Page 58 of Captivated

“Mirror Lake,” Nate murmured. “I can see how it got its name.” It was nestled in a valley, surrounded by trees, amountain rising to the left of it, and all of it was reflected perfectly in its calm waters.

“The area is named after a dead Montana congressman, Lee Metcalfe,” Zeeb told him.

Nate chuckled. “What did he do to earn such a legacy?”

Zeeb snorted. “Not a fuckin’ clue, pardon my French.”

“To be honest, I thought I’d hear more of that on the ranch.” Nate grinned. “Then I decided you were just a really sweet-talking cowboy who didn’t swear a lot.”

Zeeb exploded into a fit of laughter. “Oh my God, are you fuckin’kidding? I’ve got the dirtiest mouth this side of the Rockies.”

His laugh echoed, and the sound of it filled Nate with delight.

Zeeb came to a halt. “We’ll stop here.” He dismounted, using a tree stump. “The horses need a drink.” He led Bailey to the water’s edge. Nate dismounted too and followed suit. Sorrel bowed his head and drank, and Nate stroked his flank.

“You did good, Sorrel.” He gazed at the calm surface of the lake. “I think this is even better than the lake where I was painting.”

“You know what makes it so?” Zeeb straightened. “All the effort you put in to get here. Your first ride.” He flung his arm out. “An’ this here is your reward.”

Nate turned his face toward the sun. He could feel its warmth on his shoulders, seeping through the fabric to the skin below.

Suddenly he understood Zeeb’s impulsive dive into the lake the previous week.

“You wanna sit a while and eat something?”

Nate glanced at Zeeb, who was spreading a blanket on the ground a foot or so away from him. “Sounds good. I was just thinking I should’ve brought a towel. That water looks perfect for swimming.” Not that Nate would ever do such a thing.

Maybe I should. When was the last time I did something spontaneous?

Zeeb grinned. “You mean like the two towels I packed ‘n’ brought along?”

He laughed. “That’s what I call good planning.” He joined Zeeb on the blanket. “Don’t we need to tie up the horses?”

“Not these two. They won’t stray far from us.” Zeeb’s eyes twinkled. “Besides, Sorrel can smell the apples. He ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Minutes later, Nate was helping himself to chicken, more relaxed than he’d been for a long time. Part of that was down to his decision to change direction, but Zeeb had helped, being his usual chilled self, giving Nate space.

Zeeb opened a box, and the aroma of sugar and chocolate filled the air.

“Matt’s cookies are amazing. I got lucky this morning. He’d made a fresh batch last night, and I grabbed ’em before everyone else got their paws on ’em.”

“Was your dad’s ranch anything like Salvation?”

Zeeb shook his head. “A damn sight smaller, for one thing. But we had horses, lots of ’em.” He smiled. “You know what? You know more about me than all those guys in the bunkhouse, an’ probably the boss too.”

Nate frowned. “Don’t you talk to them?”

He shrugged. “I talk all the time. Jus’ not about anything important.” He sighed. “Lucas was a long time ago. They don’t need to know about him.”

“But knowing about him would help them to knowyoubetter,” Nate remonstrated. He paused. “What do you do when you’re not working? Do you ever go into Bozeman? Take a vacation? Do you know anyone outside of Salvation?”

He couldn’t explain the flood of questions: Something about Zeeb made him want to know more.

Zeeb didn’t reply right away, and Nate had a feeling he’d hit a nerve.

“Forget I asked. You don’t have to tell me anything. You’ve already told me plenty.”

Zeeb twisted the cap on his bottle of water, and tipped his head back to drink half its contents. He set the bottle on the ground.

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