Page 1 of Broken Roads
Chapter 1
Hailey
My knuckles are white on the steering wheel as my GPS recalculates for the third time in twenty minutes.
“Seriously?”
This piece-of-shit car wasn't made for these back roads, but then again, neither was I. The gravel pings against the undercarriage like tiny accusations—you don't belong here, city girl, turn back—but I can't. Six months sober, no job prospects in Chicago, and enough debt to drown in. Walker Ranch isn't just my last chance; it's my only one.
I check my watch—fifteen minutes late already.Perfect first impression, Hailey. Real professional.
The car rattles over another pothole. I swear under my breath just as my AA chip slides across the dashboard, and I snatch it before it falls into the abyss between the seats. It’s warm against my palm, the weight of it both comfort and accusation.
Just as I tuck it back into my pocket where it belongs, the ranch appears around the bend, sprawling and weathered beneath a sky so blue it hurts my eyes. Nothing like the concreteand glass I'm used to. The main house stands tall and proud. Behind it, I can make out what must be guest cabins, a barn, horse corrals—all nestled against the backdrop of Montana mountains that seem to go on forever.
My chest tightens. This place is too big, too open. Nowhere to hide.
The gravel drive curves sharply, and I ease off the gas, squinting through dust kicked up by my own tires. That's when I spot a blur of motion from the right, too fast, and way, way too close.
"Shit."
I slam on the brakes and the car fishtails on loose gravel. My body jerks forward against the seatbelt, then back. Something moves directly in front of my car, and my heart rockets into my throat.
A horse. A massive chestnut beast, rearing up on its hind legs, front hooves pawing at air inches from my hood.
The horse is not alone. There’s a man on its back. Tall, broad-shouldered, his face shadowed beneath the brim of a cowboy hat. One hand grips the reins tight, the other steadies the animal with practiced ease. Even as the horse dances sideways, he stays centered and unmoved.
For one suspended moment, we lock eyes through my dusty windshield. His are dark, narrowed, and cold, sending a shiver of…something down my spine.
With trembling hands, I throw the car into park and shove the door open, half-falling out into the cloud of dust I've created.
"Shit," I gasp again, adrenaline making my voice higher than I'd like. "I didn't see you—"
"Do you always drive like you've got a death wish?" His voice cuts through the air, deep and sharp. Up close, I can see him clearly—sun-bronzed skin, stubbled jaw clenched tight,shoulders that fill out his worn flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows.
Heat rises up my neck. Embarrassment or anger, I'm not sure which. But I've spent too many years in Chicago boardrooms to back down from a glare, no matter how intimidating.
"Maybe you shouldn't gallop across blind turns like you're in a damn western," I fire back, brushing dust from my jeans. "There's a reason people don't ride horses across highways anymore. It's called common sense."
His jaw tightens further, the muscle ticking furiously while he looks down at me like I'm something he found stuck to his boot.
“If you can't handle a gravel road, maybe you should turn around and head back to whatever city spat you out, " he grumbles.
My fingernails dig into my palms. "Afraid, I can’t do that. I work here."
Or at least I hope I still do.
Something flickers across his face. "You're Monroe?"
"Hailey," I correct, straightening my shoulders. "The new financial consultant. The one who was supposed to be met at the turn-off twenty minutes ago."
His dark eyes sweep over me once, assessing and dismissing in the same breath. "Thought you'd be—"
"What? Older? Male?" I cross my arms. "Sorry to disappoint on both counts."
The air between us practically crackles. I can feel sweat trickling down my back, but I refuse to be the first to look away. Something about this man—this arrogant, infuriating cowboy—makes me want to both retreat and stand my ground harder.
"Bradley Walker." A woman's voice cuts through our standoff. "What in heaven's name are you doing working that horse near the front drive?"
