4. Lennon
LENNON
The silence woke me up. I lay there, disoriented in the quiet darkness, staring at what logic required to be the pine ceiling, but there was no way to know for sure because not even the faintest sliver of yellow streetlight cracked through the window.
Back in New York, the city sounds had become a soothing white noise. Blaring car horns, the steady whoosh of the subway beneath my feet, and the hum of human voices all blended together. Sunglasses on, head down, I tuned it out until it didn’t exist for me. But the Wyoming silence was deafening.
With a groan, I rolled onto my side, but it was no use.
I was wide awake. Fucking jetlag. I fumbled for my phone next to me on the bed, but the screen didn’t light up.
Dead, because I had fallen asleep listening to an audiobook.
And the charger was in the car. I groaned again and then swung my legs out of the blankets and rolled to my feet, swiping my keys from the nightstand.
The braided rug was thick and warm, but the pine floor was freezing as I tiptoed to the door.
“Shit! Shit!” I whisper-hissed like I was afraid of waking the squirrels before shoving my feet into the Uggs I had left by the door.
Being June, it hadn’t occurred to me that the outside world would be a few degrees colder than my cozy cabin.
The car was parked only ten feet from the door—today I would move it to the gravel parking lot behind the lodge, per the ranch’s policy—but I almost high-tailed my ass back inside to grab my hoodie. Or at least some pants.
But the stars.
Holy shit, the stars.
Trillions of them, each one a silver pinprick of light in the velvet darkness, a sky so cluttered with stars that it was impossible to distinguish one constellation from the next—although the only constellation I could reliably find was Orion’s belt.
Hell, I couldn’t even find the rest of him.
Most nights in the city, I didn’t bother to look up.
The light pollution hid the stars. Even my mom’s trailer was too close to Norfolk to get stars like this.
Out here, there were more stars than sky. I was dizzy from the breadth of it. The sheer vastness of it. My head rolled back as far as I could take it as I gaped at the heavens, my breath white wisps of steam.
I was awed.
I was humbled.
I was—
“Where the hell are your fucking clothes?”
I was annoyed.
Because now that I had nearly jumped out of my own skin, I was suddenly very aware of how cold that skin actually was, and I was not all that thrilled about it because now I had to stay cold until I had proved my point.
Also, I didn’t appreciate being barked at like a disobedient child, hence the point to prove, which was that I did whatever the hell I wanted because I was the boss of myself.
I kept my head tilted to the sky, not moving a muscle. My bare skin goosebumped so hard, I swear to god I could feel the hair growing back on my legs. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that sneaking up on a girl in the dark is a bad thing to do?”
Jeremiah didn’t say anything, but his approaching footsteps turned purposefully loud. I bit my lip to hide my grin and lowered my gaze back down to earth so fast that I was momentarily lightheaded. I swayed dizzily. Large hands grasped my biceps, steadying me.
The inky darkness had faded to a pre-dawn violet-gray, and my eyes had adjusted enough to make out his expression in the dim light. Concern. Aggravation. Attraction.
Or maybe that was just me.
“Why are you skulking around my cabin?” I demanded.
“Heading to the pasture to bring the horses in. I come this way every morning.” When he was sure I wouldn’t keel over, he dropped his hands from my arms and gritted out, “Where are your clothes?”
“I’m wearing them,” I said pertly.
His gaze raked over my tiny sleep shorts and tank top.
He speared his fingers through his hair and tugged at it with a growl of irritation that gave me great joy.
Maybe it was bratty of me, but in my real life, I didn’t have the luxury of annoying men.
Being here with Jeremiah was freeing. I didn’t need his approval.
I didn’t need his money. I could say and do whatever I wanted.
“Not enough,” he gritted out. Before I could think of another snappy comeback, he’d taken off his own coat and wrapped it around my shoulders.
Oh my god, that felt good. But admitting that would knock me off a high horse that I had already grown pretty attached to, so I said, “That’s not necessary.
I’m just grabbing my charger from the car.
” I moved to take his coat off, but his fists tightened at the collar, holding it closed. My lips parted in surprise.
“Try it,” he said pleasantly. “See what happens. I’ll have you off your feet and back in your cabin before you can blink.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I purred back, batting my eyelashes.
The flat look he gave me was worse than a scold. I stared up at him, wondering if he’d really make good on his promise. He glared back, his mouth clamped shut but his face saying a whole lot.
I decided he would, and not in a fun way.
“Fine,” I huffed.
Immediately, he stepped back, giving me space, and I wished he hadn’t. It was freezing out here, and proximity to his big body had been like standing close to a fire. But that high horse wasn’t going to ride itself, so I pranced over to the car like I could still feel my thighs.
He said nothing as I beeped the key fob, the sound cutting through the stillness like an air horn. He said nothing as I grabbed the charger and a pack of Skittles from the console and stomped past him back to the cabin. He said nothing as he followed me up the steps to the porch.
The second I crossed the threshold, I whipped around to face him. He leaned against the doorway, watching as I shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to him. “Thank you for the favor I never asked you for.”
He said nothing to that, too. Just touched the brim of his cowboy hat and nodded before disappearing into the ponderosa pines.
Leaving me to wonder how saying nothing at all said so much.
By the time I had pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, the sky was a brilliant pinky-orange, and I was ravenous.
My phone claimed it was 5:37, but my stomach insisted it was nearly eight.
I had always been a morning person and thrived on routine, starting every day with a Pilates class before breakfast, and right now my body could not be less interested in sleep. It wanted movement and food.
And maybe an overly protective cowboy for extra warmth.
Benny had gone from paying for my time to paying me to stay away, and I wasn’t under any illusions that we would pick up where we left off when I returned to the city.
Maybe he’d actually be in jail, although I doubted it—people with money didn’t tend to end up there—and I really hoped not.
Either way, he wouldn’t care what I got up to.
Would it be so bad to get over a millionaire by getting under a cowboy?
A vacation fling was like Skittles and Diet Coke.
It wasn’t healthy, and it couldn’t replace chicken and vegetables in the long term, but sometimes it was exactly what you needed. A little treat.
My stomach growled. The lodge didn’t open for breakfast until eight, but maybe I could grab a piece of fruit from the kitchen or something to tide me over.
I needed to park my car there, anyway. If the lodge was locked, I’d head into town—but that was a forty-minute drive, and my stomach might eat itself in the meantime.
I pulled on my ancient hoodie and headed out. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d need a coat or warm clothes in June, and my packing consisted of shorts, T-shirts, every pair of underwear I owned, and the occasional dress for nights in town. Everything else I’d packed up into a rental storage unit.
The lodge was a quick four-minute drive from my cabin.
I parked in the gravel lot behind the lodge designated for overnight guests and staff.
The door was unlocked, so I slipped past the sign at the welcome desk with posted hours and headed for the dining hall.
The overhead lights were off, but the big windows provided plenty of morning sun to guide me, and I could hear pots banging and low chatter coming from the back, so I knew someone was around.
A quick peek through the small, square window of the swinging door told me I had found the kitchen.
I could make out gleaming metal tables, a tall man with a long dark braid at the griddle, and a girl with lavender hair pulled into a bun standing with her back to the door, a large silver bowl tucked against her side, her whole body vibrating as she stirred its contents vigorously.
I pushed through as she said, “So then he said I’m coming to the cottage.
Can you believe that? Amos, the way I screamed—” She turned as she spoke, saw me standing there, let out a startled yelp, and nearly threw the bowl at me.
A glob of batter shot out of the bowl and landed with a plop at my feet.
“Um, hi.” My hand arced like a rainbow in an awkward wave.
The girl looked me up and down with wide brown eyes. “Well, shit,” she laughed. “You’re gorgeous.”
My body tensed. Did she recognize me? Or was that nothing more than a compliment? I cleared my throat. “Hi,” I said again. “And, um, thanks. I was wondering if—”
“You’re a guest.” The man at the griddle pointed his spatula at me. “You can’t be back here. Breakfast is at eight.”
He was my height, wearing a black AC/DC shirt with cutoff sleeves that showed his muscled biceps and weathered brown skin, although there wasn’t a single thread of silver in his long black braid.
“Right,” I said, my tone conciliatory. “But I was hoping I could maybe get a banana or something? Would that be okay?” I gave him a pleading smile, the one that never failed to make men puff out their chests and be my hero.
But Amos did not appear inclined to rescue me. He folded his thick arms over his round stomach and stared me down as if he had never heard the phrase the customer is always right in his life. “Breakfast is at eight.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to him. Of course you can have a banana. We have plenty.”
She set the bowl down on one of the silver prep stations and spun on her toes to the back counter, which was piled with apples, bananas, oranges, and uncut melons. She plucked a banana from one of the bunches and ripped off a paper towel that she dampened at the sink.
“Here you go.” She handed me the banana and then squatted in front of me to wipe up the spilled batter.
“Thank you. And sorry for startling you.” I cracked the banana’s top and peeled it back. “I’m Lennon,” I added.
“I’m Cecily Shepherd. And that grump over there”—she indicated Amos with a jerk of her purple bun—“is Amos Tallbull.”
“Nice to meet you both. Thanks again for the banana.” I raised it like a salute. “I’ll get out of your way now.”
“Wait!” she blurted.
I paused, eyebrows raised.
“You could…” Her brown eyes darted to Amos like she knew he wasn’t going to like this and back again. “You could stay. I mean, you’re hungry, right? We’ve already fed the cowboys and ranch hands, so now we’re making our own breakfast before we get started on the guests’.”
“Really?” I looked at Amos, who I suspected was the boss of the kitchen.
He grunted, arms still crossed. “You stay? You help. Then you can eat.”
“Amos!” Cecily hissed. “You can’t make Lennon cook. She’s a guest—” she broke off, biting her lip, then squinted at me curiously. “You are a guest, aren’t you? No offense, but you don’t look like a ranch hand.”
I nodded, relieved she didn’t recognize me but feeling silly for thinking she would. “I’m here through July.”
“So what?” Amos said. “All the guests help out at the ranch. It’s part of their healing process. Helps them discover a new purpose or something. Anyway, we’re down a hand. Miguel is out for the week visiting family.”
“I don’t mind helping,” I said quickly. “What are we making?”
“Scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits,” Amos barked. “I’m on eggs and bacon. You can help Cecily with the biscuits.”
My stomach sank. Cooking and baking were two different skills, in my mind.
I never used a recipe when I cooked, preferring to season food to my taste.
Baking required precision. But I forced a smile.
“Sure.” I pulled my hair back into a braid, fastened it with the black band I always kept on my wrist, and moved to the sink.
“Let me wash my hands first. Do you have a recipe?”
Cecily nodded at the sheet of paper pinned to the wall. “Right there, but I’ve got it memorized.”
I looked it over as I dried my hands. Fractions. Those were the worst. Always moving around and making no sense. So fucking sneaky. “How about you tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it? That way I’m not running back and forth from the prep station to the recipe. Go slowly, okay?”
She shrugged. “Sure. No problem.”
I smiled at her. “I love your hair, by the way. It’s my favorite color.”
“Really?” She rubbed her hairline with her forearm. “I was about to change it to red. I like to cycle through the rainbow. But I guess I’ll keep it purple while you’re here.”
My smile widened and I bumped her hip with mine. “Cecily, I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”