by Lexi Whitlow
We catch the kids, but we don’t slow down. Camden, sets the pace at a brisk jog up to a ridge line, miles from where we began. I’m breathless when Camden finally pulls up, calling out “Woah!” to his horse and mine. My hamstrings and butt are on fire from the exertion. Even my calves burn.
He turns Jack in a circle around me, the wind blowing disturbed snow into the air. His cheeks are pink, and his breath makes dense clouds in the air as he breaths. He’s so handsome, with his sapphire blue eyes and powerful build. I could watch him forever, but… Don’t flirt with Cam…
I can do this. I can admire him from a distance. I can work for him without letting it go there. I’m sure I can.
Of course, that whole line of scheming falls apart completely four hours later when Emma decides she wants to show me the stables. Camden’s not in the house, and his mother has returned home. It’s just me and Emma, and I don’t see the harm in letting her give me the grand tour.
I’ve never been in a stable before, and so I’m hanging on every word Emma speaks. She introduces me to champion studs and pedigreed brood mares, all with exotic sounding names. We walk the wide corridor, pausing at stall after stall, speaking in low voices to stately beasts who nod at us and blow, whinny, and occasionally balk at our presence in their domain.
Reaching the end of the long double row of stalls, Emma puts her hand on the latch of the last one, releasing it, sliding the stall door wide open.
“Stoney!” she calls, and before I even know what’s happening, the little roan horse bolts forward, then rears up. I lunge for Emma, roughly grabbing her in a bear hug, rolling us both out of the animal’s way, falling to the concrete floor in the process. When Stoney comes down, one hoof pounds hard onto the heel of my boot and I let out a shriek, even as I hold Emma tight, covering her body with my own.
Stoney turns around twice and then kicks hard before taking off, heading out of the stable doors at a furious gallop.
“What the hell! Emma!” I hear him call from somewhere behind us. It’s Camden’s voice; angry, then frightened.
I come up with Emma struggling to get away from me, screaming after Stoney, trying to run and chase him. She’s hysterical. I hang onto her with all my might, telling her, “No. No. No. Stoney’s alright. Calm down, Emma. Calm down.”
I look up. Camden is standing over me wearing a ferocious expression on his face, and nothing else except a white bath towel wrapped around his hips. His hair is dripping wet and there’s a touch of shaving cream on his chin.
He drops to his knees beside Emma, taking her in his hands, checking her for injuries, looking for bruises and broken bones.
“I’m sorry!” I begin. “I don’t know what happened. He got out. Stoney’s loose. I thought it was okay…”
“Don’t think, God-dammit,” Camden bites back at me. “You both could’ve been killed. That was stupid and reckless.”
Emma tunes up, bursting into tears. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I did it. I let Stoney out. I wanted to pet him. I opened the stall. It wasn’t Grace. I did it.”
Shit. That kid just threw herself under the bus for me. What the heck?
Camden’s expression changes. He squares Emma’s shoulders, facing him. “Look at me,” he says sharply, demanding her attention. She looks up, meeting his eyes through her tears. “You opened the stall?” he asks he. “You did it?”
She nods. “I wanted to pet Stoney.”
“Emma, how many times have I told you, you never go in a stall, or let a horse out of a stall yourself. Never. We’ve talked about this so many times.”
“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Camden seems exasperated. “We’ll talk about this later,” he says to her. “Go back to the house and go to your room. If you see Stoney, just keep walking. Don’t go to him. Leave him alone. You understand?”
She nods.
“Go.”
He turns to me then, his face a mask.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod.
He stands up, clutching the towel at his hips, looking around awkwardly, just as I’m trying to do. Peripheral vision is a wonder and I can’t help but notice with my own that Camden Davis has a body to die for. He’s even more delicious than I imagined. His six pack is more like an eight-pack, and his biceps need their own zip code.
Good lord.
There is no way in hell he doesn’t see my eyes struggling to not take him in. There’s no way to pretend he isn’t standing here in front of me, nearly naked, looking good enough to eat on a biscuit.
“Are you gonna get up, or should I get you a cot?” he snaps.
He’s so mad.
I take a breath, then attempt to get up, but the pain in my heel is sharp. I hop up on one foot, then place my weight on the ball of the other, hobbling forward with baby steps.
Camden reaches out with his free hand, touching my arm.
“Wait,” he says. He’s now concerned. “You’re hurt. What happened?”
I shake him off. “It’s just a bruise. It’s okay.” I smile awkwardly at him. “Amanda said I’d be walking funny for a few days. Guess she was right about that.”
“Grace, wait,” he says, stepping forward, his fingers circling my wrist. “I’m sorry I was so angry, don’t go. Let me have a look at that foot.”
I shake him off again. “I’m fine. I really am.” I glance down at his towel, then up at his wet hair. “You’re going to freeze to death if you don’t get some clothes on.”
If I’d stayed there another five minutes, I’d have managed to get that towel off him, but I don’t think that would have helped my job prospects one little bit.
Chapter 4
Camden
“She’s got a passive hand, but her seat is nice. You could do a whole lot worse. You have before.”
That’s what Tyler said, smirking at me, just before he, Jacob, and Amanda headed home. I got his meaning.
Amanda liked her too. She made sure I knew it.
“It takes a shitload of guts for a city girl like her to come out here, put on somebody else’s boots, then wander off into the mountains with a bunch of complete strangers,” she said.
That’s true. I’d never put on someone else’s boots. Then again, I’d never need to.
For the life of me I can’t figure this girl out. She’s won everyone over, even Jack. Jack doesn’t like anyone except me, and even he let her scratch his neck and stroke his nose. Usually, when someone other than me gets that close, he blows a load of snot in their face and then strikes—hard.
But he just stood there, his ears perked, breathing her in. Jack is the best judge of character I know. If he likes her, she must be good people.
After the towel incident in the stable, dinner is a little awkward. Ordinarily I wouldn’t give a shit, but the way she hobbled away from me, not even giving me a backward glance, I felt bad for being so short with her. Emma admitted it was her fault. She may only be almost five, but she knows her limits and she knows the rules. She was showing off for Grace, and Grace got hurt.
I pass the potatoes to Grace, who’s staring at her plate in silence like she’s afraid to speak. I made meatloaf with creamed potatoes, gravy, and buttered Brussel sprouts. It’s not fancy, but it’s good food, and I hope that my efforts aren’t wasted. It took me some time and wasted groceries to learn how to cook. Now that I’ve almost mastered it, I look for approval wherever I can find it. Grace doesn’t appear to be impressed by my grand gesture.
“About this afternoon,” I say, my eyes trailing to Emma. “You’re not riding again until at least Tuesday. And if you ever do that again, you’re not riding ‘til you turn thirteen, and then only on a worn-out trail nag. You understand me?”
Emma looks up at me, a remorseful expression straining her precious features.
“I’ll never do it again,” she says. “I promise, Daddy.”
“Good,” I say. “It took me thirty minutes to get Stoney in. It was dark by the time
I got him settled. He could have gotten hurt, or worse.”
I glance over and see Grace staring at me, a circumspect expression straining her face. I address her.
“And you’re going to have to get up to speed on how this place works. Life on a ranch isn’t like life in town. It’s physical work, and it can be dangerous.”
Yeah. I said that. You’re going to have to get up to speed…
Grace blinks.
Everyone loves her. Emma loves her. She made it halfway up the mountain today without giving up. It was fifteen degrees up there, but she didn’t complain. She was laughing and taking pictures with her cell phone.
“Tomorrow we’ll drop by the sheriff’s office for that background check,” I say. “Assuming that goes okay—when can you start?”
Grace shovels a forkful of potatoes into her mouth, chews a little, then swallows. She shrugs.
“I guess a few weeks,” she replies nonchalantly. “I need to go home and pack my stuff. Give notice at work.” She turns to me, a question in her eyes. “I drive a really old Honda. Do you think it’ll make the trip over the mountains?”
“Probably,” I admit, reluctantly. “It’ll get you here.”
Who drives a Honda? No clearance. No power. You can’t haul anything in it and it won’t tow a trailer. That is some impractical transportation right there. It may get her across the country, but it won’t be much good once she’s here.
* * *
The background check and drug test go as I expect. Grace Bradley hasn’t had so much as a parking ticket. She’s squeaky clean. She’s perfect.
She’s almost too damn perfect.
Before Grace is even through security at the airport, I miss her. She only spent a few days with us, but those few days were some of the best I’ve seen in quite a while. The way she marvels at everything, from the mountains to Mirabel, and the way I catch her laughing quietly at me for no reason I can fathom; it endears her to me in a way I never expected. All that, and she’s so good with Emma, and so damn easy to look at.
Before I leave the airport parking lot I send her a text, asking her to let me know when she’s back home and safe. That’s way out of character for me.
A few days after that Grace sends me an email, telling me she gave two-weeks’ notice, updating me on when she thinks she’ll be back here. A couple days before leaving Raleigh, she sends me a text asking if it’s okay if she brings her books with her. She says she sold almost everything else, but she couldn’t bear to part with her books. I promise to build her some bookshelves in her room, and I get to work on that straight away. When I’m done and have them set up, I take a photo and send it to her. She sends back a big smiley face with a heart.
That made my day.
Somewhere in between all our texts and emails, I learn Grace doesn’t have a boyfriend. She lives alone in a duplex house owned by her boss. She’s lived there since she was a teenager. Other than a few close friends from college and her co-workers, she’s got no real ties to North Carolina, or anywhere. It seems difficult to believe it, but she said her mother didn’t care that she was moving to Montana, and didn’t even ask how she was getting here. I know there’s a story, but I don’t press it. I do ask Grace to check in with me via text from the road, so I can track her progress and make sure she’s safe. I even made her send me the route she’s taking.
She’s been on the road for five days now, and is due at the ranch today. She left Billings at eight this morning after averaging about ten hours on the road every day since North Carolina. By my best guess she’ll be here by five, give or take, depending on the weather. It’s just a week before Thanksgiving and the ground is frozen, the air is bitter, and the sky is heavy with clouds. There’s snow on the ground and more predicted tonight. I want her here and tucked in before this snow comes. This storm is the first big one of the season, and I’m worried about her car making it through the mountain passes she’s going to cross today. There’s no way her little Honda will make those grades on slick roads with snow falling hard.
By four o’clock I’m starting to worry, then I get a text.
Grace: Gassing up in Missoula. See you soon. Tell Emma I’m almost there!