13. Aiden
Aiden
Paige studies the bay mare tied beside the barn, then looks at me.
“If you tell me she’s gentle because you think I need the horse version of training wheels, I’m taking your truck home.”
“She’s steady.”
“That sounded suspiciously similar.”
“She’s responsive, good on uneven ground, and opinionated about water.” I hold out the reins. “How much have you ridden?”
“Enough that you should have asked before selecting my horse.”
I lower my hand. “What can you handle?”
“Trails. Hills. A horse with a personality.” She steps closer to the mare and runs a palm along her neck. “I can steer, stop, and stay in the saddle without you catching me. If that changes, I’ll tell you.”
“Then she’s a good match.”
Paige takes the reins and checks the cinch. “See? Communication. We’re both improving.”
I’m still picturing her at the cabin door this morning, sun barely over the ridge, coffee already in hand. She wore jeans that made me reconsider the practical benefits of this whole ride. She mounts in one smooth movement, settling into the saddle with an ease that tells me she wasn’t lying.
“Satisfied?” she asks.
My attention moves over her thighs. “Very.”
Her mouth curves. “Try to keep up, rancher.”
I swing onto my gelding and lead us out through the east gate.
At the next gate, I shift my weight to dismount. Paige reaches it first. She guides the mare sideways, works the latch from the saddle, and pushes the gate wide with one boot.
“Anything else on the practical-skills test?” she asks as I ride through.
“You keep assuming I’m testing you.”
“You picked a horse before asking whether I could ride.”
She closes and chains the gate, then returns to my side.
“I made one assumption,” I say.
“How painful was admitting that?”
“I’ll recover.”
“Good. I’d hate for sunrise to lose its famous healing powers.”
The lower trail follows grass still silver with dew. I point out a washout near the fence and the pasture we cleared after the last storm. Paige asks why we rotate the cattle, then listens so closely her next question about water access is smarter than my first answer.
Most visitors comment on the view. Paige wants to know how it works, and I keep giving her more detail than she asked for.
The quiet loop and mountain view were meant to impress her. But ten minutes in, all I want is for her to see this land the way I do: not as scenery, but as a map of a hundred small decisions—a broken fence, a patch of dry grass, a slow line of cattle moving toward water.
At the creek, the trail narrows between the water and a stand of aspen. I bring my horse alongside hers to show her the firmer crossing.
Our knees brush.
Paige glances down at the contact. “Are you hovering?”
“You said you would tell me if you needed help.”
“I haven’t.”
“Then I’m enjoying the view.”
Her gaze drops to my lap with deliberate slowness. “The horse seems adequately trained.”
“I wasn’t looking at the horse.”
“Neither was I.”
She nudges her mare forward through the shallow water, leaving me to follow with my cock hard inside my jeans—a problem of my own making.
On the other side, Paige ducks beneath a branch and gives the mare enough rein to choose solid ground around slick mud without surrendering control.
Confidence looks good on Paige everywhere. With sunlight catching the loose hair beneath her hat and her body moving so easily with the saddle, it felt like I was watching something I wasn't supposed to see.
The trail climbs to a ridge above the working pastures. Long fences, dark cattle, weathered barns, and the cluster of houses farther west spread across the valley below. Paige stops beside me.
“You grew up looking at this?” she asks.
“Most mornings.”
“Then you ran the Texas operation.”
“For years.”
Her gaze follows the fence line toward the houses. “Which part is yours?”
“The whole place belongs to the family.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Paige turns toward me. Our knees touch again, and this time neither of us moves away.
“You’ve shown me the ranch,” she says. “Now show me the part you chose for yourself. Where you made a home for you and Josie.”
“The house is behind those cottonwoods,” I say. “I have two things to finish before breakfast.”
Paige looks toward the lower pens. “Then why are we standing here?”
I lead us down the ridge by the west trail. When we reach the barn, Paige dismounts without waiting for help and starts loosening her mare’s cinch.
“I can take care of her,” I say.
“I know.” She pulls the saddle free. “You also promised to feed me, and you're doing every chore alone is just delaying breakfast.”
I point out the saddle rack and leave her with a brush while I handle my gelding. When I turn, she has already checked the mare’s back for damp spots and is brushing in firm circles.
My phone buzzes twice. One message confirms the hay delivery for Monday. The other is from Dad; Josie has negotiated pancakes and a second trip to the creek before they bring her home at eleven-thirty.
Paige glances over. “Everything okay?”
“Hay is arriving Monday. Josie has expanded her plans with my parents.”
“Do six-year-olds usually send calendar updates?”
“Mine uses my father as her personal assistant.”
Her laugh follows me into the feed room.
A water valve in the recovery pen has been sticking since yesterday. I shut off the line, clear a pebble from the float assembly, and restart it while Paige leans on the top rail. The yearling inside approaches, and she scratches the white patch between his eyes.
“What happened to him?” she asks.
“Cut his leg on old wire. He’s healing well, but I want him where I can check him.”
I inspect the bandage. The bandage is dry, his weight is even, and the swelling is down. Paige watches without filling the silence or praising me, and that quiet attention makes me want to give her more to see.
When I stand, she reaches for the mineral bucket beside the gate.
“You don’t have to work,” I tell her.
“Correct.” She lifts it. “I’m choosing to help. Where does this go?”
I point toward the covered feeder and follow her, partly because the bucket is heavier than it looks, and partly for the view.
She catches me staring as she sets it down. “Did I pass this section of the test?”
“There is no test.”
“Then stop looking so pleased with my performance.”
I step close enough to put one hand on the rail behind her. “That has nothing to do with ranch work.”
Her eyes drop to my mouth. “Breakfast, Aiden.”
“I heard you.”
“Your priorities seemed confused.”
“They’re exactly where they should be. I’m showing restraint.”
“How noble.”
I take the empty bucket from her and lead her toward the foreman’s house before my restraint snaps entirely.
I fry the potatoes I cut earlier, add eggs to a second skillet, and slice peaches while Paige wanders through the living room with her coffee.
She pauses beside Josie’s shelf of library books, then looks at the drawings taped beneath the front window. A purple horse. A row of stick figures beneath an enormous sun. A dog I have been informed is imaginary and therefore requires no feeding.
“Your house is exactly what I expected,” she says.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Josie has taken possession of every shared surface.”
“She left me one drawer in the bathroom.”
Paige smiles, although her eyes continue to scan the room. The furniture came with the house, and most photographs are of Josie. Her shoes collect beside the door. Her crayons occupy the table. Her sparkly headbands migrate through every room.
“Where are you in here?” Paige asks.
“I’m making breakfast.”
“You know what I mean.”
I set the plates on the porch table. “Josie needed this to feel like home, so I kept adding what made that happen.”
“And your things?”
“Most of what I need fits in the bedroom and the mudroom.”
She studies me, then carries her coffee outside. “You made a permanent home for her and left yourself a furnished rental.”
My hand stills on the chair. I spent nine months making sure Josie never feels like a guest here. I never asked whether I do.
I sit across from her. “It works.”
“I didn’t say it doesn’t.” She takes a bite of potato, then looks across the pasture. “I like this part.”
“The view?”
“The quiet. Two chairs, breakfast, and no one waiting to see whether I’m impressed by the Slade ranch.” Her foot brushes mine beneath the table. “This tells me more about you than the ridge did.”
I’d wanted her to understand the land that shaped me. Instead, she found the one part of my life I’d never bothered to look at.
Paige reaches for another peach slice, then looks past my shoulder toward the small building beyond the cottonwoods.
“What’s that?”
“Old ranch office,” I say. “It’s been empty since before Josie and I moved into the house.”
“What happened to the rancher who used it?”
“He retired.”
“Good. I wasn’t prepared for this tour to include an unsolved disappearance.”
I carry our plates inside. Paige follows me across the yard toward the old office, stopping while I shoulder the swollen door open.
“You weren’t exaggerating about unused.”
A thick film of dust coats the wood floor, and an abandoned chair is upended in one corner. The built-in desk is scarred with age but still solid. Light pours through two windows, one facing the pastures and the other framing the mountains beyond the creek.
“The roof is good,” I say. “I need to replace the wiring and refinish the floor.”
“You’ve considered fixing it.”
“I consider fixing everything that needs work. It’s an occupational hazard.”
Paige steps around old feed records and tests the window latch. It gives on her second attempt, letting cool air stir dust across the sill.
“You could do something with this.”
“I could.”
She looks at me. “That wasn’t a suggestion for you to hand me a hammer.”
“I know better than to assign you a project.”
“Look at you, learning.”
Paige moves toward the second window and stands in the sunlight beneath it, her hair loose around her shoulders now that she has taken off her hat.
The plan was to show her an empty building and return to the house. She starts examining the walls, treating the room like a puzzle worth solving.
“This could be a library,” she says.
“A ranch library?”
“A private one.” She spreads her arms and turns slowly. “Shelves on every wall. A reading chair here. A desk under that window. I could close the door, disappear inside with a stack of books and a well-stocked cooler, and ignore civilization for days.”
She is standing twenty yards from my house, imagining a place where she could be entirely alone. She’s describing solitude, but all I hear is that she sees a future for herself here.
“You’d last six hours,” I say.
Paige lowers her arms. “Excuse me?”
“You’d run out of snacks.”
“I would plan ahead.”
“You were going to call bread and cheese dinner the first Friday.”
“I brought wine.”
“That supports my argument.”
She walks toward me. “I’m beginning to think you enjoy being corrected.”
“I enjoy watching you try.”
“Arrogant.”
“You came back.”
Her smile softens. “I did.”
A breeze swings the door shut behind me, the latch clicking decisively into place.
Paige glances past my shoulder, then back at me. “Very private.”
I set her hat on the desk. “You said that was the appeal.”
“For reading.”
“I wasn’t thinking about books.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “What were you thinking about?”
I step into her space, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin after the ride. “You against that wall.”
Paige hooks two fingers beneath my collar and pulls me down to her.
The kiss lands hard. Her back meets the wall as I brace one hand beside her head. She tastes like coffee and peaches, and when my tongue strokes hers, a rough sound starts deep in her throat, and she drags me closer by my belt.
Her breasts press against my chest, my cock hard between us.
“You smell like a horse,” she murmurs against my mouth.
“So do you.”
“I wasn’t complaining.”
“Good.”
I kiss her again, slower this time, until the tease in her kiss gives way and she grips my hair. My hand closes around her hip, then slides over the curve of her ass. Paige arches into me and bites my lower lip.
“Careful,” I say.
“Is this too much for your delicate rancher sensibilities?”
“With how much time we have.”
Her fingers tighten at the back of my neck. “Then you should stop wasting it.”
I lift her leg against my hip. The new angle grinds my cock right where she wants it, and I groan, the sound low against her skin. I kiss down her throat while she works her hand beneath the hem of my shirt.
Her nails scrape across my stomach. My fingers move along the inside of her thigh, climbing until her breath catches.
My phone rings.
Paige laughs softly. “Your restraint called for backup.”
I ignore it and kiss the soft skin beneath her ear, and a shiver moves through her.
The phone stops, then immediately starts again.
“Answer it,” she says, even as she pulls me closer.
I check the screen. “It’s Mom.”
Paige lowers her leg and smooths her shirt while I answer.
“We’re heading back early,” Mom says. “Josie’s decided the creek is finished with her. She wants to show you the rock collection that’s currently ruining my jacket pockets. We’ll be at our house in fifteen minutes. No rush.”
“I’ll get her. I just have to take Paige home first.”
Paige is fighting a smile when I hang up.
“Did the creek dismiss her formally?”
“There was a rock-related disagreement.”
“Serious business.”
I reach for her again, but she plants one palm against my chest. “Your daughter is waiting.”
“Not yet.”
“Your confidence is inspiring.”
She kisses me once, quick and firm, then ducks beneath my arm and picks up her hat.
I walk her to my truck. As I reach for her door, she hooks two fingers through my belt loop and gives me a final kiss.
“Thank you for showing me your world without thirty witnesses,” she says.
“Next Saturday?”
“Ask me on Friday.”
After driving Paige home, I return to the ranch. Before I collect Josie, I stop beside the office. Through the dusty window, I can see the sunlit wall where Paige had stood, now empty, and the space she’d imagined for her desk beneath the mountain-facing window.
For the first time, I can see exactly what the room needs to be.