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Page 5 of Captivated (Salvation #3)

Chapter Five

Nate was grateful Dad had programed the trip into his phone. He’d never driven this far alone before, and he had visions of getting lost in the wilds of Montana. Dad had suggested bringing him to Salvation and picking him up once the two weeks were over, but Nate had fought him on that.

“I’m not a kid anymore. You’re not dropping me off at summer camp.”

More than that, he didn’t want anyone at Salvation thinking he couldn’t get there under his own steam, and he wanted to have his own transportation in case he needed to get out of there in a hurry.

Hey, that doesn’t sound positive.

He’d promised Dad he’d do his best to keep the negativity at bay, but Nate knew that was easier said than done.

When he hit Bozeman, Nate breathed a sigh of relief.

Almost there.

Dad had described Bozeman as the last bit of civilization before the ranch, and it appeared to be a reasonably sized town, not that Nate intended stopping there. It was past five o’clock, and he wanted to be at Salvation in time for supper.

He turned when the virtual voice told him to, and not long after that, civilization was behind him, the sky pressed down wide and empty, and the two-lane road ahead stretched out like a dare into nowhere.

He’d gone online to take a peek at Salvation. There were a lot of photos of horses, rolling hills, stunning views…When he saw the pictures of people on horseback, that gave him a moment’s pause, until his common sense kicked in.

Did you think the ranch was populated by nothing but horses?

Besides, there were the weeks when the action wasn’t so much about riding, but other kinds of pursuits.

Dad never talked about what happened during those times, but Nate could read, for God’s sake.

And he only had to look at Dad after one of those weeks to know whatever he’d been doing, it was doing him a helluva lot of good.

According to Nate’s phone, he was minutes away from Salvation.

He clenched the steering wheel tighter, his fingers aching where he’d been gripping it too long.

I hope to God I’m doing the right thing.

It wasn’t the first time that thought had crossed his mind since he’d agreed to do this.

Both Dad and his therapist had been optimistic.

Nate knew he hadn’t imagined the glisten of tears when Dad had said goodbye, and he was pretty sure he’d caught the word “proud” in there somewhere when Dad squeezed the life out of him in a ferocious hug.

This is a big deal. Apparently for both of us.

An eight-hour drive was definitely huge, and Dad had factored in several stops along the way where there’d be a restroom, someplace to eat… They’d worked out the best time to leave, so he’d miss the worst of the traffic.

As for what lay at the end of it?

Nate didn’t have a clue what to expect.

The dirt road twisted through pines and high-country scrub, and Nate kept a lookout for the gap in the log fences that Dad had told him led to Salvation.

And there it was, a long curving driveway that dipped in places.

When he saw the arch of logs, SALVATION burnt into the crosspiece, his heart skipped a beat.

It feels as though I’m stepping off the edge of the world.

Nate drove into what was obviously a parking lot and killed the engine.

He didn’t move.

I don’t do people.

I don’t do groups.

I don’t want new.

He hated how much his chest was already tightening with the thought of being seen. Judged. Misunderstood. His therapist had said the horses wouldn’t care. They’d just want him to show up. No pretending. No talking if he didn’t want to. But horses came with people.

Then he froze.

Someone was walking out of the barn toward him.

He wasn’t all that tall, but he had broad shoulders, and the rest of him was pretty lean. Visible beneath the brim of his white hat, his hair was dark brown, gray at the temples, his beard showing silver at the chin. His flannel shirt looked as if it had been through years of wind and work.

Nate didn’t move. Maybe if he stayed still enough, the guy would think he was asleep.

No such luck.

The guy stopped a few feet from his driver’s side window, tilted his head like a curious dog, then rapped on the glass with a knuckle.

“Hey.” His voice was warm but not pushy.

Nate cracked the window enough to let the breeze waft through.

“You Nate?” the man asked.

Nate nodded. He swallowed. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound like a lie or a flinch.

“Name’s Zeeb.” A quick smile. “You’ve had a long trip, right? Wanna stretch your legs before we take your stuff to the cabin?”

Nate hesitated. Dad’s words rang in his head.

They’re good guys. You can trust them.

Except even Dad knew it would take longer than two weeks for Nate to feel the same way.

The cowboy was still standing there.

Waiting.

Nate swallowed hard. “Is Zeeb short for something?”

“Zebadiah.”

Nate cleared his throat. “You, uh… you live here?” Maybe he could fake a bit of normal.

Then again, maybe not.

Zeeb nodded. “For the last twelve years. I’m your point guy, which mostly means I keep you from getting lost and introduce you to the horses that won’t kick your teeth in.”

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of Nate’s mouth. Not quite a smile, but close.

“I don’t talk much,” Nate said in a quiet voice as he opened the door to get out.

“That’s all right.” Zeeb took a step back. “Neither do most of the horses.”

There was something about the way the kid unfolded himself from the car that reminded Zeeb of skittish colts in early spring. All tense shoulders and sharp eyes, as if every sound might be a trap.

Except he isn’t a kid, remember?

Zeeb took a good look as Nate grabbed his bags from the trunk.

He had the wiry build of someone who didn’t eat unless reminded. His beard and mustache were neat, not too thick. His hair was too long in the front, as though it was hiding him on purpose.

Push it back. Lemme see those eyes.

Zeeb was a firm believer in that old saying about the whole windows-to-the-soul thing. And maybe some thoughts were audible, because would you look at that? Nate scraped his fingers through his hair, revealing?—

Jesus . Nate’s eyes were green, all guarded and quiet ache.

Not scared, exactly. More like he was waiting for the shoe to drop.

Waiting for the worst.

Zeeb had met a lot of folks over the years. Some came to the ranch simply to enjoy the experience, with not a care in the world. Others came with baggage, often already halfway healed. Others were knotted up so tight it sometimes took days before they’d even pet a horse.

Nate seemed like the latter, but there was something else in his stance. Not weakness. Not fragility. Just wariness. As though he’d learned the hard way that people weren’t safe.

It was Nate’s stance that left its stamp on Zeeb.

You’ll be safe here. I’ll see to that.

Zeeb didn’t know the details. Didn’t need to. He only knew Nate’s therapist had called ahead to say this guy would need space, no pushing, no crowds. And that maybe—just maybe—the horses could do what words hadn’t managed so far.

Zeeb motioned to his truck. “The cabin isn’t here, it’s by the creek, and seeing as you have bags, we’d be better taking the truck the back way.

” He kept his voice soft and low, the way he’d talk to a new gelding in a stall for the first time.

“The cabin’s nothing fancy, but it’s yours while you’re here.

Nobody’ll bug you unless you want company. ”

Nate gave a sharp nod.

Still not talking much, huh? Zeeb didn’t miss the way his eyes darted from tree to barn to Zeeb’s hands, as though he was mapping for exits.

“You hungry?” Zeeb asked.

There was a second of hesitation. “I’ve got snacks,” Nate murmured.

“All right. There’s stew later if you change your mind. No pressure.” Zeeb smiled. “We do a lot of that here. The no-pressure thing.”

That got Nate’s gaze again, steadier this time. Not warm yet, but not afraid either.

“Throw your stuff in the back,” Zeeb instructed. He waited until Nate sat beside him before adding, “There’s another way to reach the cabin—on horseback—but we’ll leave that until you’ve decided which horse you wanna ride.” He turned the key and the truck spluttered to life.

“Are there a lot of horses?” Nate asked.

Zeeb chuckled. “Enough that you could ride a different one every day for the whole time you’re with us.”

Nate’s stomach growled, and he flushed. “You mentioned stew. Where do you eat?”

“In the bunkhouse, but don’t you worry none. I’ll bring your supper to you, and you can eat in the cabin. I’ll do that with all your meals.”

Nate said nothing for a moment. “When do I get to see the horses?”

“Tomorrow morning after breakfast. About that… I could introduce you to Paul Stormcloud—he’s the best horse whisperer you’ll ever see—and he could show you how to groom a horse, an’ get it ready to be ridden. That’s one option.”

“What’s option two?”

Zeeb smiled. “I show you instead. Your choice, Nate. And once you’re comfortable, if you wanna go off an’ draw or paint, I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” Only don’t let the boss know, because he’ll tear me a new one.

Zeeb wasn’t going to stick to Nate like glue, not now that he’d met him.

Give him space, and he’ll come to me if he needs anything.

He pulled up behind the cabin, got out, and grabbed Nate’s bags from the back of the truck. Zeeb led him around the side of the property, up the steps to the porch where two recently painted Adirondack chairs sat, and placed the bags on the wooden deck.

Zeeb handed Nate the key. “She’s got heat—and before you say anything, yes, it gets cold around here, even in July. The temperature can dip into the fifties, especially at night. The sheets are clean, and she comes with a great soundtrack.” He inclined his head toward the creek.

Nate took the small silver key, but he didn’t say thanks. Instead, he gave another nod and opened the door. He lingered in the doorway almost as though he didn’t quite trust it would stay open if he turned his back.

Zeeb waited, conscious of the feeling that despite the silence, Nate wasn’t done.

After a few seconds, Nate glanced over his shoulder at Zeeb.

“You really mean it?” he asked. The words came out as a croak.

“Mean what?”

“That you’ll leave me alone if I want.”

Zeeb met his gaze. “I will. But I won’t be far away. I’ll be right here—when you’re ready.”

Nate stared at him, long enough that Zeeb wanted to ask if Nate was okay.

In a voice so quiet it almost didn’t carry, Nate murmured, “That’s new.”

Then he picked up his bags, and the door closed behind him.

Zeeb stood on the porch a minute longer, listening to the creek bubbling over rocks, the pines swaying over his head.

Then he smiled.

“Well okay then. Welcome to Salvation.”