Page 4 of Since Day One

“You started it, Passenger Princess,” he replied, not looking at me.

“Not the same thing.”

“It is one hundred percent the same thing.”

“Well, I’ll have you know mine are all natural.“ I crossed my arms defensively in front of my chest, wondering how this conversation would end.

But he seemed to be warming to it, and his grin was mockingly evil. “You have a lot of pride in something there’s not a lot of.”

My mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” Whipping my head toward him, the grin widened massively upon his face, his dimples only slightly camouflaged beneath the stubble. “And you would know how? I’m wearing a big sweatshirt,” I said defensively, feeling a sting, “It’s hiding a lot more than you think.”

“And I’m supposed to just take your word for it?” he asked coyly, his voice lowering, copying the very line I’d used on him. Oh, there was no denying it. He was good.

But I was better. Chuckling along with him, I glanced out the window as the buildings began to fade away, only to be replaced by thick pine trees and white aspens. We were exiting Jackson Hole and headed to wherever this retreat was. I was with a cowboy who seemed to be an actual cowboy, and I was a little perplexed.

My attention returned to the man driving. His posture seemed more relaxed as he leaned an elbow against the window and scratched his facial hair. The early stiffness once twisting between us had been slowly drifting away until now he was just another cowboy. The shimmering sun danced through the windshield, kissing his skin with a golden hue and brushing his dark whiskers to copper. Unexpectedly long lashes fluttered over his hazel orbs as he squinted his eyes to avoid the blinding light.

Tipping the brim of his hat down, a shadow fell across his face, deepening the dark features chiseled out from stone. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and my brows twitched as I tipped my head.

He was—

“You always stare at men like that?” His deep voice sheared through my thoughts.

Snapping my gaze away, I stared out the window as a flame burned in my cheeks. My mouth opened and closed on its own, refusing to form words. For the first time in years, I had nothing to say. There were no thoughts that freely fell from my tongue, and part of me knew why. And a part of me could never acknowledge the silence that befell us.

“What’s your name?” I asked after a while, and he glanced my way.

“Gunnar Johnson.”

An incredulous snicker left my throat. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“What do you have against my name?”

“It’s kind of a cliché western name.”

Scowling, he licked his lips. “You’re kind of annoying.”

“And you’re not?” I asked in my defense, and he shrugged offhandedly. A hint of a smile played at his lips, though he ran a hand over his stubble attempting to hide it, while driving with one wrist hooked casually over the steering wheel.

Silence draped over us, but not the kind that made you sweat. He seemed like just another friend made on just another Tuesday, coming into my life for a moment, only to drift away again in a few weeks. He wasn’t the first, and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“We need to stop at the feed store to pick up an order when we get to town before we head to the ranch,” he stated.

I furrowed my brows. “I’m sorry, but what?”

“You have a problem with that? I got roped into picking you up because I was already planning on going to the feed store. Ruger’s wife screwed up the order so I have to fix it,” he sniped, half of the statement seeming to be more for him to vent than directed toward me in frustration.

“Well, no. I just didn’t know working ranches here in Wyoming held retreats,” I replied in exasperation, turning toward the window and sighing. What was going on? My family spent years and years hating the Western world, hating my desire to learn to ride and become a part of this lifestyle, and yet now they’ve decided to have a retreat at an actual ranch?

“A retreat?” he asked as trees streaked by.

Something was up. There was a bigger game at play here.

“Yeah, like you know, a family bonding experience that’s supposed to include trust building exercises and what not.”

“No,” he drawled, “Your crazy ass family just booked out the dude ranch portion my brother runs for like a month-long—“ He paused and furrowed his brows, his glance flicking between me and the road. “How the hell do you not know this?”

I shrugged. “It’s a very long story.”

---