9. Sage
SAGE
My mouth waters at the enticing sight before me.
And I’m not talking about the frustratingly gorgeous, broody cowboy standing on my porch.
It’s the silver thermos he’s holding, the one with wisps of steam trailing skyward from the opening. A second later, I inhale the heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee.
This early in the morning, not having a mug of it in my hand feels like cruel and unusual punishment. I’m kicking myself for not thinking about my caffeine requirements yesterday. At this point, I’d happily take it by IV.
Biting my lip, I peek up at Holden, willing to set aside any irritation with him I might have been holding on to since we met. “Any chance I can have a sip?”
He frowns, then glances down at the thermos before holding it out to me. “It’s for you. I’ve already had one.”
An irrational surge of warmth floods me. He remembered. It’s a small kindness, but one of the first he’s genuinely volunteered. With a little too much enthusiasm, I snatch the container from his hand and take a soul-affirming gulp.
It’s hot and delicious. Just strong enough without being harsh. Eyes closed, I let out a heartfelt sigh. Then I smile at him—a real smile this time. “And here I was thinking you were more the ‘pull you by the hair’ than the ‘bring you coffee’ kind of guy.”
He tips his head down, the brim of his hat hiding his eyes. “Never know. Hair pulling and coffee making might both be in my skill set.”
My mouth goes a little dry, and an image hits me out of nowhere. Holden twisting his big hand in my hair and pulling it until my face is turned up to his, ready for his mouth on mine.
Nope. I am not going there.
His jaw flexes, almost as if he can see what’s going on in my head. I quickly change the subject. “I take it you have a coffee maker, then?”
“Yep.”
“You might have me banging down your door in the mornings just so I can get some.” I pause as the words register. “Uh, I mean, of your coffee. Until I get a coffee maker of my own.”
His brows arch. Way to change the subject, Sage.
“I’ve heard about New York folk and their coffee addictions,” he drawls. “Can’t risk you going through withdrawals when I’m out on a trail alone with you.”
Relieved to be back to sparring, I snort. “It’s not my fault coffee is my love language. Besides, you can’t talk. I wouldn’t put it past you to push me off the side of a cliff, coffee or not.”
I catch what might be a flicker of a smile before it disappears. “Just drink it and get in the truck, City.”
Ignoring the unwelcome nickname, I take another sip and hum in approval as I lick my lips.
He zeroes in on my mouth, and a little zing goes through me, shortening my breath.
But a second later, he abruptly turns and leads the way to the truck, opening the door for me again.
Before I have a chance to ask him to hold my coffee, he takes it from me so I can use both hands to climb in, then hands it back once I’m buckled.
It still feels strange to picture him as the rodeo competitor Taryn mentioned.
He seems far too reserved for a man who used to compete in front of thousands of people.
Then again, I’m having trouble figuring him out in general.
One minute he’s grumpy with me; the next he’s showing up with coffee or opening my truck door.
In fact, if it weren’t for his broody, whiplash personality, he’d make someone an excellent boyfriend.
Or maybe I’m the only one who gets the Jekyll-and-Hyde version.
Just like yesterday, the beauty of the landscape and the cool, fresh air swirling into the cab as we drive invigorate me.
Holden stays quiet, and I don’t feel the need to break the silence.
It gives me space to absorb it all. I hold my hand out the window, smiling as I spread my fingers and let the wind stream between them.
What must it have been like to grow up in a place like this? To live and play on this land, surrounded by a large, boisterous family rather than being an only child in a house that always felt too quiet?
The truck slows, pulling me from my thoughts. Holden turns off the road and eases to a stop. “The start of the trail is a short walk from here.”
Once I’ve hopped out, I loop the strap of my sling bag across my chest, slide it to my left hip for easy access to my gear while we hike, and hang my camera around my neck.
Holden opens the back door on the driver’s side and hefts a backpack out. “Water bottles,” he says when he catches me looking.
I guess I should have thought of that myself.
He shrugs the bag onto his broad shoulders, then strides off. This time, though, he sets a slower pace to begin with, so I don’t have to struggle to keep up.
After passing a stand of trees, we come to a dirt and gravel track. Its wooden sign reads Crestview Trail.
“This is one of the easier ones,” Holden tells me. “Good for beginners.”
“Are you talking about the guests or me?”
“Yep.”
I put one hand on my hip. “What kind of answer is that?”
He turns away, but not before I catch the way the corners of his mouth twitch up. Clearly, he’s amused himself.
I press my lips together to hide my own smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.
As we walk, I snap photos of the wildflowers nodding on either side of the trail and the early-morning sunlight filtering through the trees. I don’t worry too much about framing for now. I’m just enjoying myself.
“It feels untouched,” I murmur.
“It mostly is. No one comes out here much anymore.”
“Anymore?”
He doesn’t bother replying to my implied question.
Setting that aside for later, I keep moving. But a few minutes later, as I pause to capture a particularly pretty scene, Holden grips my shoulder. “Keep quiet,” he murmurs, turning me toward the trees.
He steps in close behind me and dips his head, so his mouth is close to my ear. “See over there?” The warmth of his breath sends goose bumps rippling over my skin.
Trying to ignore my body’s reaction to his proximity, I peer through the branches, eventually focusing on a small clearing.
I draw in a breath. In the middle of the clearing, a deer similar to the one that jumped in front of my car two nights ago stares in our direction, its big ears angled toward us.
By its hind legs is a tiny dappled fawn, curled up asleep on the ground.
The momma deer looks poised to leap into motion at any moment, but when we don’t move or make another sound, she drops her head and nibbles at the grass.
I’m entranced. My hands itch to raise my camera and take a photo, but I don’t want to scare them off. So I watch.
But even with nature’s beauty right in front of me, it’s hard to ignore how Holden’s hands are curled around my upper arms and how he’s standing so close behind me that my shoulder blades graze his chest and my ass is nestled against his hard thighs.
My heart rate picks up, and my breathing quickens.
Given how quiet we’re being, I hope he can’t hear it.
After a few more seconds of silence, one of Holden’s thumbs brushes up and down my arm. It’s a small motion, tiny, really, and it shouldn’t make a breath shudder out of me the way it does. That single noise in the peace of the moment is enough to alert the momma deer.
Her head jerks up, ears swiveling our way again, liquid brown eyes widening. She snorts, and as if on springs, the fawn leaps to its feet, all long limbs and small body.
With a rustle of leaves, the two of them disappear into the bushes.
As Holden releases me and steps back, I sag a little. It’s hard to tell whether the disappointment seeping through me is because the moment with the deer is over or because the moment with him is. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice is a little rougher than normal. “They’re all over the place this time of year.”
“So not a rare sighting, then?”
He tugs his hat down over his eyes. “Rare for a city girl, I imagine.”
The words aren’t said with any particular emphasis, yet my heart does a weird little skippy thing. Not a rare sight for him, maybe. But the fact he actually considered what it might mean to me to see it is… touching.
As we continue walking, I turn his behavior over in my mind. Maybe Holden isn’t just a grumpy cowboy. Maybe he’s a cowboy who doesn’t want anyone to know he cares.
I smile a little to myself. Have I figured him out?
Eventually, the incline steepens, and I break into a sweat. I’m not overly fit, but the fresh air in my lungs makes my blood tingle. No wonder there’s a market for the type of experiences Wild Ember is creating for future visitors.
Holden kicks a larger stone in the middle of the path, knocking it to the side. When he does it again a few minutes later, I squint at him. “What are you doing?”
“We’re grading these trails for easy hiking. I’m getting rid of some of the stones that might be trip hazards.”
“Makes sense.” I spot a similar one and kick it into the grass.
He grunts. “Not sure we’re paying you for trail maintenance on top of taking photos.”
“Maybe I should offer more services. Make some extra money.”
His deep chuckle surprises me. I’m not sure hearing it should be as satisfying as it is.
After another twenty minutes or so, the trees become sparser, and we finally break out of them and step onto a rocky ledge that overlooks the valley.
Holden stops at the edge, and when I join him, I can only stare.
The view is spectacular.
From this height, I can follow the river that runs the length of the valley until it disappears between the foothills of the mountains towering in the distance. “Your guests are going to lose their minds when they see this.”
He crosses his arms. “Maybe, or they’ll snap a few selfies, then head back to the air-conditioned bar to watch the sunset from behind a wall of glass.”
I study him, but his eyes are fixed straight ahead.
“Isn’t that the point?” I say gently. “A slice of ranch life without the blisters?”
He runs his hand over his face. “Yeah. It just doesn’t feel right to package up all the mud, sweat, and broken fences and sell it as rustic charm. Anyway…” He nods toward the valley. “Is this the kind of thing you’re after?”
Despite the questions that dance on the tip of my tongue, I accept his change of subject. And when I raise my camera, I forget everything else.
The land stretches out farther than the lens can hold, no matter how wide the angle. I take several shots, adjust without thinking, and shoot again, framing the details that jump out at me.
Attention snagging on another group of buildings on the far side of the valley, I lower my camera and point. “Is that another ranch?”
Holden’s gaze narrows. “Yep. The Ashlands.”
“Do they do the same kind of things you all do at Wild Ember?”
His lips flatten. “They try.”
Doesn’t sound like there’s much love lost there. But the set of his jaw suggests he’s not interested in answering any more questions, so I refocus on what I’m meant to be doing.
After taking a few more photos of the light spilling across the valley, I let my camera hang back down by its strap.
“Do you have what you need?” Holden asks.
I scroll through the shots I’ve taken and nod. “These are good.”
“This is the end of the trail,” he says as he hands me one of the water bottles he’s been carrying. “We should head back.”
“Okay.” I take a few swallows before returning it to him. Then, with one last look at the view, I follow him away from the ledge.
On the way back down, he points out more details, including a red-tailed hawk that hovers overhead for a few minutes. I take photos along the way, and before I know it, we’re back in his truck, heading toward the ranch.
The windows are open again, and the cool breeze tosses my hair around. Holden taps out a rhythm on the steering wheel with his thumbs, and I could almost convince myself there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.
He really is unfairly attractive. Even more so with that slight upward curl of his mouth.
It gives me a little thrill to think he might have enjoyed spending the morning with me, because, surprisingly, I enjoyed spending it with him.
For all his gruffness, there’s something deeper there.
And maybe it’s the photographer in me, but I can’t help wanting to find that hidden part of him and bring it into the light.
That’s not what I’m here for, though. There’s so much to photograph—and to experience—in this place.
Maybe getting swept up in that excitement is why I turn to Holden and blurt out, “Any chance I can get those riding lessons? I know you’re busy, so if someone else is willing to teach me, that’s okay too. ”
A muscle jumps in his jaw, and my excitement falters. Maybe I’d imagined that ghost of a smile. Maybe he was only counting down the minutes until the trail walk was over so he could get back to everything else he’s supposed to be doing.
But rather than turn me down flat, he nods slowly. “I can probably fit in a few lessons in the evenings.”
Buoyed by my success, I press my luck and tease him. “So I can trust you not to make the horse throw me off?”
“I’d never put anyone in danger.” His gaze slides toward me. “No matter how I feel about them.”
My mouth drops open, but before I can let loose with a cutting retort, a smirk tugs at his lips. “Don’t worry, Sage. You’re safe with me. I promise.”
The funny thing is, I actually believe him.
Regardless, I stick with the dynamic that seems to be working for us, scrunching my nose at him and feigning skepticism. “Uh-huh, we’ll see.”
But inside, I’m smiling.