Chapter 1

June

The hammer felt good. Solid. Real.

Thwack. Another nail home. Thwack. Another foot of fence that wouldn’t fall apart come winter.

Sweat beaded at her temples despite the early hour. Same routine as always: up before dawn, coffee black and bitter, then straight to whatever repair couldn’t wait another day. By noon, the Colorado sun would be downright vengeful, but right now, in this pocket of quiet before the ranch woke up proper, perfect. Just her, the work, and the San Juan Peaks standing guard. No talk. No expectations. No people.

Behind her, horses stirred in the near pasture, their morning nickering as familiar as her own heartbeat. A meadowlark trilled from a fence post. The mineral scent of high desert dirt mixed with pine drifting down from the mountains.

Tires on gravel.

Her jaw locked tight.

Another car. Another week of babysitting tourists who thought ranch life was all sunset photos and gentle trail rides. New batch checking in today. She’d seen the reservation list on the front desk. Full house of city types paying stupid money to play cowboy for a week.

She kept her eyes on the fence. Some sedan that had never seen real dirt, probably white or silver. Same as always.

The car door slammed. Footsteps on gravel, steady, sure-footed. Huh.

“Excuse me.”

The voice had smoke in it. Low, with a catch that made June’s hammer pause mid-swing.

“I’m looking for someone who can help me with my horse situation.”

Horse situation. At least this one wasn’t starting with complaints about the Wi-Fi.

June straightened slowly, wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her work glove, and looked up.

Oh.

Not what she’d expected. At all.

The woman standing ten feet away didn’t fit the usual guest mold. She stood with her weight balanced, knees soft, like someone who knew how to keep her feet under her on uneven ground. Jeans that had seen honest wear, not designer distressing. Boots that looked broken in. Everything a touch too clean for real ranch work, sure, but the attempt at sensible over showy counted for something.

And her face…

Dark eyes that held steady, didn’t dart around looking for someone more important. A smile that reached those eyes, made them crinkle at the corners. Sun-gold skin that spoke of actual outdoor time, not some spa treatment. When she tilted her head, patient, like she didn’t mind June staring like a stunned calf, something shifted. Her next hammer swing missed the nail entirely. She stared at the bent metal, then at the woman.

What the hell?

“Sorry.” The woman said, bringing June back to reality. “I know you’re working. But I’ve been riding since I was eight, and I’m really not interested in the nose-to-tail beginner trail rides. I need something more challenging.”

Every guest said that. Usually meant they’d survived a birthday pony ride once.

“Challenging how?” The question came out sharp. Test number one.

“I can handle a green horse on a narrow mountain trail.” Her chin lifted. A flash of something… pride? Challenge? “Not just arena riding where the biggest danger is dusty boots.”

Specific. Different. Most guests said, “I can ride fast” or some nonsense.

“Western or English?” Test number two.

“Both. Though Western makes more sense out here.” She gestured at the mountains. “English is pretty, but it won’t help you when you’re navigating scree at nine thousand feet.”

June’s eyebrows climbed. “Scree?”

“Loose rock slopes. Learned that the hard way near Nederland. My friend’s horse knew what to do. I just had to trust him and not be an idiot about it.”

Damn.

“You know the difference between neck reining and direct reining?” Final test.

“Western’s one-handed, loose rein. English keeps both hands busy.” Her smile went crooked. “Though the best riders read what the horse needs and forget the rulebook.”

Double damn. June’s hammer stilled mid-swing. Three tests. Three perfect answers. When was the last time that had happened? Never.

“So.” She stepped closer. One step, but June caught her scent: clean cotton and something like wild honeysuckle. “Can you assign me to the advanced rides? Or point me to whoever can?”

“I don’t assign anything.” June grabbed her hammer. Needed something solid in her hands. “Ranch manager handles ride assignments.”

The woman studied her, those perceptive eyes that saw too damn much. “But you clearly know horses better than anyone here. What’s your name?”

Simple question. Shouldn’t make June’s mouth go sand-dry.

“June.”

First name only. Always safer.

“I’m Stevie.”

Stevie. It fit. Had music in it somehow. June’s mouth wanted to test the shape of it.

No. Absolutely not.

“Nice to meet you, June.” Stevie glanced at the fence. Half-built, clean lines, solid work. “That’s impressive. Mind if I help while we talk? I’m not afraid of work.”

“Guests don’t do ranch work.” Automatic defense.

“I’m not like most guests.” No apology in it. “Grew up around farms. My hands know their way around tools.”

To prove it, Stevie moved to the pile of posts, hefted one smooth as breathing, and positioned it exactly where June needed it. No hesitation. No waiting for instructions. Just… skilled.

In five years of dude ranch operations, not one guest had offered real help. Most whined if dust touched their designer anything.

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” Stevie braced the post steady. “Besides, nice to watch someone who actually knows what they’re doing for once.”

Something in how she said it made June’s gut drop and flip back up. She focused hard on the nail. Thwack. Perfect hit. Thwack. Another.

They worked without talking, but the silence felt full, not empty.

Stevie anticipated what June needed: post here, wire there, hammer passed before June’s hand opened for it. Like a dance they both knew by heart, which was impossible. They’d just met.

Unsettling. Dangerous.

And something else June didn’t want to name.

Tommy’s nervous laugh echoed from the horse barn. That high-pitched giggle that always meant he was either excited about something or trying to impress someone. “I should get back to this. Tommy can help with ride assignments. He’s the one making all that noise.”

“Tommy.” Stevie stepped back, dusted her palms on her thighs. June stared at the dirt streaks on Stevie’s thighs. Her throat turned to dust. She grabbed her water bottle and drained half of it in one gulp.

“One of the staff.”

Stevie’s smile shifted, went knowing. “Thanks, June. This was…” She paused, eyes holding June’s. “See you around.”

Not a question. A promise.

June watched her walk toward the main lodge. Easy stride, observant but not gawking. The light caught copper threads in her dark hair that June hadn’t noticed before. Or had tried not to notice.

The woman moved like she had a melody playing in her head that kept her steps sure.

She’s not like the others.

The thought came uninvited and landed hard.

June turned back to the fence, gripped the hammer like an anchor. Lined up the next nail with excessive care. Drew back. Swung.

Thwack.

“Damn it!”

The hammer clattered into the dirt. June yanked her thumb to her mouth, glaring at the nail she’d missed completely. First miss in years.

Blood welled under the nail. Perfect. Just perfect.

And she knew exactly whose fault it was.

That woman with smoke in her voice and music in her walk.

Stevie.

Damn.