Page 9 of Huckleberry Hill (Saddles & Spurs #1)

Chapter Eight

The Ranch

The next morning, I woke up with the sun. I hadn’t set an alarm—I didn’t need to. Something about being home had my inner clock functioning like I’d never left.

I got up and quietly padded downstairs, not wanting to wake my grandmother and father. I’d told Muddy before going to bed that I’d feed the chickens and collect the eggs.

As the coffee gurgled into the carafe, I watched from the kitchen window as the morning rays gilded the mountainside.

I took out my phone from my pocket and snapped a photo. I sent it to the group chat.

Poet’s reply was almost instant.

Poet

Your morning view is better than my morning view. I saw a homeless guy throw up on the train.

Wyn

How did you ever leave that place?

Salem

She had to follow me to make sure I didn’t lose any limbs.

Smiling, I put my phone away and poured myself a cup of coffee. I splashed heavy cream into the cup, and then I went outside onto the back porch to sit in the silence of the early morning.

I nuzzled down into my coat, my cold fingers wrapping around the hot mug.

The back door creaked open, followed by the clod of heavy boots. Dad took the chair next to me. He wore a down vest, but his flannel shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular forearms.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“So are you.”

“I’m always up early,” he pointed out.

“I’m falling back into the old rhythm,” I said with a smile. “After I feed the chickens and collect the eggs, I’m going to muck out the stalls and wash the saddle blankets.”

“It’s like you never left.” He lifted his black coffee to his lips.

I paused. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t.”

“It’s good you left,” he said. “It’s good to experience different things in life. So you know what you’re coming back to.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I murmured.

“Are you missing New York?”

“It’s only my second day of being home,” I said with a laugh.

“So?”

I sighed. “I miss this place when I leave it. When I’m in New York, I have this . . . this aching feeling for the Ridge. I’ve always felt that way.”

“I’m glad you’re home. I am,” he said and then fell silent.

“But? There’s a but just waiting to come out.”

“ However,” Dad grinned, but it slipped. “I don’t want you to . . . hide here. You get what I mean?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I get what you mean.” I took a sip of coffee. “I don’t think I miss New York. Poet texted that she saw a homeless man throw up on the train. Who would miss that?”

“There are other things to love about a big city.”

“Really,” I drawled. “Like what?”

His brow furrowed. “Fine, I’m the wrong person to talk to about the pros and cons of city life.”

“I miss my friends,” I admitted. “I miss Salem. I miss our tiny eclectic apartment and the four of us running around a city trying to make our dreams come true. I miss the random nights when all four of us happen to be home and we sit on the floor and drink wine and eat cheese. That, I miss. That, I can see myself missing if I . . .”

“If you what?”

“If I don’t go back,” I admitted. “Do I have to go back?”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“But like you said, I can’t stay here and hide. And what am I going to do the rest of my life? Live and work on the ranch?”

“You would’ve done that if you hadn’t followed Salem to New York,” he pointed out. “You’ve been in New York for five years, honey. That’s long enough to know if a place is good for you or not.”

I tapped the rim of my mug. “I’m not like them. Salem, Poet, Wyn . . . they love New York. They thrive there. To me, it’s just . . . exhausting.”

I looked away from my father and stared out over the land.

“I can’t breathe there,” I said quietly. “And I think I lied to myself that I could.”

“So, again, maybe this is a silver lining from your breakup?”

“Yeah maybe. How can it be, though? Home for barely two days and I’m feeling more stable than I have in months.”

“You said it: home . This is your home. This will always be your home. This place is in your blood.”

“Salem’s my home, too,” I pointed out.

“You’re allowed to choose yourself,” he said. “You’re allowed to be happy.”

I looked at him. “What about you, Dad? Are you happy?”

“Am I happy,” he repeated. “Million-dollar question, huh? I get to wake up every day doing what I love. One of my daughters came home. Now, if we could get your sister here, I’d want for nothing.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask about his romantic life, but if I didn’t want him prying into mine, I couldn’t be a hypocrite and pry into his. So, I kept my thoughts to myself.

“I’d love it if Salem came home to stay. And if I’m honest about it, I’d love it if she brought Poet and Wyn and the four of us lived here forever.” I smiled. “You’d love that wouldn’t you?”

“I would, yeah.” Dad grinned back. “You four would cause a ruckus. Shake up this little town for sure.”

“You make it sound like we’re living Footloose ,” I said with a laugh.

“I saw that musical,” Dad drawled. “When your high school put it on, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” I laughed.

Two boys had gotten into a fight over Salem. Fists went flying and one of them had gone through the set piece. The curtain had come down early.

“What’s even more hilarious is that the school let her be in the musical the next year despite the chaos she created,” I said.

“It’s endearing chaos, apparently.”

I stood up. “I bet the chickens are hungry.”

“Probably,” he said, also rising. “I’m going to check on the new mare. She’s due to give birth any day now.”

“I was going to take Goldie out for a ride. Is that okay?” I asked.

He frowned. “Of course that’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“Because she’s Mom’s horse.”

Dad’s eyes softened. “And she would love nothing more than for you to ride her. I sure as hell don’t ride her enough.”

Or at all .

He couldn’t bring himself to.

“Goldie needs some spoiling,” Dad said. “It’s good you’re home to do it. Just do me a favor. Don’t ride the trails alone. Not until we have a handle on the bear situation.”

“Any sighting of it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. Nothing on the trail cams either.”

The mention of trail cams made me think of Declan and the cup of coffee he’d offered me yesterday morning. I never did return his mug.

“To the chicken coop,” I stated.

I kissed my father’s cheek and then I headed inside. I set my half-drunk cup of coffee into the sink, grabbed Declan’s mug from the dish drain, and went out front.

The ranch was stirring to life. I waved to the few men I saw on horseback who were riding the opposite direction of the house, no doubt to check on fences and the grazing livestock.

I marched up to the guest cabin and knocked on the door. There was no answer, but I knew Declan was home because his muddy cowboy boots were lined up next to the welcome mat.

I knocked again, louder this time. When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer the door, I decided to leave the mug on his doormat. I was just setting it down when the door opened—my gaze immediately meeting a pair of bare shins.

My eyes traveled upward to take in a wet, nearly naked Declan who was currently wearing nothing but a towel.

A towel and a smirk.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hi ya, bear snack.” His smirk widened.

“Aren’t you cold?” I blurted out.

“Hmm. Getting there. Come on in.”

“Oh, that’s not?—”

“You were pounding on my door, so clearly it was something important. Come in and I’ll get dressed.”

I wish you wouldn’t .

I scooped up the mug and followed Declan into the cabin, closing the door behind me. He turned and went toward the bedroom, giving me a view of his sculpted back and damp skin.

“I brought your mug,” I called out to him.

“Thanks. You can set it on the counter.”

I wandered farther into the cabin, noting the lack of clutter or personal belongings—no photographs, no knickknacks.

“So, I’m gonna go,” I said.

“Hang on, I’m almost done changing.”

“The chickens really need their breakfast.”

He popped out of the bedroom, buttoning up his flannel shirt. Declan was barefoot and for some reason I found that incredibly endearing.

“You’re going to the feed the chickens?” Declan asked.

I nodded.

“I’ll walk with you.”

“Why?” I asked with a frown.

“Why what?” Declan asked.

“Why do you want to walk with me?”

“Because we’re friends,” he said. “But I gotta say, the way you were looking at me, wasn’t a just friends look.”

“I didn’t expect you to answer the door in a towel.” My cheeks heated.

“It’s barely seven in the morning,” he said. “How did you expect me to answer the door?” When I didn’t reply, he went on, “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You sleep okay?” he asked.

“I slept fine.”

Nodding, he ducked back into the bedroom. “Socks.”

“Socks, right.”

“Speaking of socks, which pair are you wearing?”

“The ones with the donuts,” I said, fighting a smile.

“Cute.”

He came back out and sat on the couch to put on his socks. “I didn’t expect you to be up this early.”

“Habit,” I stated. “But also, my sleep is erratic from the time difference.”

“You woke up this early in New York? Well, of course you did. The horse stables.”

I blinked. “Yeah. That’s right.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You like it, though. Getting up super early. Maybe before the sun is even up. When it’s just you and a cup of coffee. And the silence.”

I held up my hands. “You have me figured out.”

Declan smiled. “I imagine it’s hard to find a quiet moment in a city of eight million people.”

“Eight point three,” I remarked.

“That’s insane.”

“You said it.”

He got up from the couch and went to the hook on the wall that had his jacket on it. He threw it on, grabbed his felt cowboy hat, and gestured for the door.

I stood on the porch as he pulled on his boots. “So I guess that means you don’t like big cities?”

“I don’t even like big towns that could fall into the category of small cities,” he explained.

We headed in the direction of the chicken coop, our jackets brushing every now and again.

“Where did you grow up?” I asked.

“Bonner’s Ferry.”

“Ah. So you’re basically Canadian,” I joked.

He laughed. “Thirty minutes from British Columbia. It was closer to go there than to look for trouble in Coeur d’Alene.”

“You like trouble,” I concluded. “Shocker.”

“I ride a motorcycle and worked the rodeo, and now I wrangle cattle for a living. Did you really think I wasn’t trouble?” He flashed me a flirty grin.

“I’m not looking for trouble.”

“You look like you could use some trouble,” he said. “Besides, I’m the good kind of trouble.”

“Innuendos begone.” I waved my hand at him.

“Innuendos? Get your mind out of the gutter, Hadley.” He shot me a wink that had my cheeks burning.

We arrived at the chicken coop and Declan picked up the basket hanging on the fence and handed it to me. I took it and he opened the latch of the gate. After he stepped in behind me, he closed it.

“You’re such a flirt,” I accused, maneuvering around the chickens to the back of the coop.

“Guilty. So, if you’re not into trouble, what are you into?”

“Sitting at home, having a bottle of wine, eating charcuterie.”

“What the hell is charcuterie?”

I began to collect the eggs while Declan filled the trough feeders with grain. “Charcuterie are cured meats.”

“You spelled barbecue wrong.”

“Let me guess, you’re also into mircobrews?”

“Mock all you want, but microbrews are actually good.”

I bit my lip as I looked at a green egg before setting it gently in the basket. “Have you been to the Copper Mule yet?”

“No. What’s the Copper Mule?”

“The town’s only bar and local microbrewery,” I said.

“I’ll have to check it out.” He gestured with his chin at the basket in my hands. “How’s the haul?”

“Pretty good. We’ve got happy hens. Thanks for feeding them.”

He opened the gate and held it for me. “No problem.”

We both stood at the coop, neither of us making a move to go about our day.

“So I’ll see you later, I guess,” he said.

“Sure.” I nodded.

“Okay.” Declan turned in the direction of the stables.

“Declan?” I called out.

He stopped walking and turned. “Yeah?”

“I was going to go for a ride this afternoon,” I said. “Dad doesn’t want me on the trail alone until the bear thing is resolved. Would you, maybe, want to?—”

“I’d like that,” he said, a smile blooming across his face. “Four o’clock?”

I nodded.

He winked. “It’s a date.”