Page 45 of Broken Roads
We sit across from each other at the small table, knees nearly touching in the confined space. She unwraps her sandwich, takes a bite, and makes a small sound of appreciation that does things to my insides I'd rather not examine too closely.
"So," I begin, needing to focus on something other than the way her throat moves when she swallows. "What were you working on when we interrupted?"
Her eyes light up immediately. "Actually, I've been developing an idea for a themed weekend at the ranch." She reaches for a folder without getting up, the movement bringing her briefly closer. Her familiar scent washes over me, momentarily derailing my thoughts.
"A themed weekend?" I repeat, forcing myself to focus on her words rather than the curve of her neck where it disappears into her collar.
"Yes," she says, spreading photos and notes between us on the table. "Most successful dude ranches offer special weekends throughout the year, photography retreats, couples' getaways, that sort of thing." Her finger taps a printed calendar. "I was thinking our first one could be a harvest festival in October. Pumpkin picking, hayrides, special fall-themed meals from Ruthie."
The enthusiasm in her voice is contagious. Leaning closer, I’m genuinely interested rather than looking for flaws to criticize. "October's when the aspens turn," I offer. "The ridge trail would be perfect for those photography buffs you mentioned."
She looks up. "Exactly. The colors would be incredible." Her finger traces a path on one of the ranch maps she's marked up. "I was thinking guided trail rides here, where the view opens up to the valley."
"Better to take them along the creek first," I suggest, reaching across to indicate the route. "There's a stand of aspens there that turns earlier than the rest. Gold when everything else is still green."
Our hands are inches apart on the map, her neat, practical nails beside my calloused fingers. The contrast is striking but not as opposing as I once thought. Different perspectives bringing necessary balance.
"You know every inch of this land, don't you?" she asks.
I look up to find her watching me, something in her gaze that makes my chest tighten. "It's in my blood," I say honestly. "Been walking these trails since before I could ride."
She nods. "That's what makes this place special," she says. "That history, that connection. It's what people are looking for when they come here. Not just a vacation, but a piece of something real."
Lunch stretches longer than intended, our conversation flowing from marketing strategies to personal anecdotes with surprising ease. I tell her about the time I got lost on the north ridge as a kid, how Dad eventually found me. She shares stories of growing up in Chicago, of escaping to her grandparents' small farm whenever city life became too confining.
Each revelation reshapes my understanding of her, adding depth and dimension to the woman I'd so quickly dismissed as just another city girl who couldn't possibly understand our way of life. Every laugh we share, every moment our eyes meet over coffee cups, chips away at the walls I've built around myself.
"I should probably let you get back to work," I say eventually, though I make no move to gather the remains of our lunch. Beneath the table, Bandit snores softly, having long since fallen asleep at our feet.
Hailey glances at her watch, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "I didn't realize how late it's gotten." She looks back at me, a smileplaying at the corners of her mouth. "Time flies when you're revolutionizing ranch marketing strategies."
"Is that what we were doing?" I ask, returning her smile with one of my own. "And here I thought we were just having lunch."
"Multi-tasking," she says with a shrug that draws my attention to the curve of her shoulder, the delicate line of her collarbone visible where her shirt opens at the neck. "I'm very efficient."
I stand reluctantly, gathering wrappers and empty containers back into the basket. "I've noticed."
As I move around the small space, I find my eyes drawn to a marketing mockup I hadn't seen before, pinned to the far wall. It shows a family on horseback against the backdrop of our mountains, the Walker Ranch logo subtle but present in the corner. The image captures exactly what I've always felt about this place—not just its beauty, but the way it brings people together, creates memories that last.
"This one," I say, indicating the mockup. "I like this."
She moves to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body. "Really? I wasn't sure if it was too..."
"Perfect," I finish for her. "It's perfect."
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else falls away. There's just her, standing close enough that I could count each individual eyelash if I wanted to, the scent of her shampoo filling my lungs with each breath.
I should step back. Should thank her for lunch, collect my dog, and return to the afternoon chores waiting for me. But I remain rooted to the spot, caught in her gaze.
"I should go," I finally manage, the words feeling like they're being dragged from somewhere deep inside me.
She nods, but neither of us moves. "We'll continue this discussion later?"
"Count on it," I promise.
Only then do I force myself to turn away, whistling for Bandit who rises reluctantly from his comfortable spot. At the door, I pause, looking back at her one last time. She stands amid her papers and plans, sunlight streaming through the window to catch in her hair, turning the dark strands to burnished copper.
The image stays with me as I cross the yard toward the waiting afternoon, a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the woman I've left behind.
