Page 58 of Saddle Storm

As if summoned, she steps into view, watching us.

“Mom, look,” Max springs forward, holding up the printed version.

Storm eyes the photo. Her eyes brighten with something I can’t read. Then her gaze lifts to mine—a hint of gratefulness.

I offer a subtle nod because I didn’t do anything special. I want to do more for him. More for both of them.

“It’s getting late. We need to get going, Max.”

Dad catches my eye and cocks his head as a signal.

Like I needed one. But I offer a nod to let him know we’re on the same page.

“You need help here?” I ask Dad.

He shakes his head. “No. Wilder and Wes are arranging for rides back to the main lot. The crew will handle the rest.”

Ginger pushes the stroller with Emmit. “We’ve got plenty of hands on deck. You kids go on.”

I put my jacket around Storm as the night chill picks up and she doesn’t fight me on it. “Thank you.” She keeps her head down as she walks up the hill toward her truck.

“You don’t like weddings,” I point out.

“Oh, who doesn’t like weddings?”

“You, apparently,” I say bluntly, calling her out.

Max walks ahead of us, flipping through the photos printed from his camera.

The hill pitches up sharper and I want to offer a hand, but Storm doesn’t slow. She moves in a way that shows she knows this land by heart. Calves flexing with each step. There’s nothing delicate about it. Those strong legs just do what they’ve always done. And something tells me it’s how Storm’s lived all these years. Get by on what she knows and loves, never asking for help.

Storm keeps her eyes on the rocky path. “It’s just a lot of people, you know? Almost feels like proving something to them all.”

“Like what?”

She glances at Max. “Like you’re living life by the book.” She stops at her truck and turns to face me as if she’s ready to say goodbye.

“There’s a book?” I ask, genuine interest.

She laughs—almost bitterly. “If there is, I wasn’t given a copy.” She looks over my shoulder. “Hey Max, get in.”

I suck in a breath, sending a small prayer this doesn’t go sideways. “You mind driving me across to the south side?”

Storm considers it, then smirks like she might not hate me tagging along for a while. “Yeah, all right.”

We get to the strip of guest cottages. “Pull over in front of that one.”

Cottage nine is the last along the strip, with unobstructed views of the river and mountains. It’s small but intentional. Finished in smooth wood siding, a planked porch, and a simple railing with a few wide steps leading down to a stone path. It’s warm under the porch lights, which hang on either side of the front door and are lined up along the steps.

Storm turns to me—and I’m one step ahead of her—holding up the key.

“Silas.”

“Come inside. Take a look around. You two can stay for the night.”

Max cheers in the back seat, jumping out.

“Max, wait.” Storm warns. Another warning glare heads my way, but I hop out too, then come around to her open door, resting my elbows along her open window. “One night. And if you both hate it—I’ll drop it.”