Chapter 19 Louise
LOUISE
Iturned to Prudence, who had her head bowed against the thickening snow, her long lashes collecting flakes like glitter.
“Your boss doesn’t like me very much,” I murmured, stroking her damp mane. “I’ll bet he likes you, though, beautiful girl. He probably talks to you. Probably lets you inside.”
I unstrapped my duffel bag from the saddle, dug out my toothbrush and toothpaste, and brushed my teeth in the snow like some backwoods Cinderella.
Then I yanked a brush through my wind-matted hair and dabbed a little concealer under my eyes, hoping to look less like the love child of Uncle Fester and Cousin It.
At the bottom of the duffel, I found a perfume sample—a tiny roller of locally made essential oil I’d snagged at the feed store. After smearing some on my wrists, neck, and for good measure, my armpits, I felt half human again.
Turning back to Ansel, I decided to make myself useful.
I was busy smoothing the third bag of sand around the back tire when the ground shook beneath me. I looked over my shoulder.
Ryder.
He rode through the snowfall like some untamed force of nature, every muscle in his body moving with the black horse beneath him.
When he dismounted, the snow exploded around them in a misty white cloud—like some scene straight out of an epic fantasy novel where the brooding antihero finally arrives.
And God, he was beautiful in that raw, rugged, dangerous kind of way.
All boots and denim and a jaw that could cut glass.
His coat flared around his thighs like a duster, dusted with snow, and his eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes—raked over me with a kind of sharp focus that felt more like a touch than a glance.
My pulse spiked. I scrambled to my feet like a startled deer, trying to remember how to breathe.
He stalked over, his gaze raking over my body, changing the energy around us instantly. What was once calm, silent nature was now charged with an electricity that seemed to accompany him. All that testosterone.
His head tilted to the side as he frowned at the daisies I’d traced in the sand somewhere between the second and third bag.
“They’re flowers,” I told the King of Darkness.
He didn’t reply—just handed me my purse like it was a bag of contraband. Then he shook my keys in the air like a judgmental bellhop.
I was too busy panicking over what he might’ve seen to be properly grateful.
“Hey, you went through my purse,” I said, horrified.
“You broke into my house.” He walked to the driver’s door without looking back.
Touché, asshole.
I cringed, already knowing what was in there—what he had definitely seen.
The orgasm donor condom. Sitting like a neon sign of my poor life choices. And the hammer. Because nothing screams well-adjusted woman like condoms and construction tools in her handbag.
Ryder pried open the driver’s side door. Seconds later, Ansel fired up with a cough, and I stepped back.
The reverse lights came on, and Ryder slowly pressed the gas. The back tires spun wildly, but my attention was pulled to the front tire that only sort of spun. I was no mechanic, but it didn’t look good.
Ryder unfolded himself from the driver’s seat. “Your visor’s broke.”
“I know.”
When he frowned, I shrugged. “I’ve tried to fix it. Duct tape, superglue, gum, nothing sticks.”
He squatted in the ditch next to the front tire, closely looking it over. With a grunt, he flung off his cowboy hat and lowered onto his stomach, his body sinking into the snow.
I cringed. Ryder was a jerk, but I felt terrible about all the trouble he was going to for me.
“Your axle’s broke,” he muttered, his head half under the SUV.
“My what?”
“Axle.”
“You mean, it can’t drive?”
“Not unless you want to drive around in circles all day.”
“You’re kidding.”
He pushed to his feet and brushed the snow off his coat and jeans.
We stared at each other for a moment, and I got the vibe he was thinking: “Well, your turn. I’ve done all I can do here, sweetheart.”
I glanced at Ansel. “Are you sure it’s broken?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Pretty, as in—”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
I blew out a breath, fisting my hands on my hips. “I’ll call a mechanic.”
“No mechanic’s coming out here today.”
Ignoring him, I pulled out my phone. No reception.
“Dammit,” I muttered and began pacing. Again, I was left with no options. I looked back at my car. “Ansel’s a tough beast. We’ll figure this out.”
“Who’s Ansel?”
I thrust a hand toward the 4Runner as if he should know.
“You name your cars?”
“You name your horses.”
“That’s different. They’re animals.”
“So is Ansel. Trust me.” I checked my phone again, willing one bar of reception to appear.
“Why Ansel?”
“Ansel Adams, American photographer and environmentalist, famous for his black-and-white images of the West.”
“Huh.” Then, “What were you doing out here, anyway?” he asked, watching me pace.
“Going to my hotel.”
“There are no hotels down this road.”
“Yes, there is.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“Yes, there is. According to my map app, Shadow River Resort is down this road.”
His eyelids fluttered in what I assumed was as close to an eye roll as the guy got. “Shadow River is on the other side of the mountain.”
I stopped on a dime, stared at him a moment, then tipped my head back and laughed, because that was all I could do at that point. Not only had I run off the road, but I’d been going in the wrong direction.
I threw my hands in the air. “God, this is just so . . .”
He plucked my purse from the rock I’d set it on and began resetting the reins on the horses.
“You staying here?” he asked when I didn’t move.
“Where the hell else am I going?”
“To your hotel.”
“How? I thought you said the roads were impassable?”
“I’ll get you there.”
The horses.
Relief washed over me. Food, water, shower, shelter, no sidelong glances that made me feel an inch tall. A minibar. The light at the end of the tunnel.
“What about Ansel?”
“I’ll get him taken care of.”
“No. I’ll handle it. I’ll call someone—”
“I know a guy. I’ll have it towed to Frankie’s as soon as someone can get out here.”
“Who’s Frankie?”
“Frankie’s Auto Shop. Off Main Street.”
“You know this town is kind of like a modern-day Mayberry.”
“You have no idea, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
“Okay. Well, thank you. I’ll call Frankie from Frankie’s Auto Shop and give him my information as soon as I get to the hotel.”
“Mount up. Snow’s not letting up anytime soon.”
I trudged over to the horse. When Ryder lifted his hands to my waist, I swatted them away. “Don’t. I’ve got it.”
I was hell-bent on showing Ryder that I wasn’t totally incompetent. I was also done accepting the man’s help that he served up on a block of ice. It was obvious he couldn’t stand me.
Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the saddle horn, my boot fumbling with the stirrup. I pretended not to notice Ryder steadying it.
One. I inhaled.
Two. I bit my lip.
On three, I hurled myself onto that damn beast like I owned the bitch, my pulse racing. I quickly assumed my safety position—my arms wrapped around the horse’s neck.
“Sit up. You can do it.”
I ground my teeth. Sit up, you pansy.
Slowly, I raised myself from Prudence’s neck, keeping my focus on the horse’s mane.
Don’t look up, don’t look down.
When I was fully erect, Ryder disappeared for a moment, then reappeared on his horse.
“It’s going to be a two-hour trek on the horses. At least.” He tossed me the blanket. “Can you handle it?”
“Yes.” Hell yes, I could. I could handle anything that led to wine, a shower, and food. In that order.
“Hold the reins, if you’d like, but you don’t have to do anything. The horse will ride right behind me. If you need to stop for whatever reason, pull them.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Onward then. Hup.”
With a nudge of his heels, Ryder pulled ahead, my horse falling into step behind his as we began what would be the journey that would forever change my life.