Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
DAKOTA
The first thing I learn about Wild Vista Ranch?
No one exaggerates about Levi Winchester.
“Grumpy doesn’t even cover it,” Carson, the riding instructor, tells me over breakfast, sliding a plate of eggs across the long wooden table. “Man barely speaks unless he has to.” He’s classic cowboy. Square-cut jaw, intense eyes, clean shaven and dressed to impress.
“That’s not true,” Wes, the ranch foreman, chimes in. “He yells.”
I smile into my coffee. Can’t quite believe that. At least, not at Wes. The foreman’s a tower of muscle, taut and rippling. Just waiting for a cow—or human—to get out of line.
“He saved my life yesterday,” I say.
They both look at me, jaws dropping.
“Then you must be the new girl who walked into the barn like she had a death wish,” Carson says with a knowing smile.
“Accident,” I correct.
“Mm-hmm.”
I ignore that and glance out the window instead.
The ranch stretches wide and golden under the morning sun—rolling land, split-rail fences, horses and cattle moving slow and easy in the distance. It’s quieter than the city. Cleaner, somehow.
Like there’s space to breathe despite the dust and flies. Like maybe, for once, I won’t feel as if I’m chasing something I can’t quite reach.
“You’re working with Levi?” a new man chimes in. He offers a hand when I look up. “Garrett. I’m the blacksmith.” His forearms, which are the size of my thighs, attest as much.
“That’s the plan.”
All three exchange a look.
“Good luck with that,” Wes grumbles.
I take a sip of coffee, unfazed. “I don’t need luck.” I just need a chance.
I find him exactly where I expected. The barn.
It smells like hay and leather and something warm and alive. Dust hangs in the light filtering through the slats. The kind of place that feels real the second you step into it.
Levi stands in the center aisle, back to me, sleeves pushed up, hands moving with quiet purpose as he checks a saddle.
He doesn’t turn when I walk in. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Just keeps working like I don’t exist.
I lean against the stall door and wait. It takes a full minute before he finally speaks. “You always sneak up on people like that?”
“I walked in through the front.”
“You didn’t make a sound.”
“Maybe you were distracted.”
He glances over his shoulder. That look again. Sharp. Assessing. Like he’s trying to decide what to do with me.
“I’m busy,” he says.
“I can see that.”
“Then you can leave.”
“I could,” I agree. “But I won’t.”
Something shifts in his expression. Not irritation. Something more controlled than that.
“You don’t take hints well, do you?”
“I take them,” I say. “I just don’t always listen.”
That almost earns me something. Not a smile. But close. He turns back to the saddle.
“Fine. You want to help? Start by grabbing that brush.”
I push off the stall and step inside, reaching for the one he nods toward.
Up close, the big brown horse with a white diamond on its nose watches me carefully. He isn’t aggressive. Just unsure.
“Like this?” I ask, holding the brush.
“Slow,” Levi says. “Don’t rush him.”
I move closer, keeping my movements steady, giving the horse time to see me.
“For the record,” I murmur, soft enough it doesn’t carry. “I’m not here to make your day worse.”
Levi’s attention shifts. I feel it without looking.
The horse exhales. Not a full release. Just… less tension.
“Good,” Levi says, quieter now. “Keep that pace.”
I do.
My brush strokes are slow, deliberate. No sudden movements. No pressure.
The horse settles. It isn’t completely. But enough.
When I glance up, Levi watches me differently. Less guarded. More… curious.
“You’ve done this before,” he says.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
I shrug lightly. “I pay attention.”
That earns me a longer look. And for a second—just a second—something softens in his expression.
Then it’s gone.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he says, stepping in beside me. “This one’s not easy.”
“Neither are you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He stills. Slowly turns his head. “Careful,” he says, voice low. “You don’t know me well enough to make that call.”
I meet his gaze. “Maybe not,” I say. “But I know what it looks like when something’s been pushed too far for too long.”
Silence stretches between us. Thick. Heavy.
The horse shifts, breaking it.
Levi steps back. Distance again. “That’s enough for today,” he says. “You can head out.”
“Or I could stay.”
His jaw tightens. “Why would you?”
Because something about this place feels right. And something about him feels unfinished. Like he’s not as untouchable as he wants to be.
I keep that last thought to myself. Instead, I say. “Because I want to learn.”
I study him now, skin tanned brown by the sun.
Build slightly shorter than some of the other cowboys here.
Still a good six foot two or three. Jaw thick and angular, felted by a thin sheen of stubble.
Nose blunt but proportional. His chin has the faintest touch of a cleft, like a kiss that didn’t land right.
And his shoulders are too broad. Rippling muscles beneath a rumpled black-and-gray button-down shirt with pearl buttons.
His gaze fixes on me as if he’s weighing something.
“Tomorrow,” he grunts. “Same time.”
It isn’t an invitation. And it’s not quite a dismissal. But it’s something.
I smile. “I’ll be here.”
I turn toward the door, then pause. “For what it’s worth,” I add, glancing back, “you’re wrong.”
“About what?”
“You don’t work alone.”
His gaze sharpens. Before he can answer, I step out into the sunlight. And I feel it.
That pull.
Like something just shifted under my feet.
Like this place and that man might matter more than I planned.