CHAPTER FIVE
Bryce
Summer nights in the Bridger Mountains come with a beauty you can’t find anywhere else. The sun setting over the tall peaks casts a golden glow across the fields of Monarch Ranch and glints off the barn’s pane-glass windows. A barn that is immaculately set up for tomorrow’s reception.
This is my favorite moment with every event we host. When the guests are happy, unhurried, and enjoying the beauty of the place I love so much.
With weddings in particular, I savor the evening after the rehearsal is done.
It’s where you see the family let loose and gather in their natural way without the stress that comes with the wedding day.
It’s also this moment that brings out the twinge of longing I’ve gotten so good at ignoring.
The reminder that I had a wedding just like this many years ago, at this very ranch, but that my happy ending was cut short.
I might’ve lost her—them—but the ranch is here, her family is here, and I get to be part of that.
I get to be a part of all these happy endings, and it fills a little of the void that still lingers.
I push off the pavilion’s timber columns and glance at the wedding party circling the firepit with their drinks.
As I walk past the long, banquet-style tables, I take in the remnants of the catered dinner strewn across them.
It’s one of my favorite meals Bear Table Catering makes: beef tenderloin, grilled Caesar salad, and homemade dinner rolls. Simple yet elegant.
Considering there’s hardly anything left on the plates, I assume the group enjoyed it as well. I even saw some of them eyeing their plates like they might lick them clean of the homemade huckleberry sauce that was drizzled over the meat.
I stack a few plates to place into a dish tray by the grill, listening to the music flowing from a speaker near the fire. As if drawn to her without my consent, my gaze finds Leanne disappearing down the driveway and out of view.
Where the hell is she going?
The sun is setting, and being out alone after dark with the possibility of bears wandering around isn’t ideal. We had a whole discussion with the guests about bear safety when they arrived—where the bear spray is, how to use it, not to go wandering off without it…
I grumble under my breath and stalk off down the path after her.
When she walked out of the lodge this evening in a pair of skintight blue jeans tucked into brown cowboy boots, my heart stopped.
Luckily, she was too focused on something on her phone to spot me gawking.
It wasn’t until she caught her toe and almost stumbled that I pulled myself together in time to register the expression on her face.
She looked crestfallen, or maybe defeated?
I didn’t understand my body’s visceral response to protect her from whatever made her look that way.
That’s not my job.
Keeping her from getting attacked by a bear…? That is my job.
Her denim-clad ass comes into view around the bend, walking down toward the glamping tents—an iconic feature our guests love here at the ranch—and she’s on the phone. To be honest, I’m surprised she even has cell reception out here.
“This really isn’t a good time,” I hear her say, the words carrying back to me on the light breeze. My boots crunch on the gravel as well, but she’s so consumed by her conversation she doesn’t notice. “No, and I’m not sure why you’re even calling.”
I stop in my tracks and duck behind a tree, not wanting to fully eavesdrop on her conversation—one that sounds about as heated as every one we’ve had since she arrived. I guess it’s a consolation to know she doesn’t save her biting words for me alone.
“Well, you made that decision… No, I don’t want to talk to you… My sister is getting married tomorrow, so I’m busy… No, you can’t come out here and talk to me…”
What the hell is going on right now? Who is she talking to, and why do I feel the desire to grab her phone out of her hand and tell them to fuck off?
“Listen, this weekend is hard enough for me without you inserting yourself… You know why… I have to go.”
This silence is almost worse. Or I think it is, until a quiet sniffle meets my ears and my body locks.
Is she… crying?
I won’t lie, until this moment, I wouldn’t have thought she was capable of it.
But when another muffled whimper meets my ears, I grow uneasy.
I clearly know nothing about this woman, and what did she say?
This weekend is hard enough? What does that mean?
And why do I care? So long as whatever this is doesn’t affect the wedding, it’s none of my business…
But there’s this tug I can’t explain, one that’s been there since the moment I watched her step out of her sister’s car.
I lean my back against the tree, unsure of how to extricate myself from this situation. I can only imagine how angry she’s going to be to know she was overheard, particularly by me.
A rustling in the trees next to me has me jumping sideways.
I wasn’t kidding about bears, and though I mentally chastised Leanne for walking off with no protection, I do not have bear spray.
My boots scramble on the gravel as Baker, one of the ranch’s Irish wolfhounds, comes into view.
I drop my hands to my knees, relieved I’m not about to be eaten alive, until I hear her voice behind me.
Perhaps I traded one ass-chewing for another.
“What the hell are you doing down here?” Leanne snaps.
She slashes a rogue tear from her cheek while piercing me with a death glare to rival all the others she’s pinned me with since this afternoon.
Baker wanders over and noses my hand, so I take a second to come up with what I’m going to say by giving him a few good pets.
“I followed you.” Well, shit, that makes me sound creepy.
“I mean, I saw you head down here, and there are bears. I didn’t want you wandering off and getting eaten the night before your sister’s wedding. ”
She scoffs. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d care much if a bear got me.” She’s got all her armor back on, but there’s a small chink where there wasn’t before, and I can almost hear the hurt lingering behind her words.
My retort about only caring because of the insurance dies in my throat. She doesn’t need me harassing her right now, and I reluctantly note that it wouldn’t be true.
When I say nothing, she continues. “Forget it. And forget anything you heard, understood?” She presses her hands onto her hips and glares at me.
The tight sleeveless bodysuit she’s wearing with her jeans looks painted on, and her chest rises and falls with labored breaths that show exactly how worked up she is.
And hell, the belt. How did I miss the belt earlier, with its rodeo-style buckle?
She could pass for a buckle bunny in this outfit, and every single bull rider and roper would be begging at her feet for a chance to slip his hat on her head and take her home.
Hell, if I were wearing my hat, I might throw it in the ring too.
I shake my head. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Bullshit,” she spits, anger and hurt swirling in her irises.
I take a couple of steps toward her, and she lifts her chin in defiance. Our eye contact makes the tension crackle like a freshly lit fuse.
“I can be discreet, Leanne,” I say, my voice low as I study her face.
Color warms her cheeks, and with the sun dipping below the horizon, her hair is alight with a fiery glow. “I just… I don’t need my sister worrying. This is her weekend.”
Her voice doesn’t soften, but I can hear the concern behind her words: that whatever she’s struggling with will seep into her sister’s otherwise joy-filled day. What I wouldn’t give to see into her mind and understand what the hell is happening here.
“Like I said, discreet. It’s part of what makes me good at my job. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen and heard over the years. But I can keep a secret.”
Maybe if our working relationship weren’t so tenuous, she could trust me with whatever’s got her on edge about this wedding and we could figure it out together. But it’s foolish of me to think that could ever be possible. Us working together in harmony is nothing but a pipe dream.
To my surprise, she quirks an eyebrow, and instead of stomping off up the hill—back to the group and the firepit—she takes two steps closer to me.
In the space of those steps, she rakes her gaze from my face, down my body, and over the tight T-shirt I have tucked into my Wranglers under my flannel.
Her perusal continues past the belt buckle I actually won in a rodeo in college and falters there for a second.
My heart falters too. I’m used to a fieriness with this woman, but her eyes flame with something else—a different kind of heat. A determination and a promise.
“Maybe we should test that theory,” she says, her voice pure smoke. So unlike what I’ve come to expect.
“What did you have in mind, blondie?” I ask, my mouth going dry.
Her eyes narrow to slits, but there’s a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips, mischievous and so damn sexy.
“I’m not really into the idea of digging my own grave, and you’ve got a murderess’s smile going there, so do you want to fill me in on what kind of secret we’re keeping? ”
Before I can say anything else, she lunges forward, and I catch her on instinct before her lips crash over mine.
Holy hell.