2. Holden #2
With a sigh, I turn back. She’s still frowning at me, and it takes effort to curb my annoyance. I never used to get riled up so easily. Then again, I never thought I’d be back living at Wild Ember. Or rescuing photographers.
“Unless you’re planning to walk all the way to the ranch from Silverford and back again tomorrow, I’m taking you there now. There aren’t any taxis or Ubers out here, and we can’t spare a hand to drive you back and forth just so you can hang out with your friend after work.”
Her jaw drops, then her eyes narrow as if she’s going to argue with me. Let her. I almost welcome it. Whatever’s been coursing through my veins since I pictured her going over the mountain’s edge needs an outlet.
Thankfully, she snaps her mouth shut again and lets out a long, slow breath. “You’re right.”
She joins me at the back of the car, presses a button, and the rear hatch pops open. I’m almost disappointed to find only a couple of small suitcases. Too many bags stuffed with fancy clothes and impractical shoes would’ve proved me right in a heartbeat.
I haul her bags out, the sudden twinge in my shoulder reminding me I’d already pushed it tonight. “Anything else?”
“My camera equipment is in the back seat. But I’ll get that.” She shoots me a look from the corner of her eye. “It’s delicate.”
The dig almost pulls a laugh out of me. I’ve been dealing with trash talk for pretty much all of my twenty-eight years. First from my siblings, then from other bull riders. I doubt Little Miss City Photographer could think of a single thing to say to me that’d make a dent.
At my truck, I open the back passenger door and slide her suitcases onto the seat. When I turn back, she’s pulling a black fabric case with a thick strap from her car. After slinging it over her shoulder, she pulls out another smaller bag.
She shuts the door, then makes her way over to me.
I fight the urge to reach for the bag in her hand.
She made it pretty clear she didn’t want my help, so I step back and get out of her way.
She sets the cases in the footwell behind the passenger seat, probably so they won’t move around while we drive, then glances back at her car.
“Is it okay to leave it here?”
I eye the vehicle. It’s far enough off the road that anyone driving through the pass tonight won’t hit it.
“It should be fine for now. I’ll leave a message for Jim. He can tow it for you tomorrow, look it over, and let you know what needs to be fixed.”
I swear her shoulders slump, but she still gives me a smile. It’s surprisingly bright, even though I suspect it’s forced. “Thank you.”
A little thrown by that, I swing open the passenger door for her. She steps onto the running board, ready to climb in. It’s high enough that my fingers twitch in anticipation of having to help. Luckily, she manages to boost herself up without assistance.
When I slide into the driver’s seat, she’s peeled her damp tank away from her chest and is fluttering the fabric in an attempt to dry it. The movement reveals a sliver of smooth skin above the waistband of her skirt. I quickly turn my attention back to the steering wheel.
“Should’ve thought to bring a towel.” My voice comes out gruff.
“That’s okay. I’m just glad I’m not stuck out here on my own anymore. Thanks again for coming to get me. I know it’s an inconvenience.”
I give her a nod, then crank the ignition and make a U-turn before heading for Wild Ember.
We’re silent as I drive, the only sound the sweep of the wipers clearing rain from the windshield. I should try to put her at ease. I should ask about her trip and why she’d leave the city to come all the way out here. But my shoulder aches, and I’m exhausted. I don’t have the energy to be polite.
Instead, I turn on the radio and let the soothing strains of country music fill the cab. Either Sage gets the message that I’m not interested in talking, or she feels the same way, because she leans back in her seat and gazes out the window.
Forty minutes later, we emerge from the trees onto the bluff above Wild Ember. Through the rain, clusters of lights marking the ranch buildings glow amid broad swaths of dark paddocks and fields. The river that divides the valley remains hidden.
Sage leans forward. “Is that it?” Her voice is hushed.
“Some of it.”
“It’s vast.”
“Thirty thousand acres,” I say. “A lot of it is mountains, though.”
She lets out a soft breath and sits back. “It’s amazing.”
The wonder in her voice reignites my irritation. Unfair, perhaps, but true. “I’m assuming you did at least some research on the ranch before applying. Or did you decide on the spur of the moment?”
“I’m sorry,” she says in a tone that tells me she’s anything but, “that’s your business, because…?”
“Working on a ranch isn’t easy. Neither’s living out here. And if tonight’s anything to go by, you didn’t prepare nearly enough.”
“Are you planning to be this rude to the guests when they arrive?”
“I plan to have as little to do with the guests as possible,” I mutter.
With a small snort, she crosses her arms. “I hope the owners have sense and keep you far away from them.”
It hits me then. She doesn’t know who I am.
My lips twitch, despite myself, as I steer the truck along the road toward my cabin—and hers. “Feel free to let them know when you meet them.”