11
C harlie and I get started at the crack of dawn.
We have breakfast in the lodge, a delicious cowboy feast of eggs, skillet potatoes, and biscuits and gravy.
I’m so full I can barely walk. Charlie spends the next three hours introducing me to his staff.
I meet Tina, the guest services manager, Silas, the executive chef, and various ranch hands.
I make plans with all of them to sit down one-on-one and get their story later this summer.
I follow Charlie around the ranch, trying not to bombard him with questions while keeping a respectful distance. When I do ask questions, he answers me dutifully like he’s trying to atone for yesterday’s blow-up.
I take notes and log everything I learn away for future reference. The game plan in my mind is simple ...
Flip the story.
Embrace the bad press.
Come get yelled at by cowboys.
Very, very, sexy cowboys.
The sun is high in the sky by the time Charlie and I get started on the hike up Meadow Mountain. He’s promised me the best view around, one that captures the essence of Runaway Ranch.
“It’s two miles up, two miles down.” He spears me with a look. “Can you do it?”
I can.
As long as we don’t go fast, and I’m on my medication, I can exercise. Yesterday’s slip was because of adrenaline and stress. A calm hike up a beautiful mountain—I’ll be fine.
He’s staring at me, still waiting for an answer, but that typical look of annoyance he’s worn since I met him isn’t there. In its place is patience.
I smile up at Charlie. “Can we go slow?”
Those blue eyes stay locked on my face as he gives a curt nod. “I can do that.”
In silence, we trek side by side, the low elevation of the ranch giving way to jagged mountains and towering evergreens that seem to stretch up to the blue sky above.
I adjust my sunglasses, courtesy of my gas station friend back in Winslow, and inhale a deep breath of fresh air, taking in the stunning Montana view.
But soon, my eyes stray to the man in front of me.
He’s lost in thought, walking with purpose. His boots crunch rock like he’s ready to take on the mountain and win.
His white T-shirt molds to his biceps and broad chest, the muscles in his back rippling as he walks.
Beneath the cowboy hat, his full lips wear a frown through his close-cropped beard.
Despite the sun burning brightly overhead, goosebumps break out over my arms. His beauty overwhelms all my senses.
He smells of sweat and hay and black coffee and man.
I’ve traveled half across the world and found the best view in the world.
And it’s a cowboy named Charlie Montgomery.
Afraid I’ll get caught staring, my eyes dip toward the ground. I stop and gasp.
Charlie startles at the sound and puts his hand out as I sink to the ground. “Ruby?”
“Look,” I breathe, pointing at a cluster of purple flowers spread across the trail. “They’re wild violets.”
He gives me a look. “You’re a strange girl.” His eyes flicker over me—my lips, my legs—and his expression resets. “Stay that way,” he says, then steps over the patch of flowers and resumes hiking.
I smile and straighten up. Coming from Charlie, it’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.
We continue with the hike, falling into an easy silence for the long trek up. Fifteen minutes in, I realize Charlie’s switched places with me. He’s moved me to the inside wall of the mountain and he’s taken the cliff edge.
Heat blooms in my core. It’s a move both protective and caring and has my mind drifting back to yesterday.
I liked the side of Charlie Montgomery that came to apologize as much as I like the gruff cowboy who yelled at me out there in the pasture. Some might call it an overreaction, but I’m not sure. It told me he cared; it told me he worried, maybe more than he was trying to let on.
Yesterday, when he took me in his arms and held me on the couch, I could feel it. My heart. Beating fast. But not because of my arrythmia. Because of Charlie. He was kind and sweet, talking about flowers to distract me from what happened with my almost-flutter. Even if he didn’t know about it.
The icky feeling of guilt creeps across my skin. I hate lying to him about my condition, but I don’t want Charlie thinking I’m fragile like everyone else has in my life. It’s not an option.
I want to be normal, even if all I am is temporary.
I can’t let Charlie in. I can’t tell him the truth.
It wouldn’t be safe.
For either of us.
“Let’s stop here.” Charlie’s tall, broad body walks to a lookout point, moving with a smooth confidence that tells me he knows and loves the land.
Taking a second to clock my heartbeat, I breathe slow and steady.
Charlie extends a finger out at a waterfall diagonal from us. “That’s Crybaby Falls.”
“Why is it called that?”
He looks grim. “As the story goes, a wagon train came up here. Camped out at the falls. Two days in, they were hit by a huge storm. The ridge flooded, and the water swept one wagon over the edge of the falls. It was full of children.”
I gasp, stunned by its grandness, by the raging water cascading down the craggy rocks.
His gaze falls to my face. “People claim you can hear the babies crying at night.”
“It’s so Wild West,” I breathe, horrified. Stepping forward, I snap a photo of the falls from my phone and then check it on my camera.
“You think that’s going to save the ranch?” There’s doubt in his deep voice, but also desperation.
“I do.”
“I hope you’re right. We had two more cancellations today.”
“Really?” I frown and shake my head. “Well, don’t worry. Right now, the wrong people know you, not the right ones.” I smile. “Besides, life would be pretty damn boring without haters and doubters. We have to show them the light.”
He chuckles. “How are you always so positive?”
“I always look on the bright side. I have to. In my family, I have to be positive.”
“That’s the reason you’re here? Family?” His question comes out stiff, like he doesn’t care, but beneath the surface, there’s a lingering curiosity.
I give a one-shoulder shrug. “I guess it’s just a midlife crisis type thing.”
Charlie laughs, and my pulse trips at the sight. His laughter transforms his entire body, loosening his broad shoulders, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He’s still rugged, only more at peace.
“If you’re middle aged, darlin’, I’m a fucking grandpa.”
Darlin’. The endearment consumes me like a forest fire.
I hesitate, then, since we’re semi-baring souls, I ask, “Why’s it called Runaway Ranch?”
Charlie shakes his head, his handsome face darkening. “We’re talking about you.”
I frown. It’s the second time he’s avoided answering that question.
“Why are you here?” he asks, turning toward me.
Now it’s my turn to avoid a question. Talking about why I’m traveling across the country feels like letting all the bad stuff back in. And I want to keep my slate clean in this wonderful little town.
“I’m here to have fun. To sow—”
“Wild oats?” His voice is gruff, irritated, but it makes me shiver. The intensity of his blue-eyed gaze burns a hole straight through me. “But why? People don’t leave unless they’re ...” He stops himself before he can say the rest. But I can fill in the blanks.
Running away.
“How about this?” I announce. “I’ll tell you why I’m here, when you tell me why it’s named Runaway Ranch.”
He scowls and I smirk. Bluff called. I feel better because now I’m not lying, only withholding. Just like he is. It’s fair.
We trudge up the side of the cliff, and Charlie takes his place beside me on the outer edge. I kick at a rock and watch a hawk sail across the clear blue sky. A broad hand lands on my arm, and I look over, gratefully taking the bottle of ice-cold water that Charlie passes me.
“Up ahead,” his rough voice rumbles. “The last lookout point.”
It’s sticky, and it’s hot, but we keep climbing. The wide road soon spits us out on a narrow trail that edges right along a cliff. The path is too narrow to accommodate both of us, so Charlie takes a slow lope behind me.
“Is this your plan, Cowboy? Get me on a mountain and push me off?” I ask playfully, daring a glance over my shoulder.
He chuckles, but stays silent, keeping his gaze locked on me like he’s tracking every step I take.
Finally, we make it to a narrow part of the mountain that juts over the ranch.
“Oh my god, Charlie.” I look up at him with wide eyes, then back at the stunning view.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” I can’t look away from the panoramic view of Runaway Ranch, the glittering falls, the town of Resurrection. I edge away from Charlie’s tall, broad-shouldered frame and closer to the point.
Runaway Ranch is the most breathtaking place I’ve ever been.
The realest thing I’ve ever seen.
Holding my breath, I lean forward, wanting a better view. My heart hammers in solidarity with my recklessness.
I want to see more.
I want to see everything.
I inch forward and gasp when a red-tailed hawk flies in front of my face. My body becomes airborne as I’m picked up and then set back on my feet.
“Jesus.” Charlie tucks me against his muscled chest, his handsome face as dark as a storm cloud.
I twist in his arms and lift my sunglasses, blinking up at him. He’s still holding on to me, hand fisted in the waistband of my jeans. “What’s wrong?”
Expression twisted in annoyance, he roughs his free hand over his beard. “You have got to stop doing that, Ruby.”
“What?”
“Gasping.” A crease forms between his eyebrows. His hand pulls me tighter to him. I glance down and see his fingers are white-knuckled, gripping the curve of my hip. “I thought you were fucking falling.”
I want to tell him falling is the least of my worries, to get used to my gasps of awe, but the fear in his heated gaze has me dropping the battle.
“Okay,” I agree. When I settle in beside him, I hear his breathing steady. “I’ll look from here.” I glance up at him. “You can let me go now, Cowboy.”