Page 3 of Thaw My Heart

The ranch is full of workers, around thirty, but people were always coming and going as the seasons ended. For her to live on the lands of the ranch, she has to be a new recruit. Someone hand-picked by my uncle. Someone who’s planning to stay for a while, or at least until after calving season.

“So she’s working at Lone Pine?”

Ernest nods. “She’s a cowgirl. And very charming, you’ll like her, Kit.”

“Don’t think so.” I glance at the sign behind the bar that reads No Smoking, wishing I could light one up to take away the stress. A new neighbor and a new cowgirl are not what I need today.

“Are you coming to the tree decorating ceremony this year?” Ernest asks with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “It’s on Christmas Eve.”

The annual Christmas tree decorating ceremony, where the entire city gathers around in the town square to see the monstrosity of a tree light up the night. I grew up attending every year, and it’s always the same. A four-hour nightmare of hot cocoa, Christmas carolers, and handmade markets selling all kinds of goods. Since I’ve returned home, I’ve avoided the celebration, and I’ll continue to avoid it like my life depends on it, because it does.

“Yeah, I know when it is,” I gruff.

Ernest laughs. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

The trailer behind my truck is free of hay when I walk back out of the bar, and not a single person is in sight. I hop in and light up a cigarette before taking off into the setting sun. Enjoying the forty-five-minute drive back to the ranch, weaving through dense forests that curve around Pine River, crossing the old steel bridge, until finally reaching the threshold into Lone Pine Ranch territory.

Vast golden fields surround me. Snowcapped mountains line the horizon, breathtaking as always. Lone Pine is the largest grass-fed beef cattle ranch in Northern Montana. Surrounded by tall pine trees, mountainous views with little rivers running through beautiful open land untouched by human hands.

Smoke rolls around in the air as I lose myself in thought, enraptured by the view. A herd of elk grazes near the edge of the forest. Soft pastel colors of pink and orange fill the never-ending sky. The sunsets around here never disappoint. It’s called “Big Sky Country” for a reason.

A long gravel driveway points towards my house. A home I renovated two years ago. It used to look similar to the old cottage next door, which is now glowing with life.

Looks like my unwanted neighbor has arrived.

Loud music fills the crisp air as I jump out of my truck. Frustration makes my hands clench. A vein pops out in my neck. I don’t want any neighbors, and my damn Uncle knows that. Something I specifically told him two years ago when I agreed to come work for him.

I need the silence—the space to breathe.

My heart fills with joy at the sight of my sable German Shepherd named Bandit sitting on the front porch, like the loyal dog he is. With a shrill whistle, he’s at my heels in seconds, spreading eager kisses to my hands. “It’s alright, boy,” my fingers brush against his soft fur, giving him a quick massage behind his ears. “I missed you, too.”

Bandit didn’t like most people, especially new people. Common ground I also feel strongly about. His dark brown eyes nervously glance at a small two-horse trailer hitched behind a vintage blue Ford truck. A thick strip of white is slashed across the middle. Funnily enough, but it’s the same model as mine, the F-250, but almost fifty years older, and that’s putting it nicely.

Well, this new neighbor of mine is just plain stupid. The towing capacity for that old thing is nowhere near where it should be to safely haul a horse and trailer. Even one as small as the one currently attached to it.

A loud whinny catches my attention to Smoke, my Blue Roan Quarter Horse, pushing himself up against the fence. Stocky and hardy, with a predominantly black face and a white star on his forehead. A champion when it comes to roping and chasing cattle. But right now, he’s neighing and stomping his feet at a dappled buckskin in the pasture across the yard. Sending signals that he’s a stallion, which he’s not. That new golden horse must be a mare. Perfect.

“Stay, boy.” Bandit sits. “I’ll be right back,” I sigh. Might as well introduce myself and lay down the foundation of rules out here.

The sun slowly sets behind the pines, casting long shadows on the ground as I approach her home. The bass of her loud music pierces the stillness, while my horse Smoke carries on like a man in heat.

Her front door screeches, and I stop. Followed by loud sounds from a stereo blasting barnyard country music from the inside like she’s having a damn party. The awful, high-pitched noise from her door makes me wince, skittering down my spine. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve been next door to make repairs.

Her door slams shut behind her, and I flinch.

Sadie Lane descends the porch steps, heading towards me. The first thing I notice is her cowboy boots in the same color as her antique truck—a pastel light blue. Her hair, braided to the side, is a color that reminds me of caramel, cascading down to a Harley-Davidson shirt with flames on the long sleeves. A cropped shirt tucked underneath what I can only assume is a lacy black bra with the delicate lace peeking around her rib line.

Her toned midriff is bare, leading to skin-tight jeans. Tight enough jeans that I’m distracted by her curves and everything else that is my new neighbor.

“You must be Kit Harlow.” Her bright and cheery voice catches me off guard.

“I am.” My shoulders roll back, trying to control my discontent. Doing my best not to stare at her tanned, revealing skin surrounded by lace.

But I’m still staring as she stops a few feet in front of me, unable to pull my gaze away. “I’m Sadie,” she smiles, noticing my lack of focus, extending her hand for mine.

The moment I meet her eyes, my breath feels like it’s pulled straight from my lungs. She’s possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, with big brown doe eyes, long eyelashes, and a heart-shaped face that could bring a man to his knees. I’m unexpectedly attracted to her, stupidly so, but she doesn’t appear to be the brightest—and she’s loud. Her music still booms in the air, vibrating around us.

“Yeah, I know.” I take her small hand and give her a curt nod. “Did you pull your horse trailer with that?” I gesture to her old Ford truck, unable to stop thinking about it. Such a beautiful truck that she’ll ruin if she keeps mistreating it.