Page 11 of The Trail Boss

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She could picture him—leaning back in his truck, that infuriatingly calm expression on his face as he waited for her response.

Fine

she typed back.

The reply came almost instantly.

You don’t sound fine.

Her lips twitched despite herself. He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he?

What do you want, Gavin?

Another buzz.

To make sure you’re not in over your head. If you need anything, you have my number.

Planning to ride in and save me?

You’ve had worse ideas.

Roxie stared at the message, her jaw tightening. She tossed the phone onto the table and flipped the notebook shut, her mood soured. Who was he to barge into her life and act like she needed saving?

But even as she tried to push the thought of him away, her pulse quickened, her body remembering the way he’d looked at her earlier—serious, intent, like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, her pen still clutched tightly in her hand. Maybe she’d write Gavin into her story after all—not as the hero, but as the storm her heroine had to face. Because storms didn’t save you. They tested whether you could survive.

And Roxie Albright was nothing if not a survivor.

GAVIN

The hum of Gavin’s truck faded as he turned off the highway and onto the dirt road leading to his ranch just outside of San Antonio. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, casting long shadows across the sprawling fields. As he approached the ranch house, the familiar sight of the barn, paddocks, and pastures brought a faint sense of peace to his otherwise restless mind.

Gavin parked near the barn and stepped out. The warm evening air carried the faint scent of hay, leather, and horses—comforting reminders of a life that felt far simpler than the chaos he’d been dealing with.

The barn doors stood open, and inside, Gavin saw Danny, his foreman, brushing down one of the yearlings. The older man looked up, his weathered face breaking into a grin beneath his cowboy hat.

“’Bout time you showed up,” Danny called, his voice gruff but good-natured. “Thought you might’ve forgotten you owned the place.”

Gavin chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped into the barn. “Been busy,” he said simply, running a hand along the smooth wood of a stall door.

Danny nodded, his sharp eyes studying Gavin. “You look like hell, boss. That trouble you’ve been tangling with still got its claws in you?”

Gavin shrugged. “Wrapped up most of it, but it’s not out of my head yet.”

“Well, you’re in the right place for clearing your mind,” Danny said, giving the yearling a final pat. “Figured you might want to take Cisco out for a ride. He’s been pacing the paddock like he’s got something to prove.”

A faint smile tugged at Gavin’s lips. “Cisco could never stand still for long.”

“He’s saddled and waiting,” Danny said, nodding toward the paddock gate.

A few minutes later, Gavin stood by the gate, the big cherry sorrel waiting for him. Cisco was a striking animal, his deep red coat gleaming in the evening light, his flaxen mane and tail catching the golden rays of the setting sun. He was taller than most cutting horses, too tall for the kind of work Gavin had once envisioned for him. But Cisco had a heart as big as his frame, and Gavin wouldn’t trade him for anything.

“You ready, boy?” Gavin murmured, running a hand along the horse’s neck. Cisco nickered softly, nudging Gavin’s chest with his broad nose.

With practiced ease, Gavin swung into the saddle, settling into the familiar rhythm as Cisco shifted beneath him. He guided the horse out of the paddock and toward the open fields, the sound of hoofbeats steady against the soft earth.

As they rode, the ranch stretched out before them, the golden fields rolling like waves under the fading light. The world seemed to slow, the weight in Gavin’s chest easing with each stride. Cisco’s ears twitched forward, his powerful muscles rippling as he picked up a gentle jog trot, carrying Gavin effortlessly across the land.

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