At this point, it was very hard to believe that my life wasn’t just some big cosmic joke. Weston Ryder was a hot, age-appropriate, and seemingly kind cowboy—not the weather-beaten old rancher I’d been imagining.
And I’d kissed him.
Well, “kissed” was the benign term—especially when I thought about the way he’d pushed me against the wall and pinned my hands above my head, or when I remembered how he felt pressed up against me.
And the memory of it would be all I was going to have, because it would never happen again.
Not only was my job his project, I was living under his roof, and he was technically my boss.
Oh god.
I made out with my boss.
Which was bad enough on the surface, but it got a hell of a lot worse when I realized that I had unknowingly placed myself on the wrong side of an unfair power dynamic with a man.
Again.
Stupid decisions have consequences.
And now I was going to be forced to spend the next four months working for him, and in the closest of quarters. Even now, I was closer to him than I wanted to be—in the passenger seat of a side-by-side and wearing one of his big Carhartt jackets.
It was a lot colder in Wyoming in April than I’d thought it would be, but I was just planning to grin and bear it until I could grab some more layers. However, Weston the kind cowboy grabbed this jacket out of the coat closet as we walked out the door because he didn’t want me to be cold.
Now not only was I warm, I was enveloped in a masculine cedar scent that I wanted to bottle. Weston—who told me several times he preferred Wes, but that felt too familiar—was taking me to the job site and giving me a tour of Rebel Blue along the way.
It was even more striking now than it was on the drive in.
“So, the job site is what used to be the Big House,” he was saying. “It’s the one that my dad grew up in. He built the one we live in shortly after he married my mom.” I appreciated the history lesson—I liked knowing about the places I was working on. It helped me create something that the owners or residents would love. “This part of the ranch is where most of the original structures are. Toward the east we have our family stables, and toward the west is where you’ll find the ranch hand cabins and the larger stables.”
“How many people work here?” I asked, genuinely curious about the workings of something as massive as Rebel Blue Ranch.
“Give or take forty—depending on the time of year—but we’re having another growth spurt, so that number will probably be higher this time next year. Especially with the guest ranch. We’ll need wranglers and another cook, at least.”
“And does your whole family work on the ranch?” The family photos in the house gave me the impression that the Ryders were a close bunch.
“Yeah. My brother Gus is the oldest, and he’s my dad’s second in command. He’ll inherit the ranch someday.” I tried to place the shift in his voice. It wasn’t envy or jealousy—maybe it was just respect? “And my little sister, Emmy, does the riding lessons, horse training, and ranch hand work—tending to cattle, maintenance on the grounds—that sort of thing. And Brooks is here a few times a week and fills in where we need him, usually odd jobs.”
Brooks. I knew that name—the bartender. I knew there was something familial between them, but he didn’t say “brother.” “He’s the bartender, right? How does he fit in?”
“I forgot you’d met him already.” A blush was creeping up Wes’s neck. “He’s…Well, he’s my brother’s best friend, and he and Emmy are together.” I wonder how that all went down. I never really saw myself living in a small town. I’d never even been to one before now, but I bet the gossip was fun.
“So they’re dating?” I asked.
“That feels like too normal a word for them,” he said. I waited for him to continue. “When you meet them, you’ll get it. It’s easy to see that they’re a forever type of thing.” I looked over at Wes, who had his eyes on the dirt path ahead of us. One of his dimples had appeared. It was obvious he held a lot of love for the people in his life. “So to describe them as just ‘dating’ feels weird. They’re not anything I can really describe—they just sort of are. You know?”
I didn’t know, but I’d take his word for it.
“And where does Teddy fit in?” I asked, because she had to have some sort of pull with this family to convince them to hire a no-name designer from San Francisco.
“Teddy is Emmy’s best friend—they’ve been inseparable since birth, basically. And they roomed together at college.” Why didn’t Emmy’s name sound familiar to me, then? I’d never met Teddy’s best friend, but I’d heard about her off-handedly.
“I feel like I remember Teddy’s roommate in college having a weird name,” I said, mostly without thinking. Wes laughed, a big, loud laugh. The type of laugh that would cause me to wonder how the hell a person could be that happy.
“Emmy’s full name is Clementine,” he said, still laughing a little. “But she usually goes by Emmy. My dad is the only one who uses our full names regularly.” Clementine. That was the name—I knew it was fruit-related.
“Clementine like the song?”
Wes’s smile got bigger. “Yeah, but don’t say that to her. Sore subject.”
Luckily, the side-by-side came to a stop before I had to attempt to cover the fact that I’d just inadvertently insulted Wes’s sister, who he was obviously extremely fond of.
I didn’t have any siblings, so I’d never really understood the bond.
Honestly, I didn’t really understand a lot of bonds. I loved and respected my parents a normal amount, but I don’t think I would live on a ranch in Wyoming with them.
As far as friends went, I didn’t really have any—not because I didn’t want them, but because making friends as an adult is hard. Honestly, I enjoyed solitude, but there’s a difference between that and being lonely.
For a long time, I’ve mostly been lonely.
My divorce was more than a year ago, but I felt lonely before that.
Now that I was thinking about it, I didn’t remember a time when I hadn’t felt lonely.
Damn. That was a harsh realization for ten o’clock in the morning.
I swallowed the prickly sensation in my throat and looked up at the house we had stopped at.
It was big and beautiful, but in an unassuming way. Its paint was chipped and it looked a little haunted. Even if I hadn’t seen the photos of the inside, I would be able to tell that it was going to take a lot of work to make this thing not only livable but also a desirable place to stay.
That didn’t scare me.
When I looked at the house, I didn’t see the sinking roof, the plywood doors and windows, or the overgrown weeds around it.
I saw my dream.
This house was not only my golden ticket out of California, it was also my pit stop on the way to something bigger.
I didn’t know what that something bigger was yet, but I knew it was out there. I’d worked so hard to get out of my home state, I wasn’t about to just do this project and then go back.
Wes—I mean Weston—got out of the driver’s side, and I followed on the passenger side, more slowly—not able to take my eyes off the house. Seeing the house in person was like lighting a match and my brain was gasoline. Once the two met, they couldn’t be stopped.
I was in the middle of a thought about exterior paint colors—white was classic but overdone, a version of baby blue was calling to me—when Weston—whose voice was entirely too close—said, “We’ve maintained her the best we could, but this winter took a heavier toll on some of the older structures than we were expecting.”
“She’s beautiful,” I said. Yeah, she was showing her age, but she wasn’t decrepit or in disrepair. She just needed someone to believe in her.
“Yeah, she is,” Weston said. His voice was still so close, but I didn’t want to find out how close, so I started walking toward the house. The air was cool on my face. It felt nice, but I was grudgingly grateful for the warm jacket.
I knew how big the house was from the specs that Wes had sent me—around thirty-five hundred square feet—but it didn’t look or feel that big. It wasn’t gaudy or overbearing. It almost felt like it had grown here instead of being built, like it was meant to be in this field, on this ranch, with the big blue sky kissing the mountains as its backdrop.
I loved it.
Before I knew it, I was at the front steps. This place called to me. What’s that saying? The mountains are calling and I must go? Well, the old house in the mountains was whispering, and I needed to get inside.
I heard Wes’s voice behind me as I started up the stairs: “Watch out for that third step, it’s tricky—” He didn’t get to finish his sentence because when I got to the third step, the top of the stair flipped up, and I started going in the opposite direction from where I wanted to go.
I shut my eyes as I braced myself to hit the ground, but I didn’t hit the ground. Instead I hit something firm and warm that smelled like cedar.
Wes caught me.
One of his arms was at my waist, and his other hand was cradling my head. When I opened my eyes, I was staring up at him. The way we were right now reminded me of last night. My tongue involuntarily darted across my bottom lip, and I watched Wes’s eyes track the movement.
The air around us started to hum—the same way it had last night at the bar and in the Big House kitchen this morning—and I was desperate to let go again—to lose control for just a second.
“You okay?” Wes asked. His voice was low. “I tried to warn you.” He smiled, and I had a prime view of those dimples.
I felt a cool breeze against my face and remembered where I was. Outside. Wyoming. Rebel Blue Ranch. I looked past Wes’s face and saw the house.
My dream.
My chance.
That was enough to jolt me out of the trance that only this man was capable of putting me in. I scrambled to my feet and out of his arms. I didn’t know how to recover from that situation, so I dusted myself off, even though I’d never actually hit the ground.
“I’m fine,” I snapped with more annoyance than necessary. I hoped my tone would push this man further away, because when he was near me, I was liable to do stupid things, and I couldn’t afford any more consequences.
When his dimples disappeared, I immediately wanted to apologize—an unnatural impulse for me—but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
“Right. Okay.” He looked at the ground. “When you walk up the steps, just make sure you step in the center of the third one so it stays in place, or skip it altogether.” I gave him a nod and let him lead the way this time.
I watched as he removed the large slab of wood from the front door with a grunt, and desperately tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.
Honestly, the reaction I was having to him was cause for concern.
I didn’t want to react this way. My body didn’t typically respond to people like this—not even my ex-husband, although he didn’t want me either, so that could’ve been part of it. Still, this wasn’t normal for me, and I didn’t like it. It made my head fuzzy, and I needed that little asshole to be crystal fucking clear.
Wes turned back to me and I quickly looked away, avoiding eye contact as I moved into the house.
When I got inside, I looked around and felt the same feelings I’d felt outside, but there was one that was so unexpected that it made my heart jump into my throat.
Hope.
