Page 14 of Marrying the Accidental Groom
6
GIDEON
Gideon coasted to a stop at the edge of the ridge, the wind tugging at his shirt and the familiar ache in his thighs making him grin.
“Alright, team,” he called over his shoulder, breath just short of winded, “this is our last water break before the descent. Take a minute, enjoy the view. Try not to fall off the mountain.”
Laughter rippled through the group as riders dismounted and leaned their bikes against boulders or laid them gently in the brush. Helmets came off, water bottles emerged, and the sharp scent of pine mingled with the dusty sweat that clung to everyone. Gideon stepped toward the overlook and let the wind hit his face. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath of high-altitude air. Redemption Ridge Ranch stretched out beneath them, red rock, bushy junipers, and golden slants of sunlight. It was the kind of view that made you remember what mattered.
Behind him, one of the tourists let out a low whistle. “This place is unreal.”
Gideon smiled. “Gets better every time.”
As the last biker rolled up beside him, Gideon tugged off his helmet and ran a hand through his sweat-damp strands. Theteenage girl who’d panicked over every root and rock on the way up was flushed but grinning.
“You survived,” he said, handing her a fresh water bottle from his pack. “And even looked like you were having fun by the end.”
She nodded, still catching her breath. “A little bit.”
“Well, the best part is going down,” he said with a wink.
She laughed, and he started corralling the others for the descent and giving some pointers for the biggest downhill portion of the ride. They mounted up again, a little looser now, a little more sure of themselves. The ride down was pure joy—all winding trails and whistling wind, the distant call of a hawk echoing off the stone outcrops. Rocks crunched under tires, dust swirled in their wake, and the smell of warm sage rose from the sunbaked earth. Gideon stayed at the front, guiding the rhythm, calling out hazards, grinning like a fool every time someone whooped with delight behind him.
By the time they reached the trailhead, the sun was at its peak. The three-hour morning ride he hosted was carefully planned to have everyone back for lunch before things got too hot. The worst of the summer heat was gone now, the days growing shorter quickly now that November had arrived. The riders dismounted, flushed and exhilarated, high-fiving and swapping stories already.
He checked in the gear with the help of Bryce Wells. Bryce was only fifteen, but he was almost as familiar with the trails as Gideon was and made a great second rider. It was his job to take the rear of the group and talk with Gideon over the Bluetooth headset to let him know how everyone was doing.
Bryce handed out granola bars and cold water from the cooler he’d stashed in the back of his truck and Gideon made sure everyone was accounted for. It was the kind of day he livedfor. And as he pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in his bag, a sense of contentment settled in his chest.
They stored the bikes on the rack and wiped down the helmets.
“Good ride today, Bryce. Thanks for your help.”
“Sure thing.”
“How’s your freshman year going?”
Bryce rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. If I could just get Aunt Piper off my back about extracurriculars. I just want to hang out on the ranch.”
Gideon smiled. “I’m sure Piper just wants to make sure you’re well-rounded.”
Locking the shed behind him, he climbed in his truck and grinned as it rattled to a start. Ethel was an old, dark-green F150 with a sagging tailgate held up by a bungee cord and a rear bumper slightly bent from that time he backed into a rock when he was eighteen. The interior always smelled faintly of pine sap, dust, and whatever fast food he forgot to throw away.
The passenger seat cushion had a small tear that Gideon covered with duct tape and a bandana, and the dashboard featured a sun-bleached bobblehead dog that had lost its spring but still nodded once solemnly with every pothole. The glove box didn’t close properly, and the air conditioner made a noise like it was trying to breathe through a straw, but it ran. And as far as Gideon was concerned, that made it a luxury vehicle. Ethel was like a truck stop diner waitress in her late 50s—tired and grumbling, but she always showed up and worked hard.
He drove Ethel the long way around the main loop of Redemption Ridge Ranch, considering the rest of his plans for the day. As he approached the main house, he saw the unmistakable silhouette of his father standing near the porch railing, arms crossed.
Gideon rolled down the window to unlatch the door from the outside. The broken door handles were just a quirk of Ethel’s that he’d grown to accept at this point.
Barry Reynolds wore the same expression he always did when he was waiting: patient, expectant, and just a little too intense. He wasn’t a tall man, but he carried himself like one—shoulders squared, boots planted wide, eyes that missed nothing.
“Nice ride?” Barry asked as Gideon climbed the steps to the porch.
“The ridge was showing off today. It was great,” Gideon replied, pulling off his hydration pack.
Barry nodded, his gaze flicking past Gideon toward the last of the guests trickling toward the lodge. “Saw you up on the ridge. Seems like you ran that trail a little fast. That switchback near Foxglove Turn gets slick in the mornings.”
Gideon leaned on the railing. “They handled it fine.” As a matter of fact, he had warned the group about Foxglove Turn while they were at the top and then again on the trail as they approached it.
