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10

AUbrEY

A sharp knock pulls me from another nightmare of ice and blood. I bolt upright, heart pounding, wincing at the bruised feeling on my side. I lift up the hem of my top to look at the ugly red mark near my ribs. That actually happened. A motherfucking wild horse attacked me last night, trying to take a chunk out of me like some rabid wolf.

And that wasn’t the only thing that happened , I remind myself, which makes me wince once more.

The door sounds again, louder now, just as my head begins to pound in unison. Of course, my hangover is starting to kick in.

I carefully slip out of bed and put on the robe, still a little damp on the shoulders from the falling snow of last night, and make my way to the door. I peer through the curtains and see Jensen on the other side, looking as gruff and handsome as ever.

“You’re burning daylight,” he says as I open the door, all business. No hint of last night in his voice, no acknowledgment of how his hands felt on my skin, how his mouth had?—

I shut that thought down hard.

“Storm’s cleared. Snow’s melting. Weather window looks good.” He gestures vaguely toward the mountains. “Time to get yourself ready. We’re heading out in an hour.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” His eyes meet mine briefly before sliding away. “The horse didn’t break skin, so you should be fine to ride. Though you might want to take some Advil.” He pauses, something passing in his gaze as if he’s reminding himself to care. “How are you feelin’?”

“Like I drank too much whiskey and got attacked by a rabid horse.” And then got fingered by a grumpy cowboy, but I keep that last part to myself.

“We can hold off on the trip if you want, give you another day to recover and get your head on straight.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m fine. We’re going.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says. “Not sure how long this latest weather window will hold. Best to take advantage while we can. See you at the barn in an hour.”

“I’ll be there,” I tell him, but he’s already stepping off the porch and heading to the barn.

I take a moment to watch him go and take in the surroundings. The sun is still behind the trees, but the air is soft and light, the sky a pale blue. Snow dusts the ground in the shadows, the eaves of the roofs dripping with melt. It’s hard to imagine what happened last night when everything feels so fresh and new this morning.

But it happened , I tell myself.

All of it did.

I just can’t make heads or tails of it.

I shake my head and start getting ready. My reflection in the bathroom mirror looks tired but determined. At least I’d had the presence of mind to stop things before they went too far last night. The last thing I need is to complicate this mission with sex, no matter how tempting Jensen might be when he’s got me pressed against a wall, his mouth hot on my neck, strong fingers pumping into my?—

Focus, Wells.

But the problem is, if I’m not thinking about Jensen, I’m thinking about that wild horse. He had said that some of them are pretty feral in the area, but despite my fear of them (which is now at an all-time high), I know enough about horses to know that it wasn’t acting like a normal wild horse would. For starters, wild horses are prey animals, which means they’ll run away from predators at the drop of a hat, and like it or not, humans are predators. A horse would only act in such a vicious and violent way if it was defending itself, its family or the herd as a whole and that’s not what happened last night. Last night that horse was alone and it found me. It came for me. It’s like it was…hunting me.

Didn’t help that its eyes were so unusually blue.

Unnaturally blue.

I shiver at the thought and dress quickly in layers—tank top, thermal shirt, flannel, my most comfortable jeans and a suede and shearling jacket. Everything practical, nothing that would betray what I really am. My gun is still safely hidden in my duffle, zipped at the bottom. I check it quickly, making sure the magazine is full, before repacking it carefully.

Time to see if the riding lesson was worth it.

The crew is already mounted when I reach the barn, their horses stamping impatiently in the morning chill. Jensen sits tall on his horse, Jeopardy, a handsome dark dapple grey gelding with a long salt and pepper mane. Jensen looks every inch the seasoned tracker in his worn leather jacket and dark hat pulled low. He barely glances my way as I approach.

“About time, city girl,” Red drawls from atop his paint horse. “Thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“Not a chance, country boy.” I adjust my duffle strap on my shoulder, trying to appear casual even as my heart rate picks up. Duke is already saddled, waiting patiently beside a stocky mule laden with supplies.

“That’s Angus,” Eli says, noticing my glance at the mule. “He’ll carry our gear. Here, I’ll take your bag.”

“No!” I step back, then try to cover my reaction with a laugh. “I mean, I’d rather keep some things with me. If that’s okay.”

Jensen’s eyes narrow slightly but he doesn’t comment. Instead he dismounts in one fluid motion and approaches Duke’s side.

“You remember how to mount up?” he asks, voice professionally distant. As if his hands hadn’t been all over me last night.

“I think I can manage.” I place the duffel on the ground and move to Duke’s left side, trying to ignore how my muscles protest. The bruise on my side throbs as I get my foot in the stirrup.

“Your bag will throw off your balance,” Cole says from his perch on a massive black gelding. “Better let Angus carry it.”

“He’s right,” Jensen says quietly. “You’re still learning. Can’t risk a fall in the mountains.”

I hesitate, hand on the pommel.

“Fine.” I nod at it on the ground. “But handle it gently. I’ve got some…personal items in there. Lady stuff.”

Jensen takes the bag and secures it to Angus’s pack, thankfully not commenting on “lady stuff.” When he turns back, his expression is all business.

“Mount up. I want us set up and settled at the campsite while there’s still light.”

This time I manage to get into the saddle without help, though I wouldn’t have minded Jensen’s strong hands on me again…

Duke shifts from underneath, bringing me back to the present. I need to keep focused on riding in one piece. Thoughts about last night are too distracting, whether it’s Jensen or the rabid horse attack. Though I’m actually amazed that it hasn’t brought my fear of horses back.

We head out single file, Jensen and Jeopardy in the lead, followed by Eli, then me on Duke, with Red, Cole, and Hank bringing up the rear. Angus plods along beside Hank, the supplies creaking with each step. My duffle bag is secured near the top of his pack, and I have to stop myself from glancing back at it more than once, since I know that will only draw suspicion.

The morning is crisp and clear, the storm having swept away the humidity, leaving the air sharp enough to hurt my lungs. We take a dirt road that winds through stands of ponderosa pine, their trunks still wet from the snowmelt, bark gleaming like copper in the early light. Patches of snow linger still in the shadows.

“We’ll hit the trail proper in about twenty minutes,” Jensen calls back. “Cuts through public and private land, keeps us away from the vacation homes.”

Already I notice that Jensen is constantly scanning the tree line, the ground, looking for signs of…something. Even though logic says any trace of Lainey would be long gone after three years, he studies the landscape like he expects to find fresh tracks.

The road is wide so I nudge Duke forward until I’ve passed Eli and am riding beside Jensen. “You always this observant?” I ask. “Or are you actually seeing something?”

His eyes don’t leave the trail. “Track long enough, you learn to read the land. Everything leaves a mark. Everything tells a story.”

“And what story are you reading already?”

He’s quiet for a moment, then points to a fallen log as we pass by. “See those marks? Bear. Recent. Probably within the last day.” His finger shifts to a grove of yellow aspen. “See how the grass is slightly flattened? Deer bed down there regularly. Good to know where the prey animals gather. Tells you where the predators might be.”

I study the forest with new eyes, trying to see what he sees. But all I notice is how the golden aspen leaves shiver in the breeze, how the mountains loom closer with each step, their peaks frosted white and formidable.

We ride in silence for a while and I do my best to not think about last night. Every now and then I catch him looking at me before he averts his gaze and I have to wonder if he’s doing the same thing.

He clears his throat. “Trail gets rough up ahead as we go over a rise. Better fall back in line.”

I do as he says, dropping behind Eli again, slightly proud of myself for being able to maneuver Duke so easily. Maybe this horseback riding thing won’t be so bad.

The trail grows steeper as we climb, winding through dense forest that seems to close in around us, blotting out the sun even as it rises higher in the sky. My thighs start to burn and Duke’s breathing has grown heavy beneath me, his sides expanding with each labored breath. Eventually the pine give way to aspen again and the sun filters through the canopy in dappled patterns, shifting and dancing across the forest floor as we start to descend the rise. I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been riding—time seems to stretch and compress strangely here.

Just when I think I can’t take another minute in the saddle, Jensen raises his hand, bringing our small caravan to a halt. The sudden stop sends relief flooding through my aching muscles.

“We’ll make camp there,” he says, nodding toward a small clearing nestled between pines. “Donner Creek’s just beyond those trees. The fresh water will be good for cooking and cleaning and letting the horses drink, but don’t drink any yourself unless it’s been boiled first and treated with a purification tablet.”

I can hear it now that we’ve stopped—the distant, steady murmur of rushing water, a constant whisper beneath the sighing of the wind through the pines. The sound is both soothing and somehow melancholy, like a half-forgotten lullaby.

“Yes, Dad,” Cole jokes and we ride our horses along until we’ve stopped in the clearing.

Red dismounts with a grunt. “Good spot, McGraw. Sheltered from the wind.”

I watch as the others swing down from their horses, trying to memorize their movements so I won’t look completely incompetent. Jensen dismounts from Jeopardy with practiced ease, his boots landing softly on the needle-strewn ground. When he turns to help me, I shake my head, determined to manage on my own.

Sliding off Duke turns out to be more complicated than I anticipated. My legs, stiff from the day’s ride, buckle slightly as I hit the ground. I grab the saddle to steady myself, hoping no one noticed.

“First full day is always the hardest,” Eli says kindly as he passes, leading his horse toward a sturdy pine where Cole is already setting up a picket line. “You’ll find your riding legs soon enough. You did good.”

I stretch discreetly, trying to work feeling back into my lower body while taking in our surroundings. The clearing is small but level, ringed by towering pines that provide natural shelter. Patches of snow still linger in the shadowed areas, though the ground where we stand is mostly dry. The air is cooler here than it was at the ranch, carrying the crisp scent of pine and the earthy musk of thawing soil, but the sun feels warm on my face.

Jensen is already unpacking gear from Angus, distributing bundles of equipment and tents with quiet efficiency. My duffle bag sits among the supplies, and I feel a twinge of anxiety knowing my gun is still hidden inside, far from my reach.

“You know how to set up a tent?” Jensen asks, holding out a bundle of nylon and aluminum poles.

“Of course.” The lie comes easily. How hard can it be?

He studies me for a moment, one eyebrow raised skeptically, before dropping the tent at my feet. “Good. Set it up over there, where the ground’s level. You’ll want the rain fly, even though the sky’s clear. Temperature drops fast up here after sundown and you never know when clouds will move in.”

I take the bundle, trying to project confidence I don’t feel. This is a test, isn’t it?

As I move toward the spot he indicated, I notice Jensen circling the perimeter of our campsite, studying the ground with that intense focus I’m beginning to recognize. He pauses at the edge of the clearing, crouching to examine something in the dirt that’s invisible to my untrained eye.

“Found something?” Cole calls out, busy securing the horses and untacking them.

Jensen straightens, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Just old tracks. Real old.”

But there’s something in his voice that makes me wonder. Something that says he’s seeing more than he’s telling. I watch him continue his circuit of the clearing, moving with ease missing nothing.

“Your sister ever mention camping in this area?” Eli asks, appearing beside me with another tent. He sets to work assembling it with practiced movements that make my fumbling attempts look pathetic by comparison.

“No,” I say, remembering that it was only Jensen and I that talked about Lainey and the route in detail. “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

Eli nods thoughtfully. “Jensen mentioned her obsession.”

Ah, so I guess he does know.

“This is a good place to start,” he goes on, looking around. “Just over there is the wagon road from 1863. Donner trail intersected with it at places even though they were made at different times. Just following the natural lay of the land. A lot of pioneers passed through here. Any Donner buff would find themselves in this area.”

I glance toward Jensen, who’s now examining the base of a massive pine at the edge of the clearing. “You know your history as much as he does.”

“He knows better than most,” Eli agrees, his voice dropping slightly. “These mountains…they speak to some people. Call to them.” He looks up at me, his expression unreadable. “Your sister might have heard that call too.”

Before I can reply, Red saunters over, dropping an armload of firewood beside us.

“Best get that tent up before dark,” he drawls, eyeing my pitiful progress. “Unless you fancy sleeping under the stars. Course, it’s supposed to drop below freezing tonight.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “But I’m sure Jensen would keep you warm.”

Heat rises to my cheeks. Dear god, none of them know what happened between last night, do they?

“I’ll manage,” I say stiffly.

Red chuckles. “Well, if he doesn’t, I will.”

I glare at him as Eli gives him a dirty look. “Can it, Red.”

Red laughs again, leering at me before he moves away.

“Ignore him,” Eli says, then nods at my tent. “You sure you don’t need help?”

“Positive,” I tell him. He nods and starts putting together the fire, leaving me to wrestle with the poles and fabric that seem determined to tangle into impossible knots.

The sun is starting to sink behind the mountains, casting long shadows across our clearing, the temperature is already dropping. A wind kicks up, carrying the bite of snow and the haunting sound of the creek beyond the trees.

After ten frustrating minutes with the hot mess of a tent, I’m ready to admit defeat when a pair of weathered hands takes it from me.

“Like this,” Jensen says quietly, deftly unfolding the bewildering array of poles. “Corners first, then cross-sections.”

I watch as he transforms the chaos into a functional shelter in less than two minutes, his movements economical and precise. There’s no judgment in his face, just calm focus.

“Thank you,” I manage, trying not to feel completely useless. “I went camping a few times when I was young but my dad did everything for me.”

He manages a wry grin. “We had very different dads.” He secures the last stake, then points toward the creek. “There’s a game trail through those pines. Leads to a good spot for filling water bottles at the creek.” He hands me a metal canteen from his pack. “We’ll need fresh water for cooking. I’d go with you, but I need to check the perimeter before dark.”

“At least I can handle filling water bottles.”

His eyes meet mine, serious now. “Stay within earshot of camp. Follow the trail, don’t wander. Five minutes, then back.”

“I’m not a child, Jensen.”

“No,” he agrees, his voice dropping slightly, growing rough. “You’re definitely not that.”

Something in his tone makes my pulse quicken. I take the canteen and turn toward the trees, feeling his eyes on me as I walk away.

The game trail is narrow but clear, winding between ancient pines whose branches interlock overhead like gnarled fingers. The forest floor is springy with decades of fallen needles, muffling my footsteps. As I move deeper into the trees, the sound of the creek grows louder, though I still can’t see it through the dense undergrowth.

The air feels different here, heavier somehow, charged with something I can’t name. I find myself moving slower, more cautiously, attuned to every snapping twig and rustling leaf. The rational part of my brain knows it’s just normal forest sounds, but something more primal whispers caution, similar to the feeling I had last night before the horse appeared.

I’m almost to the creek when I spot it—a small cairn of stacked stones, too deliberate to be natural. Seven smooth river rocks balanced in decreasing size, the top one barely larger than a marble. It reminds me of something Lainey used to do on our childhood hikes, marking special places she wanted to remember.

My heart beats faster as I crouch to examine it. The stones are old, covered in lichen, but the structure itself looks relatively recent. Someone has maintained it, kept it from toppling.

I’m reaching out to touch it when a twig snaps behind me.

I whirl, nearly dropping the canteen, to find Jensen standing a few paces away. The fading light catches in his eyes, making them gleam in the gathering dusk.

“Distracted already?” he says, voice low.

“I was just?—”

“It’ll be dark soon.” He cuts me off, moving past me toward the sound of water. “Creek’s this way.”

I follow him through a final stand of trees to where Donner Creek cuts through the forest—wider and wilder than I expected, tumbling over moss-covered boulders in a rush of white water and spray. The banks are steep here, lined with smooth stones that gleam darkly in the fading light.

Jensen crouches at the edge, filling his own canteen with practiced efficiency. I kneel beside him, mimicking his movements, acutely aware of his proximity.

“Did you see the cairn back there?” I ask, voice nearly lost in the rush of water.

He doesn’t look up. “I saw it.”

“Could Lainey have built it?”

Now he does look at me, his expression unreadable in the gathering darkness. “Nah. Nothing stays like that here for three years. Could have been anyone. Hikers. Hunters.” He caps his canteen with a decisive twist. “Time to head back. I’ll get Cole to fill the buckets later.”

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” I blurt out.

He exhales through his nose and brings his eyes to mine. His gaze is so intense I feel pinned in place. “Didn’t know it was on the agenda.”

“I just…” I begin, needing to look away from his stare. “I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

“Between us ?” he repeats. “Don’t think there is quite an us, Ms. Wells.”

Oh, well fuck. Now I feel like an idiot. My cheeks immediately flame. “What I meant was, this client, uh, tracker thing we have going on. I know that last night I wasn’t in my right frame of mind. I’d been drinking, I was scared, I didn’t want for any lines to get crossed.”

He leans in closer, his mouth parting open, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “But you wanted that line to be crossed, didn’t you?”

I gulp. “In the moment, yes.”

“Do you want it crossed in this moment?” he asks, voice becoming gruffer. “Because I’m pretty good at it.”

“I can see that,” I whisper.

“Just so you know where I’m coming from,” he says, rising to his feet. He offers his hand to help me up, and after a moment’s hesitation, I take it. “You can always blame in on being attacked by a horse. If you want a way out.”

His palm is warm and calloused against mine. Strong. For a moment, neither of us lets go.

Then he steps back, breaking the contact. “Better head back. Stay close.”

Back at the clearing, the others have a fire going, the flames casting flickering shadows across our small encampment. The tents form a rough semicircle around the fire pit, with the horses secured at the opposite end of the clearing. The scent of coffee mingles with woodsmoke, unexpectedly homey in this wild place, even though I’d never get away with having caffeine at night.

I settle on a fallen log that has been dragged near the fire, grateful for the warmth as night falls. The forest seems to press closer in the darkness, the spaces between trees filled with deeper shadows. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of movement at the edge of the firelight—probably just branches swaying in the breeze that’s picking up, but my imagination supplies more ominous possibilities.

“Hungry?” Eli asks, offering me a tin mug of something steaming.

I accept it gratefully, wrapping my hands around the warmth. The rich scent of beef stew rises from the mug, making my stomach growl. I hadn’t realized how famished I was until now.

Jensen takes a seat on the opposite side of the fire, his features sharp and mysterious in the dancing light. He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel his awareness like a physical thing, stretching between us through the smoke and flame.

I’m pretty good at crossing lines.

Yeah, he sure fucking is.

As night deepens, conversation dwindles. Red takes first watch, disappearing into the darkness beyond our camp with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Something about making sure no bears approach our site since they can be prevalent this time of year. Cole and Hank turn in early, while Eli stays by the fire, whittling something from a piece of pine with methodical strokes of his knife. Jensen tends to the horses and mule.

I should be exhausted, but sleep feels impossible with the weight of unspoken things hanging in the air. The creek’s constant murmur filters through the trees, sometimes sounding almost like whispered words. I think of last night and my pulse quickens, the way it truly sounded like my sister was calling me. Why did I step outside into a snowstorm like I did? Why did the horse attack me?

And then stop?

When I finally retreat to my tent, I lie awake listening to the forest sounds—the pop and hiss of the dying fire, the soft whicker of horses dreaming, the endless whisper of Donner Creek in the darkness.

And beneath it all, a deeper silence, watchful and waiting.

Jensen’s tent is only a few feet from mine. I try not to think about him lying there in the darkness, try not to remember the warmth of his hand or the intensity in his eyes when he looked at me. When he asked me if I wanted the lines crossed again.

Try not to wonder what other secrets he’s keeping, and whether finding them out will destroy us both.

Or if something in these mountains will get to me first.