to the truck.
Hiking in Montana was different.
In California, most trails were neatly marked and packed with weekend warriors in overpriced gear. In Utah, the trails I’d hiked were carved into red rock, the air dry and heavy with dust. But even then, there were plenty of other hikers.
Montana?
Montana was wild.
The dirt trail beneath my boots wasn’t groomed to perfection. It was uneven, scattered with roots and loose rocks waiting to trip me up. And the air was crisp and fresh in a way that made my lungs work harder.
There was no distant chatter from other hikers, no quick exits, and no guardrails.
Just pine trees towering overhead, birds calling somewhere out of sight, and the unsettling awareness that if something happened to me out here, it’d take a while before anyone found my body.
I adjusted my pack, shaking off the thought. I could get used to this.
Hell, I’d have to.
I kept walking. You couldn’t inhale this kind of quiet back in the city. It smelled like real freedom and, at the same time, the hush of being small. A few more minutes brought me to a clearing, one that opened wide to a view that made me still.
The Buffaloberry River curled below, winding between dense forest and sunlight.
Up here, the world didn’t shout. It didn’t tally your worth by how loud you were, how fast you answered, or how hard you hit back. You could be unsure. And if you were weak, nature didn’t mock you. It just showed you, plain and honest.
For once, I didn’t have to fear the judgment. Not from clients, rivals, or my own reflection. Not even from my old man.
The heart attack was the shove. But the wilderness? That was the escape.
I tipped my head back, my eyes closed. I felt the sun warming my skin and heard nothing but wind and birds.
Yeah, I’d made the right call.
The river ran close for a stretch, then slipped away as the trail climbed.
And then—
Barking.
Loud. Nonstop. Getting closer.
I tensed, my hand on the bear spray at my belt. Maybe it worked on more than bears. I was about to find out.
The underbrush rustled. I locked my knees, bracing, not running. Running was how one got chased.
But this wasn’t a coyote or a stray mistaking me for lunch.
It was a dog.
And not just any dog. This one had energy. It was medium-sized and lean, with a short coat and ears so big that they looked stolen from a bat. She skidded to a stop right in front of me, her big blue eyes locked on mine, and her tail wagging so hard that her whole body swayed with it.
“Well, hey there,” I said.
She barked again urgently before spinning in a quick circle and hopping toward me, her front paws bouncing off the dirt.
I crouched slightly, extending a hand. “You lost, girl?”
There was no aggression and no hesitation. She shoved her nose right into my palm, let out a short huff, then darted back a few steps, only to bark again.
And again.
And again.
I scanned the trail. No owner. No leash. No collar. Just this dog, staring at me like I was an idiot for not understanding her first language.
Then she took off.
Stopped.
Barked wildly.
And turned back to me.
I exhaled, hands on my hips. “You want me to follow you, huh?”
She let out a commanding sound that left no room for debate.
Great. First day off the job, and I was taking orders from a dog.
“All right, Lassie,” I muttered, adjusting my backpack and setting off after her.
She wasted no time, bounding ahead but always glancing back to make sure I was still with her.
About an hour in, she broke left, her paws skidding through pine needles and loose dirt. The slope she headed down was steep—nearly vertical in some stretches and all crumbly rock and narrow roots.
But the mutt didn’t care. She just moved.
Then the barking started again.
I scanned the mess of fallen trees below.
And then I saw her.