Page 30 of Lost in the Reins

"There usually is." He guides the truck around another bend, and dang, those ridiculous forearm muscles call to me. "Though probably not the kind you write about."

"Try me." I turn in my seat to face him better, writer's curiosity warring with something that feels dangerously like personal interest. "I promise not to put it in my next book. Much."

He's quiet long enough that I think he won't answer. Then, "High school. Junior year. Thought I was in love, tried to impress her with my cooking skills." His jaw ticks. "Ended about as well as you'd expect."

"Hence the smoke alarm story."

"Hence the smoke alarm story." He pulls the truck to a stop beside what looks like a maintenance shed. "Though these days, I think Sarah was right: Jenny Martinez was more in love with the idea of dating a Montgomery than actually being with one."

The casual mention of his sister catches me off guard. He's been doing that more lately—sharing little pieces of Sarah without that edge of raw grief. I'm not sure what to do with that trust or the warm feeling it creates in my chest.

"Well," I say, aiming for lightness, "at least you learned to cook eventually. Though I notice you still haven't made me those famous pancakes Emma keeps raving about."

"Earn them." But there's warmth in his voice as he kills the engine. "Come on. Jake said the break's about two miles south, near the creek crossing."

"We're walking?" I eye the muddy ground with suspicion. My boots might be more practical these days, but two miles of Montana mud seems excessive.

He flashes me one of those rare smiles that sends tingles through my lips.

"Not exactly."

Ten minutes later, I'm straddling an ATV that probably cost more than my first car, watching Wes check the fuel levels on his own machine.

"So, let me get this straight." I adjust my grip on the handlebars, trying to look like I know what I'm doing. "You've had these all along, and you still made me learn to ride a horse?"

"Authenticity, remember?" He swings onto his ATV with the kind of fluid grace that should be illegal before lunch. "Besides, can't write about sunset rides on a four-wheeler."

"Watch me." But I'm laughing as I follow his lead, the engine roaring to life beneath me. "I have to admit, this is significantly less terrifying than Athena's judgment."

We take off across the pasture, and I discover that maybe I spoke too soon about the terrifying part. The ATV responds to every tiny movement, bouncing over ground that's still treacherous from last night's storm. The November frost has just started melting under the weak morning sun, turning what was probably solid ground yesterday into a maze of mud pits and icy patches. Apparently, Montana believes in offering all four seasons before lunch, just to keep things interesting.

Wes leads the way, navigating the terrain like he was born on an ATV instead of a horse. Which, honestly, is just unfair. The man probably came out of the womb wearing boots and knowing how to fix fence posts. I follow his path, noting how he avoids the deceptively innocent-looking puddles that probably hide small lakes underneath. Three weeks in Montana has taught me that nothing is ever as simple as it looks, especially not the weather.

The pasture spreads out around us, painted in the muted colors of late fall. The grass has that yellowish-brown tinge that means winter's coming, though stubborn patches of green still cling to life in the sheltered spots. My city-trained eyes are finally learning to read the landscape—how certain dips mean hidden springs that never quite freeze, the way the wind has carved patterns into the frost-stiffened grass.

Of course, I'm also noticing how Wes's breath clouds in the cold air when he glances back to check on me, but that's purely professional observation. Research. For the book. Obviously.

We crest a small rise, and the valley opens up below us in a way that makes my breath catch. This is the Montana tourists dream about, that painters try to capture, and that I've been failing to describe properly in my books for years. The mountains rise in the distance, their peaks already dusted with early snow that glints like diamond dust in the morning light. A hawk circles lazily overhead, probably judging my ATV handling skills just like every other creature on this ranch.

The ground's getting trickier as we descend, a patchwork of mud and half-frozen earth that makes the ATV dance under me like a mechanical bull with attitude. Last night's rain has turned every natural depression into a potential hazard, and the morning frost is just melting enough to make everything extra slick. Perfect conditions for a city girl to embarrass herself spectacularly.

"Lean back," Wes calls over his shoulder, expertly avoiding a mud pit that probably has aspirations of becoming a lake. "Let the machine do the work."

Right. Because it's that easy. Just lean back, let go of control, and trust that everything will work out fine. Kind of like how I'm supposed to not be falling for this impossible man who keeps showing me new ways to see the world.

We reach the bottom of the hill, and I'm feeling pretty proud of myself for not dying or crying or doing anything else embarrassingly un-cowgirl-like. That's when I hear it, the sound of running water, angrier than usual, thanks to last night's storm.

The creek appears ahead of us, water running high and fast from last night's storm. Wes takes the crossing first, making it look easy as his ATV splashes through the current. I follow more cautiously, right up until my front tire catches something underwater and suddenly, I’m not going anywhere.

“Problem?” Wes calls back, already turning his machine around.

“No problem.” I gun the engine, but all I manage to do is spray water everywhere. “Just... communing with nature. Very authentic research happening here.”

He kills his engine, wading back through the creek toward me. Water soaks his jeans to mid-thigh, and I definitely don’t notice how the wet denim clings to his legs. Much.

“You’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I try backing up, accomplishing nothing except creating a small tidal wave. “I hadn’t noticed.”

---