About the Author

Born and raised in northern California, Maggie has lived on both coasts of the United States. She now lives in Montana where she plans to remain even though she might always be considered a newcomer.

***

Margaret Desmond Novels

King’s Valley Romance Series

Ethan’s Bride

Her Ordinary Joe

The Return of Devin Wakefield

Annie and Jake

King’s Valley: The Complete Collection

***

Sweet Grass-Montana Romance Series

That Hollister Man

Trusting Travis

The Wrangler’s Wish

***

The Wrangler’s Wish (Preview)

THE WRANGLER’S WISH

***

Chapter One

“IT’S NOT FAIR.”

“Seems that way.”

“I mean, all that money spent on a college degree, and my family won’t let me put it to good use. I might as well have stayed home. What a waste.”

“Don’t know about that. Seems to me a lot of things are better organized around here since you took charge of guest services... Hand me that pick... Thanks... Hoof up.”

Grady cupped the buckskin’s right front hoof in his palm and used the metal pick to scrape away the pebbles and packed dirt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tressa stomp her boot heel on the ground. Her frustrated sigh jarred the air. The buckskin echoed the sigh with an agitated snort.

“Easy, fella,” Grady said. With gentle motions, he set the horse’s hoof on the ground and then rolled upright. He sent Tressa a warning look and said in a kind but firm tone, “Take a slow count to ten. Then curry Larkin.” He nodded at the bay roan tied to the hitching post beside four other waiting horses. “You know my rules.”

Her hazel eyes sparked for a second before dimming to a contrite expression. “Sorry.”

She grabbed a rubber curry comb from the supply bucket and slipped her hand under the strap. “I counted to ten about a dozen times before I walked down here. I should’ve counted longer.” Her voice took on a sweet, crooning sound as she stroked the curry comb in a circular motion down Larkin’s neck. “Hello, Larkin. There’s a sweet boy... It’s just you’re the only person I can talk to about this, Grady. The only one who really listens. I’ve given up trying to bring my mom around. She always takes the men’s side.”

Grady chose not to respond to that. Tressa Tanner had aired her woes to him countless times in the ten years since he’d hired on as a full-time wrangler at JT Cattle & Guest Ranch—her family’s 22,000 acre spread on the eastern slopes of the Crazy Mountains in south-central Montana. Some complaints he took with a grain of salt and met with stoic silence; others he offered occasional murmurs of wholehearted sympathy.

Most of the time, he just listened, his quiet patience soothing Tressa’s agitation. Every instance she showed up like this, he put her to work. If she wanted to use him as her sounding board while he was on her father’s payroll, she had to pitch in and help. After a while of rubbing down horses or cleaning tack or mucking out stalls and corrals, her vocal grievances dwindled, and the conversation turned to the mundane topics surrounding life on a working cattle ranch that, from June through September, catered to paying guests from all over the world.

As Tressa continued to talk, other sounds filtered into Grady’s ears: the friendly murmur of conversation between the other wranglers—Chey Little Wolf, Miller Benton and Lacy Hallard—as they worked in the adjacent corral, the snorts and whinnies and hoof stomps of the twenty-four head of horses just returned from a six-hour trail ride, the jingle of bridles and the creak of saddle leather.

It was late afternoon on the last Saturday of June. Most of the ranch guests were checking out early tomorrow morning. The ranch workers would enjoy a brief, welcome lull before new guests started arriving at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.

A laid-back atmosphere permeated the corrals and stables. Tomorrow, the horses had a day off. Another week was coming to a satisfying end. For Grady, a successful week meant no injuries to the horses or the riders, plus gratification knowing guests had enjoyed their stay. A thick envelope padded his left breast pocket—tips handed to him discreetly at the end of today’s ride from several repeat guests. He’d divvy up the cash with his crew after dinner this evening.

“I never thought Travis would settle down, at least not so soon,” Tressa said. “Were you shocked to hear about him and Mari?”

“Nope.” Grady finished picking the buckskin’s hooves. He fetched a curry mitt from the supply bucket and moved to the next horse in line. “Had a good idea in April sparks were flying in that direction.”

He flicked a glance at Tressa and the way the sunlight glossed her wavy brunette hair, the way a tendril clung to her cheek before she brushed it aside with a preoccupied gesture. He released a silent sigh. “Guess you didn’t see it coming.”

She moved around to the bay roan’s other side. “How could I? I never saw the two of them together until Spence’s wedding and not since then.” She lowered her voice. “I thought she was interested in Chey.”

“Nope,” Grady said.

He shot a quick glance to where Chey Little Wolf was draping a saddle across the top fence rail at the far end of the next corral. Back in April, Chey had confided to Grady his growing attraction to Mari Jones. Grady had never seen Chey so serious about a woman. Though he’d shrugged it off, it was obvious Mari’s rejection had wounded Chey. The curly-haired wrangler’s usual pleasant smile hadn’t reached his eyes in weeks. Grady figured it best not to mention Travis and Mari’s recent engagement. If Chey needed to talk, Grady’s door was always open.

“I like her.” Tressa leaned sideways to brush Larkin’s belly. “She was super quiet at first—the day I met her at Pam’s baby shower—then she opened up. I enjoy her sharp sense of humor.” She straightened upright to look at Grady over Larkin’s back. “You don’t think Travis is rushing things? Getting married so soon? It’s only been six months since they met.”

“Nope.”

“Nope,” she said in a mimicking voice. She made a playful gesture as if to toss her curry comb at him. “A man of few words, as usual.”

“Can’t get many words in with you doing all the chattering.”

“Sometimes I think you prefer the company of horses over people.”

He shrugged. “Least they don’t sass back.”

It was a familiar exchange, spoken with good-natured camaraderie.

Tressa’s soft laughter sang in his ears.

They continued their work in friendly silence. After a while, Grady said, “I’m having dinner with them tomorrow.”

“Who?”

“Travis and Mari. He invited me down for the afternoon.”

Tressa made a gentle, clucking sound when the bay she was grooming stomped at a fly buzzing around its hocks. “You’ve sure spent a lot of time at Travis’s outfit this past year... Almost every week over the winter.”

A thrill of surprise raced through him; he didn’t think she’d noticed his absences. “Well, he needed help after Willie got exiled to Utah.”

“Poor Willie. Think he’ll ever come back?”

“That’s up to Spence and Travis.”

Grady figured it best Willie—Spence and Travis Hollister’s cousin—stay away for a good long while. The ex-rodeo cowboy needed to get his head on straight.

Last November, when Sage Dolan—now Spence’s wife—moved to Hollister, she had Willie smitten at first sight. She was all he talked about on poker nights at Travis’s cabin. Grady couldn’t blame him; Sage was a looker with a sweet disposition. Spence had already set his sights on her, but nobody knew it then. When Willie let his infatuation get the best of him, Travis had sent him packing to Willie’s mama in Utah.

It’d been the right call, but it sure put Travis in a bind. Willie had been Travis’s business partner. Travis ran a flourishing quarter horse breeding and training operation on a thousand acre spread down in the foothills just south of Hollister, and Willie had been with him from the get go. Too bad Willie had allowed his reputation as one of the best horse trainers in the state to get tarnished with the rumor he couldn’t handle his liquor.

Grady still felt flattered by the phone call he’d received from Travis a week after Willie hightailed it out of town. Travis asked if Grady would mind filling in Willie’s boots through the winter. Travis had a state-of-the-art indoor arena. Between his own horses and those of his clients, he maintained a full workload year-round.

Grady respected the non-aggressive methods Travis used to train horses. The man had a gentle, intuitive way of connecting with his horses that held Grady in awe. A while back, Travis said he’d observed similar skills in Grady. A humble pride filled Grady every time he thought about Travis’s compliment.

“I enjoy helping Travis when I can,” he said now.

“I’m surprised Mack allows you.” A hint of bitterness laced Tressa’s words.

“You know how slow it gets on the ranch during the winter. I’d planned to go to Arizona in December anyway.”

“To visit your friend from high school?”

He aimed a startled glance at her profile. He couldn’t recall mentioning his friend more than once, and that was two winter’s back, the last time Grady had gone to Arizona. “That’s right...” He returned his focus to the hoof cupped in his palm. “Travis got the go-ahead from Mack first before calling me. And Mack gave it. No questions asked.”

“Right. That’s because you’re the best Lead Wrangler this ranch has ever had. Mack needs to keep you sweet. If he’d refused Travis, and you caught wind of it...” She caught herself. Her voice softened. “Sorry. I realize I go on and on about my brother. It bothers me when I hear myself bellyache.”

“It doesn’t bother me. Better to talk about what annoys you than let it fester.”

Across the short distance separating them, he captured and held her gaze, watched as her self-deprecation faded to gratitude. “Thanks, Grady,” she said.

In the afternoon sunlight her hazel eyes appeared more green than brown. Forest green with a sprinkle of gold.

He gave her a curt nod before tugging his gaze away from her face. The hand he ran down the red roan’s leg trembled a bit. “Hoof up.”

He finished rubbing down the last horse. Tressa had kept pace and finished alongside him. They exchanged the satisfied smiles that came with doing a job well. Without being told, she cleaned the curry combs and mitts while he filled a bucket with water. Then, with sponges and saddle soap in hand, they began cleaning the saddles lined up on the fence rail.

A low rumble of conversation and relaxed laughter came from the lodge which stood about one hundred yards kitty corner from the stables and corrals. Dinner was in forty minutes, and guests were collecting on the front porch for drinks and appetizers. Mouth-watering smells wafted on the air and blended with the sharp tang of horse and hay and the sweeter aroma of pine and sun-warmed earth and the light, floral scent of Tressa’s perfume.

“Mm,” Miller Benton said from the other corral. “Those barbecue spareribs sure are calling my name. Sure hope they’re not all gone by the time I make it to the dining room.”

At twenty-one, Miller was the youngest wrangler. The Benton family had lived in Sweet Grass County for decades, but this was Miller’s first season working for the Tanners. Sometimes, Miller’s fresh-faced enthusiasm made Grady feel older than his own twenty-nine years.

“Better hurry it up then,” Lacy said, a light elbow jab to Miller’s ribs accompanying her sassy retort. She was two years older than Miller; this was her second season on the ranch. The curly-haired blonde packed a lot of muscle in her slim, petite frame; she could heft saddles and hay bales and gather herd with the best of them.

Grady smiled as he recalled a slightly off-color joke Lacy had shared with her fellow wrangler’s during a poker game the other night. Even Chey had laughed.

“You’ll eat at the lodge tonight?” Tressa asked Grady.

“Don’t have much choice, do I?”

She sent him a sympathetic glance. “I understand Mrs. Dowling has been more annoying than usual this year.”

“Annoying’s not the word. Every day. All week. My jaw aches from smiling for all those dang pictures she takes.” A growl edged his voice. “Wish we could ban guests from using their cell phones throughout the ranch, not just when they’re on horseback.”

“I agree. I bet Mack will hear it from you. He won’t from me.” She sighed. “Ugh. Enough about my pigheaded brother.” She rinsed and wrung the sponge and set it on a fence post to dry. “You okay with the rest of this? I want to check in with my crew before dinner.”

He nodded. “See you later.”

Beneath the brim of his hat, his shadowed gaze tracked her until she entered a side door into the lodge.

***

SEATED ON AN ADIRONDACK chair on his back porch, Grady looked up at the Crazy Mountains, their jagged peaks backlit in pink and gold cast by the setting sun. He sat with his boots hooked on the bottom rung of the porch rail, hands burrowed in the pockets of a fleece pullover, a baseball cap snug on his head.

Although last week had marked the first official days of summer, it was still late spring in the mountains, and the nights were chilly. Here at 6,000 feet above sea level, sun and wind-defiant snow still clung to mountain crests and crevices. But at this time of the year, even in the mountain shadows, twilight would linger until ten o’clock, thirty minutes from now.

The guest ranch sat snug in a high-country meadow with Sweet Grass Creek running through it. The lodge and guest cabins curved through clusters of fir and pine trees some thirty yards from the creek bank. To the north of the lodge stood the stables and corrals, hay barn, two bunkhouses, an equipment barn and a few smaller outbuildings.

Grady’s cabin sat nestled in a cluster of pine trees at the edge of the northern pasture, close enough to the stables he could walk there in a couple minutes, far enough from the guest cabins and lodge activities to provide him relative peace after a long day.

Today had been a long day.

When Grady first began working for the Tanners the summer he turned nineteen, he’d lived in the bunkhouse with the other ranch staff. Each bunkhouse—one for the guys and one for the gals—had a common kitchen area, laundry and shared bathrooms, but everyone had their own bedroom, so it’d been all right by Grady, who’d still been on the shy side back then.

Five years ago, Bill Jenkins, who’d been the Lead Wrangler, retired and moved to Nevada. Grady got a promotion and Bill’s cabin. It was the only cabin on that section of the ranch set aside for an employee. Grady balked at first; it was a cabin designed for a family, not a bachelor cowboy, and he’d been fine staying in the bunkhouse, even during the winter when the only occupants were him and two ranch hands. But Jarrett insisted. The Lead Wrangler managed everything horse-related on the guest ranch, including overseeing breeding and training. In Jarrett’s opinion, that kind of work merited a cabin.

Sometimes, Grady wondered if there was more to the upgrade in living quarters than the Tanners let on. Because it happened during that gut-churning year when Tressa switched her degree from business to hospitality management and transferred from MSU to a college in Rhode Island. Then, instead of coming home as usual that summer to work at the ranch, she stayed back east.

Grady still remembered the way his heart got tossed when Addy Tanner, Tressa’s mama, read aloud the postcard she’d just received from back east. He’d been up at the lodge to collect his mail. Addy had her back to him as she stood sharing Tressa’s postcard with the gals at the front desk. She wasn’t aware Grady was behind her until it was too late. He remembered a couple lines about how Tressa had found a summer job working at a boutique hotel in Newport, but it was the postscript that reverberated in his head like a hammer striking an anvil: So great to see David after all these years. Tell you more in my next letter.

As Addy’s voice trailed off on those last words, she cast Grady a discreet glance, commiseration in her eyes.

Addy knew. Likely she’d known from the first day.

He suspected she put a bug in her husband’s ear about offering Grady the Lead Wrangler job and the cabin. It wouldn’t surprise Grady if his speculation ever proved as fact. If—no, not if—when his greatest wish came true, he imagined it would delight Addy. They’d never spoken about it; it was just a gut feeling. Addy’s quiet, enduring support had carried him through that first awful summer without Tressa and the three worrying summers that followed when Tressa, again, chose to stay back east instead of coming home.

He fisted his hands in his pockets and shifted in his chair. With no one to hear, he allowed his ragged, lonesome sigh to infiltrate the evening peace.

Some nights were a struggle.

By choice, he only dined at the lodge two nights a week: Sundays for the orientation dinner and Saturdays for the farewell dinner. Unless it was his day off.

Tonight, Mrs. Dowling had stuck to him like a burr to a saddle blanket, that dang cell phone of hers shooting one selfie after another to share with her “friends” on social media. He bet none of those people were friends in the genuine sense. Seemed to him people used those social media sites mostly to boast and brag and stir up envy. A waste of precious time, in his opinion. If Mrs. Dowling had looked up more often this past week and truly seen the beautiful scenery surrounding her, she might have tossed that cell phone aside and tried living in the moment. That would be a boast-worthy experience.

Grady didn’t begrudge guests their excitement when they were in the company of an authentic cowboy which is what he’d been since he was old enough to straddle a horse. He could understand their fascination with the rugged west, the captivating images planted in their heads from movies and books. Heck, he was a fan himself. Many of the old-timer cowboys in Sweet Grass County still filled him with awe.

Sometimes, however, guests took their interest just a little too far for his liking. The ladies, in particular. Caught in the thrall of that cowboy mystique, they lurked in corners and behind trees, pretended helplessness or some kind of injury in need of his attention. It was a challenge keeping friendly without giving the gals ideas he was in any way interested. Which he was not. Trouble was, his stoic manner seemed to provoke them even more. By the last night, they were almost frantic in their bids to trap him in a shadowy corner for a kiss and cuddle.

Fraternization of that nature between guests and staff was against ranch policy, but that didn’t stop those gals from making fools of themselves. He guessed they imagined they were being discreet. Grady couldn’t decide which bothered him most, their silly attempts to snare him, or the amusement he caught in Tressa’s eyes whenever she spied their ridiculous behavior. Well, actually it was the latter that perturbed him the most. He longed for the day jealousy replaced her amusement. A day he hoped dawned soon...

Another sigh pierced the air, heavier than the last, weighted with his frustration. It was a rare moment he allowed his dissatisfaction to control his emotions. If it hadn’t been for that initial gut reaction, that tug at his heart the day he met Tressa Tanner, he would have tossed aside his wishes years ago along with this job.

“That was a huge sigh,” Chey Little Wolf said as he strode around the corner of the cabin. He paused at the bottom of the porch steps and propped one foot on the second step. He leaned forward and crossed his arms on his bent knee. “Rough day?”

Grady made a dismissive sound. “I’m fine... Thought you were going to the rodeo.”

“Changed my mind. Didn’t feel like sitting on the bus and playing nice.”

“I hear you... I was about to swing by the stables for a final check, unless you’ve done it?”

“Yep. All good.”

Saturday night was typically a quiet night on the ranch. After tonight’s dinner, ranch staff bused most of the guests down to Big Timber for that town’s annual rodeo. A few other guests opted for a trip to the Grange in Hollister which held dances every Saturday evening June through September. Those who’d stayed behind were up at the lodge playing board games or Ping-Pong or relaxing by the fire.

Tressa was there now. Grady pictured her chatting with the guests, a cheerful smile on her face. She might join in a game of Scrabble or a Ping-Pong tournament or help the kitchen crew pass around hot cocoa and freshly baked cookies. Her brother Mack might be there too.

Mack and Tressa were the only two family members who lived on this section of the ranch. Mack stayed year-round in his own cabin a short distance behind the lodge. Tressa stayed from mid-May through September in a dorm-style room on the second floor of the lodge.

“Listen,” Chey said, tearing Grady’s thoughts from Tressa. “I’m thinking this will be my last season here... I wanted to tell you now so you have plenty of time to find a decent replacement.”

Chey’s face was hard to read in the dimming light, but his usual mellow voice held a trace of despondency.

Shoot. Grady figured something like this might happen. He cleared his throat. “Well, I appreciate the advance notice, but I hope you can spend more time thinking about it. How about we revisit the notion in early September? It’d be a mistake for you to leave, in my honest opinion. Aren’t many Montana outfits that pay as good as the Tanners.”

“Is that why you...keep staying?”

Grady narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I’m just a greedy son of a gun.”

Chey snorted. “Says the man who forks out all his tip money to his crew... You look at her like I looked at Mari. Guess I don’t have your fortitude. I wouldn’t be able to keep my distance. Not as long as you have anyhow.”

Chey straightened his back and slid his boot-clad foot from the porch step to drop to the ground with a soft thud. He balled his right hand into a fist and pounded his chest one time, then kept his hand there for a moment. “She got me here. Seeing her with another man guts me.”

“I understand.” Oh, Grady understood all right. His voice carried the heaviness of mutual heartache.

Chey shoved his hands in his front jeans pockets. “It’s not in my nature to stay up here and hide. You know me. I enjoy dancing at the Hideaway on my weekends off, going to Gigi’s café for a bite to eat. I’m a sociable guy.”

“So... Where are you thinking of going if you leave this job?”

“Somewhere far enough away I don’t chance running into the two of them together.”

“Back to Lame Deer?” Chey’s family lived on the Northern Cheyenne Indian Reservation in southeastern Montana which was about a five-hour drive from the ranch. Chey went to live with his family October through March and helped at his father’s auto parts store.

Chey shook his head. “No. I want a place of my own. But not on the rez.”

“Still thinking of that property near Sourdough?”

“Too close.”

Grady lowered his feet from the rail and hunched forward in his chair, hands clasped between his knees. “I figured you were hurting. Just didn’t realize it was this bad. I’m sorry.”

Chey shrugged.

“Again, let’s revisit this discussion in September. You’re the best wrangler I’ve got. I’d sure hate to see you quit.”

“Quit.” Chey’s voice sharpened. “I don’t like that word.”

“Neither do I.”

“Thing with you, Grady... You don’t quit. But you don’t try hard enough either. With her. Mari knew where I stood from the start.” Chey pointed at the place where Grady’s heart beat steady and strong. “Will Tressa ever know what’s hiding in there?”

***

WILL TRESSA EVER KNOW what’s hiding in there?

That unanswered question sat like a hard lump in Grady’s belly long after Chey left. He lay in bed with the light on, his hands folded behind his head as he frowned at the knotty pine ceiling. Outside, somewhere above the timberline, came the faint yipping of a coyote followed by a long howl. It was a lonely sound until another coyote answered from the far side of the meadow. Closer still came the warning growls and barks of the ranch dogs. Then the night fell quiet once more.

Grady’s restless groan filled the silence.

He’d always respected Chey’s direct manner, but when it came to Grady’s love for Tressa, that was nobody’s business. It sure made Grady wonder though if anyone besides Chey suspected the truth. Well, there was Addy. And maybe Travis, though Grady had never spoken outright to his friend on that particular topic.

Grady kept his feelings close to his vest. He always had. He’d been his father’s “tough little cowboy.” Like most kids born and raised on a cattle ranch, he learned early about death and new life, mud and muck, blood and guts, roping and branding, castrating and vaccinating. By the time he was ten, he’d seen things most city kids would never see and probably never understand. Some things had made Grady cry. But never where anyone could see him; that was one of the first childhood lessons drilled into him by his father.

Sure as shooting, Jarrett, Tressa’s dad, would’ve said something if he had suspicions. His first week on the payroll, Grady received a stern warning about getting in romantic entanglements with ranch guests or staff. “Save the romancing for your days off,” Jarrett said. “And not on my ranch.” Though he didn’t mention her name, it was implicit the warning included Jarrett’s daughter.

Grady’s word was his bond, but he wouldn’t have acted on his feelings for Tressa back then even if he could. She’d just turned sixteen the day they met, and he was nineteen, still green behind the ears when it came to working for anyone other than his father, a bit shy and inclined to do as told and not ruffle feathers.

Not to mention the fact Tressa showed no romantic interest in him. She had flitted from one boyfriend to another during her high school years. Never anything too serious from what she confided to Grady, nothing he couldn’t tolerate, even though her confidences of that nature made him grit his teeth until his jaw hurt.

He was a patient man, and he trusted his gut, that day-one awareness that someday, somehow and some way, Tressa Tanner would be by his side forever.

In all the years since he first met Tressa, the only burr under Grady’s saddle had been David Pendleton. David Pendleton the Third, to be exact. That pompous you-know-what had tested Grady’s patience to the limit.

But David was now history. Since December. Six months had gone by. That was the self-enforced time limit Grady set to ensure Tressa was over David for good. Six months of long-suffering waiting and watching and wishing.

Chey thought Grady didn’t try hard enough? Restraining his feelings all these years was the hardest thing Grady had ever done. But now his wait was almost over...

He jolted at the ringing of his cell phone. Who the heck was calling him this late? It was after eleven. “Hello?”

“Grady, honey. Shoot. I hope I didn’t wake you up?” It was his stepmom Leanne. She sounded on the verge of tears. “It’s your father... I think he’s having an affair.”

BUY NOW!

***

That Hollister Man (Preview)

HER THOUGHTS SCATTERED into the wind as she stepped outside the barn to find a man astride a horse less than ten feet in front of her. He was looking toward the house but, at her startled gasp, he turned his face sharply towards her.

The air seemed to go still around them as they stared at each other. Sage was unaware of the wind or the cold, her focus narrowed on the stranger. It wasn’t fear that caused her heart to beat like the wings of a hummingbird. She didn’t know what it was. She’d never experienced anything like this in her life.

This was a man unlike any she’d ever encountered. Not in real life, anyway. It was as if he’d stepped from the pages of one of her father’s western novels; he fit every image in her mind of a real western man.

He sat tall in the saddle, his broad chest and wide, sloping shoulders amplified by the shearling sheepskin coat he wore. Brown leather chaps fitted snug over lean and muscular thighs, tapered down his long legs and flared above his dusty boots. His chiseled jaw and firm mouth were all she could see of his face; the lowered brim of his brown cowboy hat threw the rest into shadow.

His horse snorted, sending puffs of white vapor into the chilly air. Sage’s gaze flicked to the animal, a magnificent specimen, a thoroughbred quarter horse mix, she guessed, its sleek, steel-grey coat carrying the sheen of recent exercise.

“Are you a guest of Gigi’s?”

The low, rich timbre of the man’s voice caught at a place deep in her being. She released a slow breath, her own voice shaking a little as she replied, “No. I’ve just moved in.”

He nudged his horse closer, stopping alongside of her. The shorter distance between them forced her to tilt her head back to stare at him. From this angle, he appeared like a giant. She caught the enticing whiff of leather and warm horse and good clean sweat.

“Moved in?” he asked in that deep voice that carried a slight hint of a drawl. “You mean Gigi’s renting out a room to you?”

She still couldn’t see his eyes, but they seemed to burn into her skin. The strange feelings inside of her intensified, heating her blood. “No. Gigi sold this place to me.”

He froze.

The horse, sensing the change in the air, swiveled its ears back and tossed its head.

Maybe Sage imagined the man’s sudden tension, because, within seconds he was sitting loose in the saddle. He patted the horse’s neck with a gloved hand before touching that same hand to the brim of his hat, pushing it back far enough so she could see his eyes. They were dark brown, almost black, set beneath thick, black brows and a high forehead creased with lines. His face was handsome in that tanned, craggy way of men who spent most of their time working outdoors. He appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties.

“That makes you my new neighbor then,” he said, his tone now curiously absent of inflection. “I’m Spence Hollister.”

BUY NOW!