Page 13 of Unbroken

“About half as long as Fiona’s family, ma’am,” I replied. “My grandparents moved here shortly after the first world war.” We were coming up on our first lookout, so I redirected the conversation to the local flora, grinding my teeth in frustration when Fiona seized the spotlight again by insisting we stop for selfies.

By the time we were close to the ranch, I was at the end of my rope. Sure, her background information about the town, ranch, and trails had made for some great insights during the ride, but she kept stepping on my rehearsed parts, like when I explained why the depth of the pond was important to the irrigation system. When I was talking to the group, I could’ve sworn I saw Fiona roll her eyes.

But there was something else bothering me that I didn’t want to admit to myself. Every damn time I turned around to glare at her for interrupting, I’d get a tingle down my spine when she caught my eye. The final time it happened I realized that it felt the way it used to, when the two of us were vying to one up each other in high school. Our fighting had always been fun, but I knew that deep down there was something else at work.

The desire to be close to Fiona Cafferty.

And now, watching her astride her horse, her coppery hair glowing in the sun, it was taking a major effort to ignore what everyone else seemed to know.

Fiona was magnetic.

“Okay, cowboy, spill it,” Maude said to me from where she rode at the front of the pack, jarring me out of my daydreams. “Are you sweet on that pretty cowgirl back there? Because you can’t stop staring at her!”

Everyone in the group “ooh-ed” and I felt my face go hot.

“What? No! We’re colleagues.”

“Oh, don’t be shy, honey,” Fiona called from the rear with a teasing smile just for me. “You can tell ’em. We’re public now, remember?”

I’d nearly forgotten.

“Okay, fine, you caught us,” I said, wishing we didn’t have to talk about our fake relationship status in front of customers. “Trail guide Fiona and I are, uh,dating.”

The crowd cheered for us, and I tugged my hat a little lower, hoping to shadow my face and hide my blush. As awkward as it felt to be congratulated by a group of strangers, I hated to admit that it also felt sort of … nice.

EIGHT

ELI

Photo ops.

God, I hated all the damn photo ops during and after the rides.

At times, the riders made me feel like a prop, the way the women all clamored to take pictures with me and stole the hat from my head to put it on themselves. And the ways they tried to get me to pose were ridiculous. But I went along with it, because it was all part of the experience. And it made for better tips.

All I could think about as I draped my arms around two sisters was how frustrated I was with Fiona. She’d kept up the running commentary and jokes the entire ride, making every one of the guests fall in love with her. Hell, they were all lined up to take pictures with her too. My aggravation just kept building, like steam in a pressure cooker, and I knew that I couldn’t wait until the guests left so I could finally vent my frustrations without an audience. When there was finally a break in the paparazzi action, I motioned for Fiona to meet me in a quiet corner of the barn. The guests still had a few minutes to mill around the property and take photos with their horses in theirstalls, but they shouldn’t need supervision for this part, and I was pretty sure Fiona and I wouldn’t be missed.

“What’s up?” she asked, looking windblown and adorable.

“I wanted to talk about what happened on the ride while it’s still fresh.”

“I thought it went really well,” she said. “Everyone seemed to have a wonderful time. And we were a great team. Some of them were talking about coming back.”

I pursed my lips. “Were we, though? Did you consider that teamwork? Because it felt a lot like the Fiona show.”

“Oh, come on!” She punched me playfully. “I was just bringing some fun to it. Because you got a little …deepwhen it came to the irrigation stuff.” She paused and waggled her eyebrows at me. “That’s a joke. Get it? Irrigation? Deep?”

I sighed. “Fiona, you need to be more serious, especially during the safety talk. My boss—yourbrother—expects me to cover the safety guidelines before we head out, and you simply bulldozed your way over it. What if someone had been injured in a way that could have been prevented if they’d known what to do?”

She frowned, finally realizing she was being scolded and clearly not liking it one bit. “But they weren’t paying attention until I added my own dialogue. At least I kept their interest.”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded.

“Parts of your script were … well, boring, if you want the truth.”

“Fiona,” I said, trying not to raise my voice. “Trail riding is serious business. On some of those steeper trails, the leader literally holds his riders’ lives in his hands.”

“Orherhands,” she snapped at me. “See? You do think you’re my boss!”

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