18. Sage
SAGE
“Looks like our food’s arriving,” Mia says as Patty approaches with our pancakes. “And you’re caffeinated, so it’s time to spill the details about last night. Did you have fun?”
With my car still at the shop, Mia picked me up for breakfast this morning. That question was the first thing out of her mouth when I got into her truck, but I managed to hold off answering by insisting I needed caffeine and food first.
I press my lips together and smile at Patty as she sets the plates in front of us.
“If we weren’t slammed this morning,” she says, putting her hands on her ample hips, “I’d stay for the answer. But I’m sure someone will fill me in later.”
With a wink, she sweeps off.
I shake my head. Since when am I the subject of diner gossip?
“So?” Mia prompts me.
She was on call last night and still got up early to drop Ruby and Greta off at the library before coming to get me. Yet she’s bright-eyed and apparently clear-headed. I, on the other hand, feel—and probably look like—I spent the whole night tossing and turning.
Because that’s exactly what I did.
The memory of that kiss hits me full force again, and my skin heats, even as my stomach twists. To buy time, I take a sip of my coffee, even though it’s a little hot. “It was… quite an experience.”
She waggles her brows. “I hope you mean the whole cowboy experience.”
I force a smile, hoping it appears unbothered. “There were certainly a lot of them there.”
She chews a mouthful of pancake, then swallows. “I’ve only been a couple of times, but there were definitely a lot of cowboy hats. Did anyone catch your eye?”
“Um, I mainly danced with Taryn and Riley.”
She cocks her head, reading me too easily. “Mainly?”
Ducking my chin, I busy myself by cutting my pancakes into small pieces. “This guy named Cash asked me to dance,” I admit. “But it didn’t last long.”
“Why? Did he turn out to be an asshole?”
Dammit. How do I answer without lying? I pick up my coffee and blow on it a little longer than necessary before taking another sip. “Uh… actually, Holden interrupted. He wanted to go home.”
Brows shooting up, she props her elbows on the table and leans forward. “Holden? You didn’t mention he was there.”
“Hmm? Oh, didn’t I? Yeah, he just turned up.”
Her mouth curves into a knowing smile. “He did, did he?”
I poke at a piece of pancake with my fork. I can almost feel her studying me. She knows I’m not telling her the whole story, and she’s going to keep digging until she gets all the details out of me. Might as well come clean now.
Heaving out a long breath, I sag back against the booth. “Fine. He didn’t like it when Cash put his hat on my head, so he interrupted our dance and insisted on driving me home. Then I stupidly put his hat on my head, and he kissed me. Happy now?”
The way her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide has me massaging my temples. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Her mouth snaps shut. “Like what? Like you just confessed that one of the hottest cowboys in Colorado kissed you last night and you only told me because I wore you down?”
I shoot her a look. “Yes. Like that.”
She pushes her plate away. “Well?”
“Well, what? That’s it.”
She kicks my ankle under the table. “That’s not it. How was it? Is he a good kisser?” Her eyes go a bit dreamy. “He looks like he’d be a good kisser.”
I wrinkle my nose, briefly debate lying this time, then blow out a breath. “It was incredible. The best kiss I’ve ever had. Felt like time stopped. You know,” I wave my hands wildly, “all the good stuff.”
She covers her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “Why do you sound so pissed off about it?”
“Because it’s not fair that it should have been so good.” I stab a piece of pancake. “He’s my neighbor and part of the family I work for. He barely seems to tolerate me, and he’ll be gone from my life in a couple of months.”
And he only did it to prove a point. Then he sent me inside like an errant schoolgirl.
Mia taps her nails on the table. “Have you considered that the part about being gone in a few months might be a pro rather than a con? You can have fun for a little while without wondering whether it’ll turn into more.
It’d help you forget about Graham—without derailing your plans for photographic world domination. ”
I snort out a laugh. “It doesn’t have to be world domination. I’d be happy with just the US, or even New York.”
She waves that aside, her fork in her hand. “Why not have a good time with the hot cowboy while you’re here? You’re allowed to want something that isn’t a career move, you know.”
I squirm in my seat. The idea is all too appealing, and that’s the problem.
“Given how he backed off after the kiss, I don’t think he’s interested in having a good time with me.
” I do my best to sound unfazed by that.
“Besides, And it’s unprofessional. Not to mention it would distract me from my job.
I need to focus on that and not… overthink everything else. ”
“Right,” she says, but not in a way that suggests she agrees with me.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
Nerves skitter through me. “It’s definitely something.”
Her smile is slight. “You always say you’re not going to overthink things right before you do just that.”
I huff a quiet laugh despite myself. “Well. This time I mean it.”
She studies me, a line forming between her brows. “Fair enough. I’d hate to encourage you to do something you don’t want to do, so I’ll stay out of it. Unless you ask me for advice, of course.”
The relieved smile I offer her falters when she holds up a finger.
“But I have one thing to say before I butt out of it.” She scans our surroundings, then leans in closer.
“There’s no way he wouldn’t be interested in having a good time with you.
Holden isn’t the type to go around randomly kissing women.
At least from what I’ve heard. If he backed off, it’s because he has concerns, like you do.
But don’t you dare think he ran because he doesn’t like you. Got it?”
Her vehemence is enough to wring a laugh from me. “Got it. And thank you for the pep talk.” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand, grateful as always for her support.
But even though my wounded pride can’t help but hope she’s right, the part of me that still clings to rational thought tells me that might be even more dangerous.
She sips her coffee, then, true to her word, she changes the subject. “Can you believe Ruby’s starting school this fall?”
“Nope. It seems like you just brought her home from the hospital. How is that possible?”
She shakes her head in feigned dismay, but it doesn’t last long before her face lights up like it always does when she talks about her daughter.
“She’s already picked out her school bag and lunch box, and she’s excited about making friends.
” Her expression dims a little. “The hours I’ve put in to get up to speed with large-animal work have been hard, even with Greta keeping her company. ”
“I’m sure she’ll love school,” I say. “With how outgoing she is, she’ll probably come home from her first day with a whole gaggle of new best friends.”
“I hope so.” A crease forms between her brows.
“Are you worried about something in particular?”
She sighs. “Richard’s been all over the place lately. He hasn’t come to visit her at all. And if I hadn’t reminded him, he would have forgotten her birthday. Then, a couple of days ago, he called me out of the blue and wanted to talk to her.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” I ask.
“It should be, but afterward, Ruby was upset. Apparently, he asked her if she’d like to spend some time with him in New York.”
That is odd. One of the reasons Mia left Richard was his workaholic tendencies. He often seemed to forget his wife and daughter even existed. His political aspirations dominated his life. “Maybe he’s just realizing what he’s been missing out on.”
She catches her lower lip between her teeth. “Maybe.”
“Have you asked him about it?”
“I called him that night after Ruby went to bed. He said now that she’s older and starting school, he thought she could spend some of her holidays in New York. To make sure she doesn’t run wild out here.”
I snort. After experiencing life out here, running wild seems to be a pretty great way to grow up.
“That was my reaction too.” She sighs. “He kind of blew it off after that, as if it was a random thought. But… I don’t know. I don’t like it.”
I don’t blame her. It’s hard to trust people who only figure out what matters after they’ve lost it.
I can’t help comparing that with what I’ve experienced since I’ve been out here.
Like the McBrides’ loyalty to each other.
It’s messy and stubborn and impossible to mistake for anything other than genuine care.
The bell over the diner door rings, and a tall cowboy pushes through. My pulse jumps, but it slows almost immediately when he removes his hat and I recognize one of the Ashland brothers, though I can’t remember which one. His sister, Tessa, follows behind him.
The man doesn’t look around as he leans against the counter, speaking to Patty. But Tessa glances our way. This close, she’s even prettier, with her auburn hair framing a heart-shaped face. When she raises a hand in greeting, Mia waves back.
“How well do you know the Ashlands?” I ask, making sure to lower my voice.
“Not all that well,” she says. “I’ve been out there a couple of times with Doc, but when they call, they always ask for him. I don’t think they trust me yet.” She eyes me. “Why do you ask?”
“Apparently, their family and the McBrides have been engaged in a feud for generations. Something to do with water rights.”
Mia examines the two of them at the counter. “Doc mentioned that disagreements between ranchers are fairly common out here. He said that sometimes they lead to cattle being let out or stolen and fences being cut—that kind of thing. He didn’t mention any names, though.”
At the counter, Patty hands Tessa and her brother a to-go cup each, along with brown paper bags that probably hold pastries. Tessa smiles at her and leans in, speaking, and Patty laughs.
I’m not sure what I expected after what Taryn and Holden told me and the obvious tension between the two families at the auction, but they don’t seem particularly villainous.
After breakfast, Mia drops me off at my cabin before heading back to Silverford to pick up Ruby and Greta from the library.
I pretend the disappointment that stabs through me when I notice Holden’s truck is gone doesn’t mean anything.
But with no one else around, my thoughts soon return, loud enough to drown out the common sense I’ve been dosing myself with all morning.
Holden kissed me, then pulled away like he regretted it. Even though it was the right thing to do, both parts of that moment seem to have lodged themselves equally deep beneath my skin.
Which is why I need to stop thinking about him and focus on the reason I came here in the first place.
I pull out my laptop and set it up at the kitchen table.
If I’m going to stay on track, I need to know where I’m at.
What I already have and what I’m still missing before I shoot anything else.
The expansion isn’t just a few extra buildings.
It’s a full experience. That’s what the images need to sell.
Sterling will need a first selection soon, and I still have hundreds of photos to review before I can decide which are strong enough to include.
After opening my project folder, I scroll through the photos, checking off items from my mental catalog of shots: finished cabin exteriors, landscapes, livestock.
When I get to the end, I hesitate, tapping my nails on the wooden tabletop. Something’s nagging at me, and I’m not sure what it is. I go back through all the photos, slower this time, studying each one.
They’re good. Professional, clean, exactly what a client would expect from this kind of marketing work.
Graham would call this set strong and commercially smart—not that he’d ever be interested in this kind of work.
They’re the kind of images that sell a lifestyle without letting any of the messy parts get in the way.
I bite the tip of my thumb. They’re too clean. Too sanitized. Is this why my portfolio work started feeling hollow? Beautiful compositions, carefully observed moments, but never close enough to actually touch what’s real.
I lean back in my chair, eyes still on the screen. Prospective guests need to feel this place. Perfectly composed photos won’t make Wild Ember stand out. I don’t want to just show people what it looks like—I want to make them yearn to be part of it.
I tip my head back with a sigh, then close the folder.
As I do, another catches my eye. The one where I’ve been saving all the shots I rejected for one technical reason or another but couldn’t quite bring myself to delete.
I click it open. Instead of focusing on composition or light, I search for something different.
The moments that feel real.
They’re not the polished ones. They’re the imperfect ones. The shots where something real happened before I could control it.
I find one, then another, then another. An image I caught early one morning as the horses were being turned out. Dust hanging in the soft golden light, Chance leaning against the fence, watching them.
I rejected it because it has too much blur to be perfect.
There’s one I snapped of Taryn riding alone at dusk, a small figure in the distance, almost swallowed by the landscape. I took one look at all that negative space around her and filed it away.
A shot of Chance, Sterling, and Quinn on horseback, from behind as they ride away from my camera. It’s not clean. The framing’s off. The focus is softer than ideal. Like the others, it shouldn’t work. But it does. These photos feel less like observation and more like an invitation.
So far, I’ve been standing on the outside, looking in. But walking the property isn’t enough. I need to get closer.
Exhaling, I close the laptop before I can second-guess myself.
My phone vibrates against the tabletop. Graham. Again. Like always, I silence the call without answering. If it’s about my gallery photos, he can leave a voicemail.
My gaze drifts to the window, to Holden’s cabin, visible through the trees.
Unfortunately, I know just how to fix it.
It’s going to be awkward after last night. He probably won’t make it easy. That’s fine. I’m sick of easy, anyway.
I might have to pick my moment, but when I see my chance, I’ll ask him.