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Then the text disappears, replaced by an incoming call. From Tate.

Shit.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Did you check her cabin?” Tate asks immediately.

“I’m there right now. Was bringing her lunch over so she wouldn’t have to walk in the rain.” I feel like an idiot saying it out loud. I almost mention that it was basically Hank’s idea before Tate cuts me off.

“Shit, is she out in the storm right now?”

“I don’t know, I mean—”

“I’m on the other side of the ranch with the main herd,” Tate interjects. “If you’re near her cabin, that’s most likely where she started.” His voice goes a bit fuzzy at the end of his sentence. The storm’s probably interfering with the service—which isn’t great up here to start with.

Fuck. Fucking fuck. Of course this is landing on me. “You want me to go look for her.” It’s not a question. Because I know the answer.

“Let me know when you find her.”

The call ends.

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. Great. Assistant foreman—best job on the ranch some might say—and here I am about to go traipsing through the rain after a twenty-something who apparently can’t read a weather app.

It only takes me about ten minutes to drive back down to the Village and saddle up one of the nearby horses. Although it would be more comfortable—not to mentiondry—to go searching for her in the truck, most of the trails on the ranch aren’t accessible by vehicle. Meaning I’ll be faster and more efficient on a horse.

Lucky me.

I spur the horse into a run, back up to Addison’s cabin, and then enter the trails nearby. I ride through the rain in wet, grim determination, stopping every once in a while to call Addison’s name. I can cover ground pretty quickly on a horse, and assuming she stuck to the trails, she must’ve gotten pretty far out since I haven’t comeacross her yet. Was she hiking all fucking morning? She doesn’t seem the type.

Anxiety is starting to creep in. Did she wander off the trail? Could she be hurt?

But just as my panic starts to spiral, I catch sight of something through the downpour—a flash of bright pink.

That could only mean one thing.

I slow my horse to a trot, breathing a sigh of relief as Addison comes into view over the hill. She’s stalking through the rain—wearing those goddamn pink cowgirl boots again—her arms crossed, her hair and clothes completely soaking.

“Addison!” I call, and she turns, squinting through the rain. At first, she looks relieved, and then something else flashes across her face. Something akin to recognition, disappointment, and resolve.

She purses her lips, turning back around and continuing her walk.

What is she doing?

I slow the horse to a walk, moving up beside her, staring down at her under the brim of my sopping wet cowboy hat. “Where are you going?” I yell.

“Back to my cabin!” she yells back.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

She stops. Doesn’t look at me. Simply stands there, arms crossed, chest heaving. She’s blinking the rain out of her eyes, practically gasping for breath. I give her a once over. She’s dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. A white t-shirt that is … completely see-through right now. I can see the straps of a white bra underneath it, and I wonder if that’s just as translucent as the shirt. I can’t quite tell from my angle.

I immediately shake my head. Jesus. Not the time.

“Get on the horse,” I tell her.

Now she looks at me, and in her eyes is full-on rage.

“What?” I snap, taken aback.