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“Explain it to me then.”
“It’s simple. Here, sit with me.” Taking a seat on a bench, Tanner held her hand in his lap. “This is gonna require a little history lesson.”
Huddled against him, he watched her take in the idyllic surroundings. Gas lampposts. Colorful awnings and storefront windows on buildings that had stood for more than a century. Towering pines. The Absaroka peaks.
In this place, where everyone knows everyone, Arien turned heads. Catching a glimpse of the daughter of Matthew’s new wife, townsfolk tipped their heads in greeting, whispering amongst each other as they passed.
Hazel eyes glanced up at him. “I’m listening.”
“The mountain men came first. It was 1841 when the first wagon train pioneered the Oregon Trail all the way to the Pacific Northwest. Then the Mormons traveled to Utah in 1847. It was about that same time, the Brooks family went west too. The plan was California, but they didn’t make it that far. Their journey ended here in Wyoming. None of this was the United States then. Hell, it wasn’t even a territory yet. But they, and the other families who left the trail with them, pooled their resources and worked together to make a life here.”
Maybe she loved history as much as he did, or more so his telling of it. He liked to think it was the latter. Regardless, with her gaze riveted on him, he knew he had her attention.
“In 1862, Congress passed the Homestead Act and everyone got a hundred and sixty acres of free land. The original settlers, then their children, and every person who came of age thereafter, staked their claim—until 1906 anyway. They combined all of that land and here we are.”
“Half a million acres.”
“That’s right.” He gently tapped her on the nose. “And every person who lives here either came from or married into one of those families. Understand now?”
“Kind of. Explains why you aren’t the big shits, I guess.”
“Can’t live on cows alone.” Pulling Arien up from the bench to walk with him, Tanner chuckled. “It’s pretty isolated up here, in case you haven’t noticed. We’ve always had to provide for ourselves. So the doctor and the farmer, the rancher and the teacher, the shopkeeper, everyone…”
“…does their part. Equal share.” Pausing her footsteps, she looked up at him with a smirk, hair dancing around her face in the cold wind.
“Good girl.” He tucked a wayward strand behind her ear. “You were listening.”
“So the doctor is fine getting the same share as the farmer?”
“We all gotta eat.”
“Well, yeah. I see your point, and while that might work in a perfect world…”
Tanner was well-aware how things worked on the other side of the gate. The world out there wasn’t Eden and never would be. But they were different and the life they shared here was a beautiful and wondrous gift.
“Brookside must be as perfect as it gets then.” He resumed walking. “Because it works.”
Opening her eyes, the rough-hewn beams above her slowly came into focus. It was early, morning mist swirling outside her window, like the inside of a cloud. Well, they were nine thousand feet in the sky, so maybe it was.
She should get out of bed. Help her mom with the turkey—make that turkeys—apparently one wasn’t enough around here, but then she’d seen firsthand just how much food her stepbrothers could eat. It was warm beneath the covers, though, so she was loath to leave them. Even the dog, cozy by the fire, his paws in the air, didn’t stir.
Crazy dog. How do you sleep like that?
Snuggling into the soft goose-down, Arien scanned her sumptuous bedroom. Rustic, but feminine, simple, yet luxurious—at least to her—she could imagine photographing it for a magazine. Textured walls washed in a pretty sage green. A blush faux-fur throw at the foot of her bed. Pillows covered in velvets, linens, and silks. The stone surrounding the fireplace extended to a corner reading nook. It was the eclectic mix of elements, textiles, and colors that created the gorgeous aesthetic.
Never mind being torn away from Denver, she should be happy to be living here, right? And for the most part she was. Her stepfather was more than good to her, and he sure loved her mom a whole lot. Melinda Brooks—who insisted Arien call her Grams like everyone else did—and Matthew’s sister, Kim, and her daughter, Emily, had been especially warm, welcoming her into the fold. By the time they finished with supper on Sunday, it felt as if she’d been around them her entire life. And her stepbrothers. She should be thanking her lucky stars they weren’t total assholes.
Okay, Kellan could be a prick sometimes. That boy ran hot and cold. So darn confusing. One minute he’d be glaring at her, all steely and sullen, then the next, especially if he thought she wasn’t looking, it was something else entirely. His dark eyes would grow darker, features softening, as he studied her.
And Tanner? He was wrong. Tough-guy exterior with his bulging biceps and a sleeve of tattoos, that boy was six feet of beautiful sweetness. Gentle bear hugs and forehead kisses. He was her new best friend, not Emily. And today was his birthday.
Arien wasn’t sure what to get him. She’d gone back to town with Matthew and her mom, perusing the upscale shops on Main Street, which was strange in and of itself. Brookside wasn’t Aspen or Telluride—or even Jackson Hole. All their customers lived here, right? This was a ranching town, for fuck’s sake, yet all the stores seemed to cater to expensive tastes.
It was then she took a closer look at the town, and the people around her. Everyone appeared to be exceptionally content and extraordinarily beautiful, from the oldest man to the youngest child. The vehicles parked along the square were all showy and new. Not an old Ford pickup in sight.
So odd.
And if that wasn’t weird enough, no money exchanged hands. No cash registers. No credit cards swiped. Nothing. She got Tanner’s gift and the clerk all but laughed at her when she pulled out her card to pay for it.
