2. Holden
HOLDEN
The second I shoulder my way through my cabin door, rain still dripping from the brim of my Stetson, my cell phone rings. I hang my hat on a hook on the wall, then fish the phone out of my pocket.
At the sight of Sterling’s name on the screen, I mutter a curse before answering. “I just got home. What is it?”
“Sorry to do this to you, Holden, but I’ve got another stray that needs rescuing.”
My eldest brother is hard to read at the best of times, so I hope to hell he’s joking. But given the damage tonight’s storm did to the south pasture fencing, I’m not betting on it.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I slump against the wooden wall behind me. “Don’t tell me another calf’s broken out. We just got the last three rounded up and penned.”
“Not a calf, but we do have a stranded photographer who needs a ride.”
I straighten. “Everybody okay?”
“She’s fine. Just got her car stuck.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
Sterling lets out a heavy sigh. “I know it’s bad timing, but she’s stuck out on Copper Ridge Pass with nowhere to go.”
I squint through the window at the rain still falling outside. “Why the hell was she driving through the pass with a fucking storm raging overhead?”
“Probably didn’t realize how quickly they roll in around here.
The why doesn’t matter anyway. We can’t leave her out there, and I can’t go.
Power in the foaling barn is out, and the generator’s not kicking in.
Chance and I are gonna head out and get it back online, and Quinn’s still out with the other hands. Sorry, man, but you’re it.”
I rub my shoulder—the one that’s supposed to be rehabilitated but aches like a bitch after wrestling three frightened calves into a pen.
The hot shower I planned to take to ease the pain will have to wait.
I may have told Sterling that hiring a fancy-pants New York photographer with no experience in ranch life was a stupid idea, but I’m not enough of an asshole to refuse, and he knows that. “I’ll head out now.”
“Appreciate it. From what she told me, she’s about forty minutes away. I don’t think you’ll miss her. Her car will be the one in the ditch.”
I bark out a laugh. “I’m not even going to ask.”
He snorts. “She’s not the first to be taken out by that road, and she won’t be the last.”
He’s right, though I refuse to admit it. “She’s staying with the new vet, Mia, right?”
When he doesn’t respond immediately, a hint of suspicion has me bracing for news I’m not going to like.
“I’m betting her car will be out of action for at least a few days,” he says.
“She’ll need a place to stay on the ranch.
I obviously can’t put her in the bunkhouse with the hands, and the guest cabins aren’t ready yet.
Since Kit’s moved on, I’m going to put her in his old cabin.
She can ride in with you until her car’s fixed. ”
I grip the back of my neck. Now I’m this woman’s next-door neighbor and her damn chauffeur?
“Is the cabin even livable?”
“Kit cleaned it up pretty good before he left. And I’m sure Taryn won’t mind helping her make it more comfortable.”
Given that our little sister is almost exclusively surrounded by men out here, I don’t doubt she’d enjoy hanging out with another woman.
I let out a heavy breath. There’s no point beating a dead horse. Sterling wouldn’t have suggested putting her next to me if there were a viable alternative. He knows how I feel about my privacy. I only put up with Kit because he was as antisocial as I’ve become. I barely noticed he was around.
“Don’t expect me to babysit her while she’s here,” I grumble.
He grunts in response. “Wouldn’t dream of doing that to the poor woman. Anyway, call me if you have any issues. And thanks again, Holden.”
We disconnect, and I send a longing look toward my bedroom and its attached bathroom, where a hot shower is waiting for me.
Then I grab my still-wet hat and head back through the front door.
I don’t bother locking it behind me. No one around these parts would be interested in rifling through my belongings.
Not these days, anyway.
Swallowing past the bitter tang that coats my throat, I tug the brim down over my eyes and jog down the porch steps, angling toward my blue pickup. At least the rain has eased a bit. I climb in and head down the mountain toward the road to Copper Ridge Pass.
Life’s got a twisted sense of humor. The last photographer I dealt with helped turn one of the lowest points of my career into a headline.
After the injury. After the doctor told me I was done.
He warned me not to mix the painkillers with alcohol. I didn’t listen. Most of that night is a blur, but the photos weren’t.
For a second after Rick, my agent, shoved his phone into my face the next morning, I thought I was looking at someone else. A washed-up bull rider stumbling out of a bar, his arm in a sling, a woman hanging off him.
Then I recognized my own damn face.
My shirt was half-open. My hat was gone. And the button on my jeans was undone for reasons I’d rather not think about.
I didn’t read much of the article. Didn’t need to.
Career-ending injury.
Spiraling.
Off the rails.
The photos said the rest.
My shoulder twinges, and I ease my grip on the wheel.
That was almost a year ago. I’ve been back at Wild Ember for nearly six months now. These days, life mostly consists of fixing fences, arguing with my siblings, and trying not to think too hard about what comes next.
I figured I’d left photographers behind with bull riding.
Apparently not. Here I am, on my way to rescue one who’s already shaping up to be a pain in my ass.
Forty minutes later, I’m scanning the side of the road, my high beams cutting through the darkness and the falling rain.
A flash up ahead catches my eye—faint orange hazard lights blinking through the rain.
I ease off the accelerator and pull over near a small white SUV sitting nose-down in a shallow ditch.
I let out a low curse. A car like that, one that’s probably spent its life commuting between coffee shops and parking garages, doesn’t belong in the mountains. Or on a ranch.
I climb out and move toward it, searching for movement and finding none. The front wheels are in the ditch, the rear ones half-sunken. I eye the tires. Highway tread too.
“City girl,” I mutter, shaking my head.
I make my way to the driver’s side, where I spot a small figure huddled in the seat. Keeping my distance, I pause, giving her a chance to notice me. But she doesn’t. In fact… I lean in. She’s taking a damn nap. Irritation flares, and I rap my knuckles a little harder than necessary on the glass.
She shoots straight up with an audible shriek. It’s difficult to make out much of her features except that her hair is dark and her eyes and mouth are wide open in shock.
Despite myself, guilt over scaring her snakes through me. So I step back, gesturing for her to roll her window down. After a brief hesitation, she cracks it an inch.
“Sage Emerson?” I ask, as if there might be another damsel in distress stuck in a ditch up here.
“Yes.” Her breathless voice reaches me through the gap in the window. “Are you from Wild Ember?”
“Yep. Name’s Holden. Sterling asked me to come get you.”
She hesitates for another moment before rolling her window back up. As she pushes her door open, I take another step back and give her space to climb out.
Her foot sinks into the mud, and she wobbles. Instinctively, I reach for her, closing my fingers around her hand. It’s small in mine, dainty. But her grip is firm as I help her step out of the ditch. When we’re on solid ground, she smiles up at me, all big eyes and full, soft lips.
Pretty.
Jaw clenching, I let go of her and step back, taking her in properly. When Sterling told me he’d hired a photographer from New York, I formed a picture in my head. Snobbish, high-maintenance, unprepared. The sort of woman who’d spend a single day on a ranch and then run screaming back to Manhattan.
I might’ve gotten at least one of those things wrong.
Rain has plastered loose strands of hair against her cheekbones.
A long skirt clings to her legs, and mud streaks her white sneakers.
Her tan cardigan hangs open over a white tank that’s slowly soaking through.
When my gaze catches on the lace of her bra, visible through the increasingly sheer fabric, I drag my attention back up.
Her mouth is still curved in a smile, but despite how she holds herself—straight-backed, face tilted up to mine—her eyes seem a little lost. She’s damp and a little messy, not New York City slick like I imagined. The sight of her, bedraggled yet still smiling, hits me low and sharp in the gut.
Attraction as unexpected as it is unwelcome.
I crush it, quick. I haven’t been with a woman since before my injury, and I’m sure as hell not interested in breaking the drought with one who’s going to be a fixture on the ranch for the next few months.
“Thank you so much for coming to get me,” she says. “This deer came out of nowhere, and I…” She gestures toward her car with a grimace. “I’m just glad I went this way, not that way.” Her eyes flick behind me.
I don’t have to turn to see she’s focused on the drop-off on the other side of the road. It’s far too easy to picture her plummeting over the edge rather than into the ditch.
A cold knot forms low in my stomach, an involuntary reaction that only pisses me off again. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before tackling these roads in a storm. This isn’t the city.”
She blinks, her smile dropping and a crease forming between her dark brows. “I know that, and yes, I made a mistake. I didn’t realize the storm would come on so quickly. But I’ve been driving for days, and I really wanted to make it to Silverford tonight.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen now.” I move around the car and rap my knuckles on the trunk. “Pop it so I can get your stuff.”
She doesn’t follow me. “What do you mean ‘that’s not going to happen’? That’s where I’m staying. My friend is expecting me.”