Boots, Buckles, and Roman Mountain

CHAPTER ONE

KYLA

“No, no, no, no. Please just a little farther.”

I look around, my heart in my throat. One hand white-knuckles the steering wheel while the other pats the dashboard encouragingly.

But it’s no use. The engine goes quiet despite my pleading and praying. I cannot stop the loud sigh that escapes my lips as I guide my not so trustworthy but loved rust bucket of a truck onto the gravel shoulder.

Large Marge, my inheritance from my late grandmother, gives one final shudder as if trying to rally, but it’s no use.

Of course this happens to me, to us.

Thankfully, Large Marge got us farther than I thought she would. That’s something to be grateful for, but now what?

I look around at the picturesque scenery before me. I hadn’t paid much attention until now, but wow! This valley is stunning.

There are tall, forested mountains rising on either side. The trees are bare, but it does nothing to take away from the beauty that surrounds me. It’s like I can see the bones of the landscape.

The sun is setting, and the light shines through the woods onto the valley below. There’s a flat expanse of pastures on both sides and a narrow county road that cuts through the center of the valley.

It is one of the prettiest places I have ever seen, but I bet when it gets dark here, it’s dark. Most likely you can’t see your hand in front of your face.

Did I even pack a flashlight?

I don’t see any houses. I haven’t even passed a car in I don’t know how long. But if there are fences, a pasture full of beautiful horses, someone must be around.

Right?

I do remember seeing a sign for a town up ahead, Silver Lake, but we are most likely still several miles away, and I don’t want to walk in the dark along an unfamiliar country road with a seven-year-old.

No thank you.

“Mommy, did Large Marge need a nap?”

I smile at my daughter despite our circumstances. Her golden-brown hair and bright blue eyes stare at me from where she’s perched on her booster seat. I unbuckle my lap belt and try to hide the nervousness in my voice.

“I guess she was tired. That was a long drive for her, but we’re okay.”

I’m trying to reassure myself as much as her.

“I’m going to hop out of the truck and take a look. Please stay in the truck, Laney.”

“Okay, Mommy, but can I pet the horses? They look like they’d like that.”

I smile at her again. The girl loves horses. I push the door open and step out of the warm truck. The air is crisp, and I feel like this is the first time that I have been able to breathe deeply in a long time. A small sense of peace washes over me even if everything is not so great now.

We’ve been through worse.

I stayed too long.

I gave too many undeserved chances.

I shake the thoughts from my head. That is in the past, and I am leaving it there.

“Just stay in the truck for now, please.”

I locate the lever behind the grill and pull. Lifting the hood, I prop it up and just stare at Marge’s insides. I don’t know much about trucks, and even if I did, I don’t have any tools. I don’t know what I think I’ll accomplish here.

I look at my surroundings again and, in the distance, I see a white truck on the side of the road that I hadn’t noticed before. It looks too new to be broken down.

Maybe they work on this farm?

I hear a car approaching, and when I glance over, a black sedan with dark, tinted windows drives by very slowly. I assume they are gawking at us. No doubt they are. In the South, we call those people rubber-neckers.

Thanks for asking if we’re okay. But then again, stranger danger looms in my mind.

I glance again toward the white truck. Maybe they can at least help me figure out something to get us off the side of the road.

I am not using my phone unless I must. I turned off my location, and I didn’t drive my car because that stupid app lets you track the car’s whereabouts in real time. That’s why we’re using Large Marge.

What will I do if we are stuck here or Large Marge needs serious repairs? I have some money, but that is to get us through until I can find a job.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I mumble to myself.

A crunch of gravel is my only warning before a male voice says, “Maybe I can help.”

I gasp, startled, and turn quickly to see who that low, calm voice came from. A man now stands a few feet away from me.

I look around and notice the white truck has moved closer. I can see some sort of logo on the passenger side door, but I can’t make it out from this angle.

“Um, hello?” I say, but it’s more of a question as my eyes focus back to the mountain of a man that stands before me. He extends his hand as he introduces himself. I can’t help but notice how distractingly handsome this man is and boy, he is tall.

I look up, up, up.

He is well over six feet tall. He’s lean, but I can tell by his build that he’s muscular. His gray canvas jacket doesn’t hide his form. He’s not the flashy type. He has that rugged country boy look going for him, and it works in his favor.

A hint of green plaid flannel escapes over the collar of his jacket. He has a slightly unkempt dark brown beard that couldn’t hide his angular jaw if it wanted to. If anything, it highlights it.

His sharply focused green gaze lands on me, and a hint of kindness lurks there.

His black baseball cap has a white band that reads Roman Mountain Farm in lovely black letters, and a horse stands proudly above the logo.

I scan him, noting his muscular thighs encased in faded blue jeans that end where his labor worn brown boots peak out.

“Hey. I’m Cohen Roman. Mind if I look at your truck?”

His hand is still extended toward me. He doesn’t press.

He just waits as if he has all the time in the world for me to make the next move.

I reach for his hand. His large, callused grip is a little cold but not unpleasant.

I can’t stop the echo of my grandmother’s voice from running through my mind.

Cold hands, warm heart.

A lot of good listening to my heart has done me. I hesitate but only for a moment. What other options do I have?

Exactly none.

“I’d appreciate it. I’m Kyla Webster.”