Chapter 12
Forty-five minutes later, Shylo approached the open doors of the Red River Ranch’s main barn in a pair of jeans, a vintage-looking Fleetwood Mac T-shirt, and her boots.
The air was thick with the scent of hay, leather, and musk.
Seth stood nearby with two horses tied to a hitching post. His own horse, Maple, was already saddled, and the other was a slightly smaller gray mare.
Shylo's heart thumped faster, though she wasn't sure if it was the intimidating animals or the handsome man that rattled her more.
He wore the same clothes she’d seen him in earlier—snug jeans hugging long, strong legs, and a royal blue Triple-R T-shirt that made his eyes stand out beneath the brim of his tan straw hat. She reminded herself not to get lost in their depths.
He smiled when he spotted her. “Hey. Nice boots.”
She glanced down at her feet. The brown boots were secondhand from a local thrift store and gently worn—comfortable from the first time she'd put them on. Excellent reviews and an affordable price had convinced her to buy them.
“Thanks.”
“You should also get a hat, but since we’ll be mostly in the shade today, you don’t have to worry about sunburn.”
Seth stroked the gray mare’s neck, the animal’s ears flicking forward at the sound of his voice.
“This is Daisy—the sweetest girl on the ranch. Ari was about five or six when she learned to ride on her. She has another horse now that she’s training with for barrel racing, but she still likes to take this girl out for rides.
Daisy’s bombproof, steady, and about as stubborn as a golden retriever. ”
Shylo offered a nervous laugh. “She’s... bigger than I expected.”
“She’s a marshmallow. Here.” He pulled a sugar cube from his pocket and held it out to her. “Flat hand. Let her smell you first.”
She hesitated, then took a small step forward and offered the treat to the horse. Daisy's velvety muzzle bumped her palm before gently taking the sugar cube. Shylo giggled because it’d tickled. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I did that, and she didn’t bite any of my fingers off.”
“She likes you already.” Seth’s smiled. “Now give her a good rub right here.” He guided her hand gently between the horse’s eyes. “That’s her sweet spot.”
Shylo ran her palm over the mare’s forehead, surprised by how soft her coat felt—and how calm the horse seemed beneath her touch. “She is sweet.”
“Told ya.” He picked up a saddle. “This is Paige’s.
I asked if I could borrow it since you’re close to her size.
I’ll saddle Daisy for you, walk you through everything, and when we’re riding, I’ll attach an extra lead to her in case something startles her.
It rarely happens, but just to be on the safe side. ”
He set to work with practiced ease, securing the saddle, adjusting the stirrups, and checking the girth. Then he turned to her. “Ready?”
“Probably not,” she muttered.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry—Daisy and I will take good care of you. Now, step up on this mounting block. I’ll steady her. Put your left foot in the stirrup. Hands on the horn, and pull yourself up and on.”
With a deep breath, she did as he said. Awkward and a little clumsy, she swung her leg over and settled into the saddle. It felt higher than she had imagined. Less secure. “Whoa. And I didn’t mean that as in whoa to the horse, but more like whoa, this is insane.”
“No, it’s not. Trust me. You’re doing great.” He tightened a lead rope to Daisy’s halter, then clipped it to his saddle horn. “I’ve got her. You just hold the reins and focus on staying relaxed.”
Seth mounted Maple and gave Shylo a reassuring look.
“We’ll loop through the woods and back at a comfortable walk—no trotting or running on your first ride.
It’s easy terrain. If you want to test the reins a bit, gently pull them to the left or right, whatever direction you want her to go.
Ease back on them if you want her to stop.
” He snorted. “That’s when you can say whoa if you want to. ”
“Cute.”
“I thought so. Anyway, she’ll follow me with no prompting from you, but she will obey any signals from you too.” He relaxed into his saddle. “Ready?”
She nodded, gripping the reins with slightly stiff fingers.
Daisy shifted beneath her, but didn’t move forward until Seth clicked his tongue and gave Maple a nudge.
The horses fell into a slow, steady rhythm—walking side by side, with Daisy keeping a half-step behind Maple, guided by the tethered lead.
The farther they rode from the barn, the more the tension in Shylo's shoulders abated.
At Daisy's unhurried pace, she finally let herself breathe normally.
The gentle sway of the saddle, the creak of leather, even the rhythmic clop of hooves beneath her—it wasn't as intimidating as she'd feared.
Even so, a sliver of doubt remained. What if something startled Daisy and she bolted?
“You okay over there?” Seth asked after a few moments of silence.
“I think so. Either I’m getting the hang of it... or Daisy’s doing all the work.”
He grinned. “She likes to make her riders look good.”
Shylo glanced at him. He seemed calm, in control—completely in his element out there, as if he'd been born to ride a horse. As Maple shifted beneath him, something caught Shlyo’s attention. A rifle rested in a leather scabbard attached to the saddle.
“Why do you have a rifle?”
“For coyotes, mostly. Feral dogs too. They'll go after calves and foals, which is why we keep the youngest livestock in the pastures closest to the buildings.
Out with the herd, we've got donkeys and ranch dogs. Coyotes usually know better than to tangle with them.” He shifted his gaze to her.
“I've had to use the rifle before, but I’d rather not have to do it again.”
“Do you always carry one?”
“When I'm out riding, yeah.” He rested a hand on the stock.
“A lot of folks around Hazard keep a rifle or shotgun in their pickup.
You'll see some people open-carry a pistol too.
In ranch country, guns are just another tool.
Most days, they stay right where they are, but you never know what you'll run into.”
“Where I grew up in West Virginia, bears wandered through occasionally, and plenty of people hunted. I never realized carrying a gun was part of a rancher's workday.”
He smiled. “When you’re out checking fences and moving cattle, you're a long way from the house if something decides your livestock looks like dinner.”
“Good to know.”
Upon entering the woods, a soft breeze welcomed them, dropping the temperature to a comfortable level.
They rode along a well-traveled path, with sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden threads that danced across the forest floor.
The earthy scent of damp leaves, sun-warmed pine, and cedar filled the air, mingling with the musk of the horses.
A bird called overhead, and somewhere off to the right, came the gentle flow of what sounded like a creek winding through the trees.
Up ahead, a gray squirrel darted across the trail and disappeared into the underbrush.
The horses’ hooves made soft, purposeful thumps against the packed dirt and scattered twigs, and with each breath, Shylo took in the unfamiliar wildness around her.
It was unlike anything she'd ever seen—older, wilder, and somehow alive.
It conjured images of the enchanted forests from childhood fairy tales.
They rode in silence for a while, but it felt unforced and oddly soothing, catching her off guard.
She was enjoying the rhythm of the ride when Seth brought Maple to a halt near a break in the trees as the path widened enough for both horses to ease off to the side. Shylo wondered what made him pause when he dismounted and stepped to her side.
“Here.” He offered his hands. “Lean your shoulders forward a little, then swing your leg over the back of the saddle. I’ve got you.”
She accepted the assistance without argument.
Her legs were a little unsteady after the ride.
Once she was down, he led both horses a short distance off the trail and hitched their reins to a thick, downed tree trunk.
Then, without pause, he unbuckled one saddlebag and pulled out a hammer and a small pouch of nails.
“This way,” he said, heading toward the gap in the trees.
Shylo followed him, ducking beneath a few low branches as they stepped into a hidden pocket of woods.
The forest briefly opened up into a quiet glade, and the ground dipped slightly toward a shallow stream that curved lazily across the clearing.
On the far side, visible through a few more trees, a simple split-rail fence stretched along the edge of the property—one rail halfway detached and sagging where it had pulled loose.
She hadn’t even known a road was nearby, let alone that they were this close to it.
They reached the stream and paused at the edge.
The water wasn’t deep, but it moved clear and quick over a scattered line of smooth stones, the same sound she’d noticed earlier on the ride but louder now.
Without a word, Seth reached back and took her hand.
His grip was reassuring in a way that made her pulse skip.
Together, they stepped from rock to rock.
Her boots slipped once, but his hold didn’t waver, anchoring her as she caught her balance.
By the time they reached the far bank, her hand was still in his, and she wasn’t quite ready to let go.
He didn’t release her until they were up the soft slope and on level ground again.
Once they reached the fence, he knelt to assess the damage. Before he could ask, she stepped forward and pressed a hand to the loose rail. “I’ll hold it, if you need me to.”
He looked up at her, a flash of surprise in his eyes, then gave a quick nod. “Thanks.”
The wood was rough and slightly damp beneath her palms as she steadied it.
Seth worked with quiet focus, the sharp tap of the hammer echoing through the trees with each strike.
She watched him for a moment—brow furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his forearm flexing with each swing—before returning her attention to her grip.
When he drove the last nail in, she released the rail, stepping back as he gave it a firm shake to test it. It held.
He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “That should do it.”
She nodded, glancing past the fence toward the narrow road. “It’s weird,” she said. “I didn’t even know we were this close to anything.”
“A little piece of paradise hidden in civilization,” Seth replied, his voice low.
Turning slowly, she took in the serene glade.
Wildflowers bloomed in soft clusters near the stream in shades of violet, yellow, and pale blue, swaying gently in the breeze.
A short distance away, a rabbit munched on some grass, eyeing the humans warily, while dragonflies and bees flew by.
Above them, the sky stretched wide and blue, brushed with soft, cotton-like clouds that drifted lazily—like strokes of white paint across a watercolor canvas.
But when Shylo’s gaze met Seth’s again, everything else seemed to fade away. He wasn't merely staring. Somehow, he seemed to see every part of her in a way that made her pulse stir and her breath catch.
The space between them felt suddenly charged—fragile and full of possibility.
Neither of them moved at first. Then he stepped forward, one measured pace, closing the distance between them.
She didn’t retreat.
His fingers skimmed lightly against her neck, enough to make her feel it. Enough to ask permission.
Her answer came in the way she tilted her face up to his, the soft parting of her lips, and how her breath met his in the silence.
Their mouths came together in a rush of heat and hunger, as if they’d waited their entire lives for this moment.
It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was a claiming—slow and deliberate at first, then deeper, more desperate.
Their tongues moved in a sensual rhythm, chasing and retreating, teasing and exploring in a dance that left her breathless.
She moaned softly into his mouth as he pivoted them and backed her up against a fence post, with the solid wall of his body against hers, heat radiating through every layer of clothing between them.
His thorough, confident, and intoxicating kiss made her ache in places she hadn’t known were starved for touch.
He tasted of coffee, spice, and something uniquely Seth. Her hands slid up his chest of their own accord, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his shirt as she surrendered to the fire he’d lit inside her.
When he pressed closer, she felt his unmistakable hard cock against her lower abdomen. The sensation sent molten lava through her veins, her breath hitching as her nipples hardened beneath her shirt, straining with sudden, undeniable want.
Their bodies aligned as if they’d always meant to fit that way. The unhurried kiss turned hotter, more demanding, and yet still reverent—as if he wanted to savor every second.
And she did too.
He eased back enough to look at her, their rapid breaths mingling, their bodies still close.
“Wow,” he murmured, voice low and a little husky.
Shylo gave a shaky laugh, her lips curving. “Yeah... wow.”
He leaned in again, his gaze flicking back to her mouth, when the sharp buzz of his phone shattered the moment. Muttering something under his breath, he pulled it from his back pocket and glanced at the screen.
“Sorry, I’ve got to take this.” He took a step back before answering. “Hey, what’s up?”
Shylo couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but she watched his expression shift—first to concern, then resignation.
“Yeah... okay. Did you try—okay. Yeah, I’ll head that way now. Be there soon.”
He ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket with a sigh. For a moment, he stared at her, as if he hadn’t quite let go of where they’d been seconds ago. Then he stepped closer, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek gently. “We're definitely finishing that kiss later, though.”
The promise in his voice stirred her desire.
“But that was Paige.” His hand dropped to his side. “A toilet is overflowing. She tried the plunger, but it didn’t help. Shane’s two towns away with a client, and Tuck is working in the east pasture. And I’m still on the clock. Sorry.”
“No worries.” Shylo followed him back toward the stream, where they'd crossed earlier. The kiss still lingered in her mind, and though she was disappointed it had ended, she understood his work came first. “Do we need to hurry?”
He shook his head. “She shut off the water, so it’s under control for now. We’ll head back as slowly as before. I won’t put you through a trot or run... yet. You’ll need some more lessons before that happens.”
As they walked back to the horses, Shylo couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at the glade behind them—already missing the moment that had sparked to life there and wondering when or if it might happen again.