Chapter 6
Ripplan
Ten days.
Ten days since I'd lifted Tammy onto Starlight's back and felt her body settle against mine.
Ten days of dawn lessons where she'd gone from terrified to competent.
Ten days of watching her transform from a woman who'd never touched a horse to someone who moved with Daffodil like they'd been partners for years.
And now she was in the paddock with half a dozen ranch hands, laughing.
I leaned against the fence rail, arms crossed, watching her.
She sat easy in the saddle, reins loose in one hand, her body moving with the mare's rhythm as they cut a calf away from the small herd we'd brought down for practice.
Daffodil was well trained and responded to the slightest shift of Tammy's weight, pivoting and blocking as the calf tried to dart back to its mother.
"That's it!" Dutton called from across the paddock. "You got it, Doc!"
Tammy's laugh rang out, bright and unguarded, the kind of sound that made something in my chest pull tight. She guided Daffodil back, letting the calf rejoin the herd, then turned the mare in a neat circle.
"Again?" she called.
"Hell yeah!" Carter whooped. "You're a natural!"
She was glowing. Cheeks flushed, hair escaping from her braid, eyes bright with joy. Beautiful. She looked absolutely beautiful.
And she was laughing with them. Not me.
The thought hit like a fist to the gut. Irrational.
Stupid. But there it was—hot and sharp and impossible to ignore.
I'd taught her to ride. I'd been the one to put her on a horse, to show her how to move with the animal, to build her confidence from nothing.
And now she was out here with Dutton and Carter, laughing at their jokes, accepting their praise.
My jaw clenched.
"Alright," I called out, pushing off the fence. "That's enough for today."
Tammy looked over, surprised. "Already? I was just getting the hang of it."
"You've been at it for two hours. Daffodil needs rest."
"She seems fine."
"I said that's enough." My voice came out harder than I intended. "Everyone back to work. We've got fence repairs on the north pasture."
The ranch hands exchanged glances. Dutton opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then thought better of it. They dispersed, heading toward the barn to collect tools and gear.
Tammy dismounted, her movements smooth and confident now. She led Daffodil toward the stable, and I followed, keeping my distance but unable to look away.
She tied the mare to the hitching post and started unbuckling the girth strap. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency. Everything about her was quick. Smart. Capable.
"You're getting good at that," I said.
She glanced at me, a small smile playing at her lips. "I had a good teacher."
"You had a demanding teacher. There's a difference."
"True." She pulled the saddle off and set it on the fence rail, then grabbed a brush from the grooming kit. "But I don't mind demanding. Keeps me sharp."
I watched her work the brush over Daffodil's coat in long, steady strokes.
The mare's eyes half-closed in contentment.
Tammy murmured something too low for me to hear, probably the same kind of nonsense she'd been talking to the horse since day one.
It worked, though. Daffodil trusted her completely now.
"Your form's improved," I said, stepping closer. "When you're cutting, you're anticipating the calf's movement instead of reacting to it."
"Is that good?"
"It's what you're supposed to do."
She laughed softly. "High praise from you."
"I don't give praise I don't mean."
"I know." She moved to Daffodil's other side, and I caught her scent. Sweetness and spice, mixed now with horse and leather and the clean smell of exertion. My mouth watered. "That's what makes it worth something when you do."
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't trust myself to speak without saying something I wasn't ready to say.
Dutton and Carter emerged from the barn, carrying fence posts and wire. They were talking, their voices carrying across the yard. I caught Tammy's name. Caught Carter saying something about "those eyes" and Dutton laughing in agreement.
Heat flared in my chest. My hands curled into fists.
"You need to check the area where the cinch strap sits," I said, my voice rougher than necessary. "Make sure it's not rubbing."
"I already did."
"Do it again."
She looked at me, one eyebrow raised. "Ripplan, I checked it twice. It's fine."
"Humor me."
She set down the brush and ran her hand along the mare's belly, checking for wear. Her movements were careful, thorough. Professional. Everything she did, she did right.
"See?" she said. "Fine."
"Good."
Dutton and Carter were still lingering near the barn, clearly waiting for something. Probably waiting for me to leave so they could come over and flirt with her some more.
Not happening.
"I need to go into Leadville this afternoon," Tammy said, breaking into my thoughts. "Pick up some more supplies before the cattle drive."
"What kind of supplies?"
"Medical stuff. Bandages, mostly." She grinned. "Your ranch hands are a clumsy bunch. I'm almost out."
"They're cowboys. Comes with the territory."
"Apparently." She started working on Daffodil's mane, her fingers gentle as she worked out tangles. "I was thinking I'd take one of the ranch trucks."
Before I could respond, Dutton called out, "We can take you, Doc!"
I turned. Both of them had abandoned their fence supplies and were walking over, all easy smiles and eager energy.
"Yeah," Carter added. "We need to pick up some stuff in town anyway. Two birds, one stone."
Tammy looked between them, clearly considering it. "That's sweet of you guys, but—"
"No problem at all," Dutton said. He was standing too close to her. They both were. "We'll make sure you get everything you need."
"And maybe grab lunch at that diner on Main Street," Carter suggested. "Best burgers in Colorado."
They were looking at her like she was the best thing they'd ever seen. Like she was something precious and rare and worth pursuing.
And she was. But she wasn't theirs to pursue.
"You two have work to do," I said, my voice flat and cold. "North pasture. Fence repairs."
"We can do that after—" Dutton started.
"You'll do it now. And when you're done with the north pasture, you'll move to the east pasture. Then the south. I want every fence line checked and repaired before the drive."
Carter's face fell. "Boss, that's at least three days of work."
"Then you'd better get started."
"But—"
"Now."
They looked at each other, then at Tammy, then back at me. Whatever they saw in my expression made them think better of arguing. They grabbed their supplies and headed out, their earlier enthusiasm completely deflated.
Tammy watched them go, then turned to me with her arms crossed. "That was a bit harsh, don't you think?"
"They have work to do."
"So do I. And they were offering to help."
"I'll take you."
She blinked. "What?"
"Into Leadville. I'll take you." I met her eyes, daring her to argue. "I need to check on some equipment orders anyway. We'll go tomorrow morning."
"You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to. I'm offering."
She studied me for a long moment, and I couldn't read her expression. Then, slowly, she smiled. "Okay. Thank you."
"Be ready at eight."
"I will."
I turned to leave, then stopped. Looked back at her. She was watching me with those sky-blue eyes, her head tilted slightly, like she was trying to figure something out.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing." But her smile widened. "I'll see you at eight, Ripplan."
I walked away before I could do something stupid. Like tell her the real reason I'd sent Dutton and Carter away. Like admit that watching them flirt with her made me want to throw them both through a wall.
Like confess that her laugh, when it was directed at someone else, made me feel like I was missing something vital.
The drive to Leadville took forty minutes. Tammy sat in the passenger seat of the ranch truck, her window cracked to let in the mountain air. She'd worn jeans and a flannel shirt, her hair pulled back in a braid. Simple. Practical. Beautiful.
"So what's the cattle drive actually like?" she asked as we wound through the mountain roads. "I mean, I know the basics. I've seen John Wayne movies. But what's it really like?"
I kept my eyes on the road. I liked John Wayne movies myself, but the screen version of a cattle trail was far from the truth. "Long days. Early mornings. You'll be sore in places you didn't know you had."
"Sounds terrible."
"It's not." I glanced at her. "It's the best part of the year."
"Why?"
How to explain it? The way the mountains looked at dawn, the peaks catching fire with the first light. The sound of the herd moving together, thousands of hooves on stone and grass. The nights under stars so thick you could barely see the darkness between them.
"It's quiet up there," I said finally. "Peaceful. No town, no people, no noise. Just the land and the cattle and the sky." I paused. "And it's beautiful. More beautiful than anything you've seen."
"More beautiful than the view from the ranch?"
"Yeah."
She was quiet for a moment, looking out the window at the passing landscape. "I can't wait."
Something in her voice, wonder maybe, or anticipation, made my chest feel tight.
"The high pastures are different," I continued. "Greener. There are meadows full of wildflowers this time of year. Streams so cold they'll make your teeth ache. And at night, you can see the Milky Way so clearly it looks like you could reach up and touch it."
"You love it up there."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yeah. I do."
"Because of the sky?"
I thought about that. About the years underground, the darkness that had pressed down like a physical weight. About the first time I'd seen the stars and felt something in my chest crack open.