Page 31 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

Hudson looked down at himself. “I’m wearing one.”

Sarah stared at him. “That’s a city jacket.”

“It keeps the wind off.”

“For the walk between your rental and the diner, maybe.” She disappeared into the tack room before he could argue.

“Sarah—”

She came back carrying a heavy waxed ranch jacket with a shearling collar and tossed it at him.

He caught it one-handed.

“Wear it.”

Hudson looked from the jacket to her. “You’re serious.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Hudson, right now you’re dressed for optimism.”

For the first time that morning, he laughed. He shrugged into the jacket. The sleeves were a fraction short, but the shoulders fit just right. Sarah pretended not to notice that it suited him better than it had ever suited her brother.

“Don’t get attached,” she said, turning away before her brain wandered anywhere unhelpful. “It’s Wyatt’s.”

He saddled Bon Jovi. Fifteen years ago there would have been a little showmanship in it—a grin thrown back over his shoulder, a glance to see if she’d noticed, the easy performance of a nineteen-year-old who liked being watched. There was nothing like that now. Once Bon Jovi was ready, Hudson mounted, one clean, economical movement, weight settling into the saddle like his body had never once forgotten how.

She swung up onto Captain and gathered the reins. It was unfair, honestly. A man wasn’t supposed to leave for fifteen years and come back better at the one thing she’d always beaten him at.

“You’re better than you used to be.”

“At riding?”

“At everything you used to be flashy about.” She nudged Captain forward, toward the gate. “It’s annoying.”

“Noted.” He beamed and didn’t sound sorry at all.

They rode out into a morning that looked like it had been carved. Snow lay clean and unbroken across the ground, catching the early light, making the whole world look deceptively gentle. The only sounds were small ones—the jingle of bits, the soft percussive crunch of hooves breaking snow crust, their breath fogging out and disappearing.

“Forest Service road’s about forty minutes out,” Sarah said, mostly to fill the quiet, mostly because it was easier to talk about the route than anything else. “Then it’s horseback or nothing the last mile. Nora’s directions said the turn isn’t marked.”

“I’ll watch for it.”

“You don’t know what you’re watching for.”

“I’ll watch for the place where the road looks like it isn’t a road.” He said it without inflection, eyes on the trail ahead. “Worked for me in places with worse roads than this one.”

He glanced over his shoulder, a smile in his eyes.

The trail began to climb. The horses worked harder into it, breath coming heavier, the cold biting at any exposed skin with real intent. Sarah leaned forward, weight following Captain’s effort up the grade.

“Take the inside line,” Hudson said.

“Why?”

“Because that patch ahead is glazed.”

“You can see that from here?”

“No.” He grinned. “Captain can.”