Chapter Five #2
She moved through the poses slowly, unhurried, her soul syncing with the pale gold light spilling over the mountains.
Back in Boston, yoga was a forty-five-minute slot wedged between calls, taught by an instructor who corrected Sinead’s form and billed by the hour.
Out here, nobody corrected anything. Nobody watched at all, except maybe a few horses in the nearby pasture, unbothered by the woman folding herself into downward dog pose in the grass.
Yesterday she’d taken a pottery class with Honor Malone. She was surprised to find how soothing it was to have her hands deep in cool clay, and she produced a lopsided little bowl that should have embarrassed her. The sides were uneven, and the rim dipped where it shouldn’t.
Instead she’d found herself turning it over on her nightstand that night, deciding she liked it exactly as it was, flaws included. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d made something imperfect and let it stay that way instead of scrapping it and starting over.
She was rolling up her mat, dew damp on her fingers, when she looked up and spotted Hawk crossing the yard from the direction of the barn.
She noticed his easy stride, with no sign of him favoring one side since the snake bite two days before.
The way he moved, back straight but not stiff, arms swinging loose at his sides, and even the sunlight turning the tan color of his Stetson to gold, was hard to look away from.
Since no one was around to notice her watching, she didn’t bother to stop. If he was healed, that meant they’d get on the trail soon. And she was more than eager to get started despite the warm hospitality the big ranch offered.
Hawk glanced up and spotted her. He changed course, angling toward her with that unhurried, confident walk that made her own body itch to walk too.
“Morning,” he said as he reached her. “Saw you out riding yesterday. Looks like you belong on one.” His eyes were clear, showing no signs of sarcasm.
She looked down at her feet, swishing one toe of her workout shoes through the grass, then back up at his face.
“I took lessons as a kid. I guess it’s like riding a bicycle.
” She glanced past him toward the corral, where two horses were nosing at the fence rail.
“It’s easy to ride such good horses. I’m genuinely impressed with the ranch. ”
He didn’t turn to look at the horses too, just kept his gaze fixed on her face.
Feeling a little self-conscious for no reason at all, she tucked a wisp of hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear.
Soon she would be hiking into the wilderness with this man.
He’d see her with messy hair and no makeup.
She didn’t know the last time any man saw her that way, and felt a small flutter of apprehension. To a Winthrop, appearances should be everything. But she wasn’t here to impress Hawk. He was her bodyguard.
“Willow’s picky about bloodlines. She treats all her horses like members of the family too. Actually, I’m pretty sure she invites them to Sunday dinner.”
Hawk’s words made her laugh, and her gaze traveled over him for a heartbeat longer than was necessary.
He looked good this morning—better than good.
His hat tipped low to shade his eyes from the sun that was quickly climbing in the sky.
He’d shaved, but she saw the blade hadn’t completely scraped away the full shadow of his beard.
And he filled out that Black Heart T-shirt and jeans like they were made for him.
This wasn’t the first time she’d noticed him since he brought her to the ranch. In fact, it was at least the third time. She was annoyed at herself for keeping track, and more annoyed that she couldn’t seem to stop counting or noticing.
That morning she’d watched him chop wood behind the shed, shirt sticking to his back with sweat, forearms flexing with each swing of the ax like it was nothing. She’d forced herself to keep walking past and pretended she hadn’t noticed him.
There had also been the bonfire the first night. He was just leaving when she arrived with Carson’s wife Layne, but Sinead had noticed the firelight flickering along his rugged features before he vanished into the shadows.
And last evening, she’d watched him swing up onto a horse bareback to help herd a couple of strays back through the gate, all easy strength and quiet competence, with dust kicking up gold in the fading light behind him like someone had painted him into the scene.
Heath Hawk was…rugged. That was the word. Rugged and attractive in a way that had nothing to do with polish or wealth. He didn’t wear designer suits like the men she usually orbited.
She filed away the observation to pull out and examine at a later time, when Hawk wasn’t studying her the same way.
“You got a few minutes?” he asked. “I want to talk through the trip. Get our plan locked before we move.”
Her pulse picked up, and excitement crowded out whatever else she’d been feeling a second ago. “Yes. Absolutely. Lead the way.”
They ended up on the back patio of the lodge, two cups of coffee between them and a view that stole her breath for a moment, even though she’d spent a lot of time and money searching for beautiful views.
Rolling pasture stretched out gold and green. Horses grazed in the early light, and mountains stood like tall blue-gray giants behind it all. She sank into the chair across from him and felt something settle in her chest, strangely quiet.
And even more unexpected.
She felt at home here.
The thought struck her hard.
She didn’t feel this comfortable in Boston. Hadn’t in longer than she wanted to admit. Her parents’ house had gone hollow since her father passed, all that square footage and not one room that felt like it wanted her in it.
Her mother kept herself busy with her clubs, her committees, her lunches with women who’d known each other thirty years and still talked mostly about books and vacations.
Sinead visited when she had to and left as soon as she could, and neither of them ever said out loud how strange the silence had gotten.
Here, on the patio of the Black Heart Therapy Lodge, coffee warm in her hands, she felt more settled than she had in that house in years.
“So,” Hawk said, pulling her back to the here and now. “The terrain.”
He opened a map on his phone and traced the route with one finger.
“It’s about thirteen miles in, and the elevation climbs the whole way.
No trails past the first three miles, so we’re winging it from there.
Ridge trail’s exposed in a few stretches—no cover if anyone’s watching from a distance, so we’ll want to move through those sections fast.”
“How fast is fast?”
“Faster than comfortable.” He tapped a spot on the map. “This saddle here’s the worst of it. Loose rock, steep drop on one side. After that it eases up some, but we’re still gaining the whole way to the coordinates.”
“What do we need to carry?”
“We go as light as we can manage and still be safe. Water’s the priority—there’s no reliable source once we’re past this creek crossing, so we’re carrying enough for two days minimum.
Food, first aid, the usual. I’ll carry the heavier gear.
I’ll also carry a weapon, even though I know you’re skilled enough with one. ”
She shot him a look.
He went on, “You’ll want good boots and layers. The temperature swings hard once we’re up in elevation, especially at night.”
He sat back and studied her like she was part of the gear to be hauled up the mountain. “Still want to go?”
She straightened. “Positive.”
He searched her eyes for a beat longer and then pocketed his phone. “We gather supplies today. Rest for the night. Then we move.”
She held on to the words after he said them, turning them over like a countdown she wasn’t ready to start.
One more night at this ranch, this strange, unexpected retreat from reality.
One more night before they hit the mountain, before they found the answers. Before whatever came after them found them.
She wasn’t sure which she wanted more—to reach the end of her father’s trail, or to never let this strange, shaky feeling go.