Page 28 of Lost in the Reins

"Fall in Love with Pine Ridge!" Martha spreads her hands like she's unveiling a masterpiece. "Sarah always said we needed more romance in our festivals. She'd be thrilled to pieces to have a real romance author involved."

"I'd love to help," Paisley says softly, and somehow it doesn't feel like a betrayal to Sarah’s memory.

"Perfect!" Martha claps her hands, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Of course, you'll need a partner for the square dance?—"

"That's enough." I straighten, needing distance from wherever this conversation's heading. "Supply run, remember?"

"Of course, dear." Martha pats my arm with grandmotherly affection that doesn't match her scheming expression. “Make sure you stop by the store before you head back to the ranch. I'll have those pies boxed up and ready to go. Emma still likes the apple best, right?"

"Martha—" I start, but Paisley cuts in.

"That's so thoughtful of you." Her smile could rival Martha's for pure wattage. "I'm sure Emma would love that."

"And maybe a berry crumble, too," Martha adds with a wink that sets my teeth on edge. "Since someone around here could use more sweetness in his life."

I grunt, already heading toward Wilson's, but not before catching the way Paisley bites her lip to hold back a laugh. Martha's matchmaking is about as subtle as a bull in spring, and just as dangerous.

"Ten minutes!" Martha calls after us. "Don't you dare leave town without those pies, Wes Montgomery.”

"Not a word," I warn Paisley as Martha disappears back in her shop.

"About the pies or the square dancing?" Her eyes dance with mischief. "Because I have to say, I'm really looking forward to seeing these authentic small-town moves of yours."

We walk the few steps to Wilson’s, and I hold the door for her. "Supply run," I remind her, and myself. "That's all this is."

"Of course." But her smile says something else entirely. "Just research."

Wilson's smells like it always has—leather and feed dust and decades of hardware dreams. Old man Wilson is behind the counter, squinting at his ancient register like it might start cooperating if he stares hard enough.

"Well, look who finally came down the mountain." Wilson's weathered face creases into a smile. "Jake said you'd be coming by for the usual supplies."

“Good to see you, Wilson.” I hand over my list, deliberately ignoring how Paisley wanders down the aisle, running her fingers over rope coils and fence tools like she's memorizing their texture for her next book. "And some extra mineral blocks, please.”

“Sure thing, but just so you know, prices went up again." His voice carries the same apology it has for months now. "I can still extend?—"

"Wes Montgomery?"

Her voice hits me like a bucket of ice water. Jenny Martinez—now Jenny Collins—stands in the doorway, looking exactly like she did in high school, except now, her left hand sports an enormous diamond ring.

"Jenny." I manage a nod, acutely aware of Paisley drifting back to my side." I didn't know you were back in town."

"Just visiting Mama." Her eyes drift to Paisley, then back to me with the kind of calculating interest that made her the town'sbest source of gossip even back in high school. "Though clearly, I'm not the only one bringing excitement to Pine Ridge."

"Paisley Monroe." Paisley extends her hand with city grace that somehow doesn't feel out of place among the feed bags and tractor parts. "I'm staying at Whispering Pines for a few months. Research for my next book."

"Research." Jenny's perfectly shaped eyebrows rise. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

I feel my jaw tighten, but Paisley just laughs—that real, warm sound that's been filling up the quiet spaces at the ranch. "Well, that depends on who you ask. Martha seems to think it's an excuse for matchmaking and pie consumption."

"Martha hasn't changed, then." Jenny's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Though some things have. I never thought I'd see the day Wes Montgomery let someone else wear his shirts."

Paisley glances down at the flannel she's wearing—my old blue one that somehow looks better on her than it ever did on me. "What can I say? He’s a sharer.”

The tension crackles like static before a storm. Wilson busies himself with the register, probably wishing he were anywhere else. I know the feeling.

"Speaking of sharing…” Jenny's voice carries that sweet poison I remember too well. "You should ask Wes about the time he tried to impress me with his cooking skills. Ended up setting off every smoke alarm in town."

"That's quite a story." Paisley's voice stays warm, but there's steel underneath. "Though I'm more interested in his current skills. He makes a mean grilled cheese these days."

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