9
“H ow many tractors do you have? And how many acres? And what about your employees?”
“I do. It’s my job,” I remind him. “Employees?”
He tugs a cluster of weeds from the side of a shed. My stomach squeezes as I note the rippling muscles in his sculpted back. “We have a twenty-six-person crew. They live on the ranch from April to September.”
Without waiting for me, he starts across the gravel road toward the barn. I blow out a frustrated breath and chase after him.
He’s a man of few words. I’ll give him that.
I’ve trudged along with him for the last several hours asking him questions while he works. Watching while he chopped firewood and fixed the tractor in the shop. Listening while he chatted up one of the hired hands about taking a new group fishing down at Elk River.
So far I’m impressed with Charlie Montgomery.
Runaway Ranch is a well-oiled machine with a solid backbone behind it.
The staff seem happy and the guests are having fun.
In my opinion, the video was bad, but not bad enough to warrant the negative response.
The woman almost acted as if she wanted to cause a scene.
There was no reason for Ford to continually get ridiculed in her comments.
“What about activities?” I huff, trying to catch up with Charlie.
“What about ‘em?” he shouts back.
I hide a smile at the ice in his tone as he stalks toward the barn.
That Charlie Montgomery looks like he’d rather have a fatal disease than me following him around only increases my desire to wear this man down.
I’m going to make him smile if it kills me.
All I need is a week to familiarize myself with the ranch, then I can work my magic in solitude. Me and Charlie Montgomery never have to see each other again. Even if the thought sends an ache deep into my belly.
I puff out a breath and hustle up to the man who left me in the dust. “Just do your thing,” I say, slightly winded. “Don’t let me slow you down.”
“You already are,” he grumbles.
The corner of my mouth turns up. I’m used to people scoffing at social media. I saw the doubt on their faces earlier this morning. The smug yeah, right glances that passed between the brothers. They don’t think I can do it.
I can’t wait for the chance to prove them wrong.
“What’s that?” I point at a large red building that sits kitty-corner from the barn. The sign out front reads Warrior Heart Home .
“That’s Davis’s,” Charlie says. “He rehabs military working dogs. Works with them until they’re healthy, then either re-homes them, or we let them live out their days here.”
“Really?” I make a note on my phone. “That’s cool, Charlie.”
He lifts his hat, dragging a big hand through his disheveled hair. “When we have a group of kids on the ranch, we bring them here. Teach them how to always be kind to animals.”
My heart stutters at the sentiment.
It’s beautiful. I wonder if he knows that.
I pause and snap a photo of the habitat, gathering photos for the Instagram feed. When I look up, Charlie’s disappearing through the double Dutch doors that lead into the barn.
I chew on my lower lip and then hurry in after him.
Soft nickers greet me.
“Oh, my goodness,” I breathe.
The massive barn could double as a second home.
The stained and painted interior has stalls lining both sides of the barn.
On the far side, there’s a large hay storage room and a small kitchen with a cot and a bar.
But it’s not the size of the room that catches my breath.
It’s the three horses poking their noses over the stall doors, their dark eyes wet with curiosity.
Without looking up, Charlie hefts a bale of hay up into the loft and says, “Since I know you’ll ask: Black one is Ghost. The chestnut is Big Red. Paint is Wesson. We got fifteen riding horses total. Colton has the rest out on a ride.”
“Can I pet one?”
He straightens and shrugs those broad shoulders. “They’re all kittens. Take your pick.”
“I’ve never been on a horse,” I say, walking closer to them. My to-do checklist rearranges. I mentally add Ride a horse . Ride it into the sunset, and pretend I’m a cowgirl, wild and free.
This time, Charlie looks interested. “Really?”
“Nope.” I move around the stalls, scoping out Wesson. The pony’s brown tail flicks away flies. “Never been on a motorcycle, surfed a wave, danced in a bar, or done drugs. Boring, I know.”
Charlie grunts, tackling a second bale of hay.
I doubt he even heard me.
A rush of sadness, followed by a sensation of regret, burrows down deep in my belly. It stays there, the memory latching on like a leech.
The closest I’ve ever had to some excitement in my life was when I took ballet.
When I was seven, barre and plié were my life.
I’d practice for hours. I had a teacher I loved, who screamed voila every time I managed to pirouette.
When I lifted myself on tiptoes, I felt like I could reach anything.
It was the happiest I had ever been. Two months later, I was in the hospital, diagnosed with SVT.
Despite the doctors’ assurance that I’d be fine as long as I took breaks, my dad never let me go back.
I felt like I had lost my entire life that day, even though I was still alive.
My hand palms Wesson’s cheek. Smiling, I relish the feel of her velvet fur on my skin. The soft puff of air from her nostrils. She’s the best balm for making me focus on what’s in front of me—my life.
Heavy steps sound across the floor, and I glance over my shoulder. Charlie’s lugging a large bag of feed like it’s a pillow. I watch his massive forearms flex as he heaves it into a small room.
“What’s in there?” I ask.
“Tack room,” he says. “We keep everything to outfit a horse. Saddles. Blankets. Medicine.”
I give Wesson a last look and go to Charlie. “I can help.”
He lifts the brim of his dusty Stetson hat. “You?”
A lip curl of distaste or consideration I can’t tell.
I prop my hands on my hips, daring him to argue with me. “Yes, me.”
For a long moment, he stares hard. Then he jerks his bearded chin. “Okay. Get the hose and fill up each of the water troughs.”
For an hour, we work together in silence. While Charlie opens a grooming kit and gives each horse a good brushing, I spread new bedding down and refill water. It’s gratifying work. Work my brother and my father would never in a million years let me do.
Even though I’m not asking questions, I’m learning. Charlie takes pride in his ranch. He does the work himself. He’s respected. He’s kind to the animals.
It very much makes me want to save it.
I’m wiping my sweaty brow when a flicker of motion catches my eye. Curious, I drift to the open Dutch doors and step outside. Across from the barn is a large, fenced pasture where two horses are locked in a kind of dance. The riders look like tornados, dust and dirt kicked up behind them.
Charlie’s deep voice rumbles behind me. “C’mon,” he says, handing me a bottle of water and motioning me forward.
I smile. It seems my silence has been rewarded.
We step into the sunshine and head to the pasture. The sound of hooves thunder across the grass, the vibrations making their way into my core. As we get closer, I note it’s Wyatt and Fallon.
This time, I chance a question. “What’re they doing?”
“Training.” A half-grin cracks Charlie’s rugged face. “Fallon’s the reining barrel racing champ. She takes lessons from Wyatt when she doesn’t want to kill him.” He points. “See? She’s supposed to be listening to him, but she’s cutting him off.”
Happy whinnies come from the horses. I stare at their massive muscles rippling in the bright summer sun. Flashes of rust and chestnut swirl through the churning dust.
“Don’t forget, cowgirl, I can still beat you by a country mile,” Wyatt calls out.
“Ha,” Fallon scoffs, as they race past us. Her laugh is like a knife, sharp and cutting.
“She’s gonna get good enough and whup his ass.” Charlie chuckles and moves to the fence. “Damn,” he says under his breath. “That girl can fly.”
I chance a quick glance his way. His knuckles are bone white as he grips the fence, but pride lights up his expression.
My stomach sinks. I don’t like the way he looks at her or the way I feel. Like I’ve lost something before I even had it. Not like I would win him. Nothing about Charlie Montgomery, especially his eternal scowl and angry grunts, has me thinking I even stand a fighting chance.
“You and Fallon?” I fight to keep the question casual.
He blinks. And then he laughs. A bright gorgeous laugh that has my heart racing. “Christ no. She’s like a little sister. To some of us,” he mutters.
I climb up on the fence to get a better view. “Do you train your guests?”
“We do. We have afternoon sessions where Wyatt offers instruction. But not like this. We don’t want to kill anybody,” he says wryly.
“You’re just open for the summer, then?”
“Yeah.” He moves closer, standing tall beside me. “June through Labor Day. In the fall, when we close for the season, Wyatt runs rodeo clinics here on the ranch for any cowboy dumb enough to take his lessons.”
My gaze flies back to the riders. “Is it dangerous? The rodeo?”
His mouth thins. “It is. Wyatt’s had broken ribs, broken wrists. Once, he got caught in the mouth with a hoof and had his front teeth knocked out.”
I wince at the image. “Sounds like you know rodeos.”
A tight nod. “I used to compete. A long time ago.”
My mind overheats picturing Charlie on the back of a horse. A true cowboy. Solid and strong. With his dark hair, rugged features, and muscles corded like taut wire, the man looks like he was made from the dust and the grit of the rodeo. I wonder why he stopped.
My gaze goes back to the pasture. “Seems like a shame,” I hedge. “To give it up.”
Silence.
Fallon rushes by us, her tattoos lit up in the sun, her long caramel braid whipping the wind, and her face—
My jaw drops.
Holy shit.
Her face. It looks like she’s given in to ecstasy and everything holy.
I want to look like that. I want to feel like that. I press a hand to my heart, wishing it could witness this.
What I yearn for.
The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I’d love to do that,” I say breathlessly.
Charlie goes tense beside me, telling me I’ve said the wrong thing. The chill coming off him is like an arctic freeze. Instantly, his face darkens. “No, Ruby, you goddamn wouldn’t.”
Then he’s turning away from me and storming back to the barn.
My weary eyes blink back hot, frustrated tears. His abrupt cold shoulder, his sharp tongue hurts.
Stings, in fact.
I can’t win with this cowboy.
Well, screw Charlie Montgomery. I’m here to work. And that’s what I’ll do. With or without him.
I look up and down the pasture. Fallon and Wyatt bickering on their horses. The small shed with rainwater barrels out front. Dusty pickup trucks squeezed into a small lot on a narrow side road.
That’s when a loud snort gets my attention.
I turn my gaze to find a round horse pen, maybe forty diameters across and framed by steel bars, near the pasture.
A storm of a horse, ebony with a white diamond marking on its brow, prances back and forth.
It looks restless and angry, the way I feel right about now.
I cross to the pen and climb the rails, leaning forward to get a better look. “Hey there,” I say before clicking my tongue like I saw Charlie do earlier.
With a harsh flare of its nostrils, the horse stomps out of my way.
Annoyed that this is one more being that doesn’t like me, I inhale a determined breath.
I won’t give up on it.
Heart racing, I stretch my hand out toward the horse. I climb higher on the rail, pushing up on my tiptoes. A mistake. Because I lean too far forward. I lose my balance.
And then I fall.