Page 70 of Dust Storm

He waited patiently while I stared to the left for a while, then the right, imagining buildings springing up from the earth.

Christian would probably hate it.

But maybe we could do something natural—a log and stone exterior. Something with a view so the expanse of the ranch could be appreciated.

When I finally spoke up again, I nearly startled Christian.

“Which direction does the sun set?”

He pointed in front of me at the sprawling land that stretched as far as the eye could see. “The front gate is east. It’s opposite where we are. Sun rises over there, and sets over that horizon.”

“Perfect,” I whispered. With the plan solidified in my mind, I had a mountain of work ahead of me.

“Ready to head back?”

“You can go if you have to get back to work.”

Christian chuckled. “If I leave you, I’m afraid I might still find you out here in the morning.” He winked. “But I like your confidence.”

Taking his cues, Libby happily obliged. Her tail swished in front of me as we turned and headed back for the east side of the ranch.

“You gonna tell me what you’ve been working on?” he called to me.

I smirked. “When it’s ready.”

“Am I gonna ride out here and find you breaking ground on something that’s gonna piss me off?”

That made me laugh. “I think it’s physically impossible for you to get pissed off. I’ve never heard you raise your voice.”

His chuckle was more of a growl. “Few things are worth raising my voice over.”

Dottie picked up her pace, matching Libby so Christian and I were riding side by side. “Your daughters are lucky.”

His beard twitched again. “Thanks, Cass. Means a lot.” After a moment of silence, he asked, “Do you want kids?”

I cackled, tossing my head back and letting my hair spill down my spine. “Absolutely not. I do not have a single maternal bone in my body. Tripp didn’t want kids either, so that was great. At least now that he’s out of the picture, it’s not like I’m losing out on something.”

“So is this it?”

“Is what it?”

“This. Your job. Your life the way it is. You living the dream?”

“Something like that.”

“What’s the bigger dream, then?” When I didn’t answer, he looked over at me, studying me from beneath the brim of his hat.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he countered, looking away.

“Don’t do that thing where you stare at me until I crack. I hate that.”

Christian laughed. “I’m not trying to make you crack.”

I rolled my eyes. “Really.”

“You fascinate me.”

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