Page 19

She takes another look, appraising the secluded, vast landscape stretching in all directions. Biting her full bottom lip,she says, “It does remind me a bit of the Great Plains, though punctuated by sagebrush instead of prairie grass.”

I nod as Luke Combs’s “Forever After All” serenades us, putting me in a loving kind of mood. Too bad my sexy companion appears less affected by the music.

Straining her eyes heavenward, as if she’s looking for the paradise she fell from, Esmeralda adds, “Clouds, too. If you like big fluffy white clouds in endless periwinkle skies. You can appreciate this lonely place.”

“One of the loneliest places in the world,” I confess, side-eyeing her. The sentiment hits me to the core, vulnerable and authentic. But she misses the moment completely, her mind still working too hard. I know that look because I used to have the same problem.

“So, if your grandma’s in Florida, what about the rest of your family? It takes a lot of hands to run a ranch, after all.”

I pause for a moment, thinking of the best way to put this. “I’m an only child because my parents weren’t too especially interested in each other after the honeymoon. My father ended up running off when I was about four or five. Can’t remember for sure. Chalk him up as a ranch hand who never wanted to become a rancher. So, my maternal grandfather took over the ranch once more, which is why I have my mother’s maiden name rather than my deadbeat dad’s. Grandpa was approaching retirement age at the time, and he worked himself to death in the deal. Found him stone-cold dead on top of his tractor.”

“That’s terrible.”

I shrug. “He died doing what he loved, so I don’t feel too bad about it, though I do miss him. Especially when I’ve got ranching business I wish I could discuss. I didn’t learn nearly enough from him during his lifetime, but you never figure that out ’til it’s too late. As for my mom and grandma, they gave me the option to sell the ranch and make something of myself apart from thefamily tradition. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, though. Too stubborn, I spose. But you tell me, how could I abandon five generations of Gunner blood, sweat, and tears buried in this arid soil?”

“I’m the worst person to ask that question,” she replies with a chuckle.

I raise a questioning eyebrow.

“After all, I’m out here, animated by my grandpa’s dream of treasure. A different kind of family pressure but family pressure nonetheless.”

“Makes me wonder. If I had a family to call my own, you know, a beautiful wife and a mess of bratty kids, would I still feel so compelled to follow my parents and grandparents’ dreams for me?”

“A mess of bratty kids,” she chuckles. “You don’t seem like much of a family man, no offense.”

“No offense taken. After all, you’ve only seen me at my worst. But how about you, Esmeralda, do you have plans for a family someday? Or is it all treasure hunts and tin-foil hats for you?”

“I take offense to the tin-foil hat comment, first and foremost. As for the rest of your question, I wouldn’t say I want a mess of kids. But I love babies. I’d like as many as I feel like making. Mama tells me you can never know for sure until you’re in the grip of the pain. But she also says you can never decide you want kids until you already have them, and I’m okay with that, I guess.”

“I do have to say. Eve really screwed y’all with that whole painful childbirth thing. It seems unfair, in my opinion. But then, nobody’s asking me.”

“No different than other mammals, right?” she asks, eyeing me. “I’m sure you’ve helped out with your fair share of cow and horse births.”

I laugh. “Goats, llamas, buffalo, and alpacas, too. We’ve tried everything at Gunner Ridge to be viable.”

“And nobody has it harder than us ladies, despite all your experiences?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say that. But I don’t want you to think I’d ever minimize the sacrifices a woman makes to turn a man into a daddy. It’s something I’ll personally never understand, but I do hope, sooner or later, to be a part of that process … with the right woman.”

“Well, I suppose that makes me the thorn in your side. Or the glitch in your program. A happy little mistake that’ll be righted soon enough … I hope.”

“You know, I’m good for the money. There were other forms of collateral you could have asked for.”

Guilt flashes in her eyes, and I want the accompanying verbal explanation. Instead, she observes, “No collateral was as sure.”

“Okay, then,” I answer, not necessarily agreeing with her. But I must concede, “In Nevada, it was the fastest way to bind our future and our finances together.”

“Going back to where we were before. How long ago did your grandmother head to Florida?” she asks, bringing our conversation full circle. I don’t begrudge her for it. But damn, if I wasn’t enjoying skirting a discussion of our future babies. Whether she’ll admit it or not.

“Nearly a decade ago, and I’ve been on my own ever since, apart from a handful of ranch hands and community help on occasion. Most days, it feels like an uphill battle. Or better yet, swimming against the current. I’m honestly not sure how much longer I can do it. But I’ve reached the point where I can’t tie my own self-worth to the venture anymore. If my parents had been serious about making a go of it, my father would’ve never left, and they would have had more children to help out. Same goes for my grandparents. You don’t stop at one daughter and expectthings to work out. It’s almost like Gunner Ridge is cursed, and I’m getting tired of the ceaseless struggle.”

“Could be the treasure,” my angel murmurs, somberly looking out at the high desert plains stretching before us.

“Wait? You think the treasure is cursed?”

“Could be,” she shrugs. “It was stolen, after all.”

“Sorry, but this is starting to get a little too kookie for me,” I admit, shaking my head as we turn off onto the first in a series of dirt roads that lead to the old homestead. “What else do you believe in? UFOs? Ghosts? Bigfoot?”