Page 42 of Home to You
“Siena,” I repeated, letting her name settle on my tongue. “Pretty name for a pretty lady.”
That earned me a soft, throaty laugh. “Don’t ruin it, Gage.”
I flashed her a grin. “I wouldn’t dare.”
She smirked into her glass, and I leaned back slightly on my stool, giving her the honest answer.
“My family owns Three Pines Ranch.”
Her brows arched slightly, and she leaned back against the bar, reassessing me. The surprise in her expression shifted to something that looked like impressed recognition.
“You know it?” I asked, turning my bottle in slow circles on the bar top.
She lifted a shoulder in the tiniest shrug, but I caught the way her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her wine stem. “I might.”
That surprised me more than it should have.
Most people within a couple of hundred miles knew the Mercer name. Hard not to when your family owned the largest ranch in the valley. But Siena didn’t strike me as the type who kept up with Western land dynasties. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be shocked.
Thanks to that damn Netflix show, my family had become low-level local celebrities in the past couple of years. I rubbed the back of my neck, still not entirely comfortable with the attention it sometimes brought.
“Lemme guess,” I said, watching her closely. “You’re a fan of overly dramatic ranch soaps.”
“I plead the fifth,” she said with a little smirk. “Let’s just say I’ve done my homework on the area.” She took another sip of wine before asking, “And what do you do on your family’s ranch?” She sounded genuinely interested, and not just because of the show.
I relaxed back into my seat, my chest expanding slightly as I talked about the place I loved most on Earth. “I spend most of my time on horseback, riding fence, or looking after ranch equipment. In my copious amount of free time, I’m wrangling whatever project’s blown up that week or helping out my brothers.” I chuckled and shook my head. “Never a dull moment.”
Her eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and approval. She glanced around the bar, taking in the mix of patrons. “So you’re a real, honest-to-goodness cowboy, not one of these cosplayers.”
She waved her glass in a lazy arc, encompassing the guys in pristine Stetsons and clean, expensive boots who’d never seen a day of actual ranch work. The gesture was casual, but I caught the slight edge of disdain in it.
“That I am.” I took another drink, then added, “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. The land’s in our blood. Always has been.”
That seemed to land with her. She went quiet for a moment, like she was weighing something, then leaned in a little closer. “What’s it like?” she asked. “Waking up every day knowing where you belong.”
That stopped me. I studied her for a beat, trying to figure out what she wasn’t saying. Her question hadn’t come from nowhere. “It’s…” My posture straightened as I thought about home, about the land that had raised me. “It’s a gift. But it’s a responsibility, too. The kind that doesn’t come with days off.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.
That was the moment I knew—whatever she was doing in Bridger Falls, it wasn’t just sightseeing or playing tourist.
That was okay. I liked a little mystery. But not too much.
“You gonna tell me what you’re doing here in Bridger Falls, Siena?”
She lifted her wine glass again, but didn’t drink. “Does it matter?”
Did it?
I didn’t typically make a habit out of knowing the life stories of the women I hooked up with, so why did I care about hers? I couldn’t say, only that I desperately wanted to know who she was.
She traced the rim of her glass with one finger, her shoulders dropping slightly as her eyes went distant for the first time since we started talking. “I’m here to make something of my own. Something that feels like mine.” Her voice softened on the last words.
“That sounds like a big swing.”
“It is,” she said. “But if I pull it off, it’ll be worth it.”
“Well, now I’m rooting for you, darlin’.”
