Page 15 of Swift and Saddled

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 thannecessary. 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.

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