Page 4 of Sunrise & Serenity

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I slump against the wooden wall behind me. “Don’t tell me another calf’s broken out. We just got the last three rounded up and penned.”

“Not a calf, but we do have a stranded photographer who needs a ride.”

I straighten. “Everybody okay?”

“She’s fine. Just got her car stuck.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Sterling lets out a heavy sigh. “I know it’s bad timing, but she’s stuck out on Copper Ridge Pass with nowhere to go.”

I squint through the window at the rain still falling outside. “Why the hell was she driving through the pass with a fucking storm raging overhead?”

“Probably didn’t realize how quickly they roll in around here. The why doesn’t matter anyway. We can’t leave her out there, and I can’t go. Power in the foaling barn is out, and the generator’s not kicking in. Chance and I are gonna head out and get it back online, and Quinn’s still out with the other hands. Sorry, man, but you’re it.”

I rub my shoulder—the one that’s supposed to be rehabilitated but aches like a bitch after wrestling three frightened calves into a pen. The hot shower I planned to take to ease the pain will have to wait. I may have told Sterling that hiring a fancy-pants New York photographer with no experience in ranch life was a stupid idea, but I’m not enough of an asshole to refuse, and he knows that. “I’ll head out now.”

“Appreciate it. From what she told me, she’s about forty minutes away. I don’t think you’ll miss her. Her car will be the one in the ditch.”

I bark out a laugh. “I’m not even going to ask.”

He snorts. “She’s not the first to be taken out by that road, and she won’t be the last.”

He’s right, though I refuse to admit it. “She’s staying with the new vet, Mia, right?”

When he doesn’t respond immediately, a hint of suspicion has me bracing for news I’m not going to like.

“I’m betting her car will be out of action for at least a few days,” he says. “She’ll need a place to stay on the ranch. I obviously can’t put her in the bunkhouse with the hands, and the guest cabins aren’t ready yet. Since Kit’s moved on, I’m going to put her in his old cabin. She can ride in with you until her car’s fixed.”

I grip the back of my neck. Now I’m this woman’s next-door neighbor and her damn chauffeur?

“Is the cabin even livable?”

“Kit cleaned it up pretty good before he left. And I’m sure Taryn won’t mind helping her make it more comfortable.”

Given that our little sister is almost exclusively surrounded by men out here, I don’t doubt she’d enjoy hanging out with another woman.

I let out a heavy breath. There’s no point beating a dead horse. Sterling wouldn’t have suggested putting her next to me if there were a viable alternative. He knows how I feel about my privacy. I only put up with Kit because he was as antisocial as I’ve become. I barely noticed he was around.

“Don’t expect me to babysit her while she’s here,” I grumble.

He grunts in response. “Wouldn’t dream of doing that to the poor woman. Anyway, call me if you have any issues. And thanks again, Holden.”

We disconnect, and I send a longing look toward my bedroom and its attached bathroom, where a hot shower is waiting for me. Then I grab my still-wet hat and head back through the front door. I don’t bother locking it behind me. No one around these parts would be interested in rifling through my belongings.

Not these days, anyway.

Swallowing past the bitter tang that coats my throat, I tug the brim down over my eyes and jog down the porch steps, angling toward my blue pickup. At least the rain has eased a bit. I climb in and head down the mountain toward the road to Copper Ridge Pass.

Life’s got a twisted sense of humor. The last photographer I dealt with helped turn one of the lowest points of my career into a headline.

After the injury. After the doctor told me I was done.

He warned me not to mix the painkillers with alcohol. I didn’t listen. Most of that night is a blur, but the photos weren’t.

For a second after Rick, my agent, shoved his phone into my face the next morning, I thought I was looking at someone else. A washed-up bull rider stumbling out of a bar, his arm in a sling, a woman hanging off him.

Then I recognized my own damn face.