Page 13 of Melt the Ice

She reaches for Lucas’s hand and gives it a small squeeze when he gives it to her. “You two are the most important people to me. Promise you’ll always look out for each other, even if I’m not here.”

“Promise, Ms. Anna,” he says as he looks at me, his cheesy grin coming out to play.

I nod wildly, sending my hair flying around me. “You and me forever, Goldie.”

I startle at the wetness gliding over my lips. I can still hear the echoes of that day, the soft slap of the water against the stone, his smile, the way the light hit his blonde hair just right that it looked like the sun.

I imagine if Nana were next to me right now, she’d say something along the lines of, “Mija, it’s okay to let people in. It’s okay to ask for help.”

She was always the most observant person in the room, two steps ahead of everyone else. But she loved, man, did she love with reckless abandon. It was one of the traits I wish I had of hers. Instead, year after year, my heart’s been encased in enough ice to keep everyone out for the rest of time.

But this ranch doesn’t need heartless. It needs love and care. Things it’s already getting from the man I’m keeping at arm’s length. Which leads me to ask, where do I fit? Do I even fit here? Should I have let my dad sell it and continue my life in Texas? The thought makes my stomach roil.

Stella stirs, and I take that as my cue to head back. I reposition my hat on my head before I haul myself up on her back, letting her lead once again. She takes the scenic route, not that I’m complaining in the slightest.

Nana was right, being on the back of a horse is freeing. Moving with it, feeling its muscles flex underneath you with every clop of her hooves. It’s something I didn’t treasure as a teenager, and of course, I won’t ride bareback when it’s time to work, but I have a feeling this will be a normal part of my routine out here. One with the horse, one with the land, and a healthy dose of healing.

I’m lost in the moment when I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket.

Papi: Ready to come home yet?

I fight the urge to respond that I am home, but I don’t see that going well. He doesn’t deserve an answer anyway. My phone is halfway back in my pocket when I hear a sharp metallic snap, the twangy echo a sound that doesn’t match the usual notes of the ranch. I bring Stella to a stop, one hand shading my eyes even though my hat is already doing that job. Then I hear it again, clear as day, metal on metal.

I hold my breath, hands shaking softly as I click my tongue, moving Stella in the direction of the noise. As soon as we round a corner, I see him. A man crouched near the back fence, shoulders hunched, wire cutters catching the light of the sun.

“Hey!” My voice slices through the air, sharp and to the point. He flinches, head snapping up, yet his eyes are hidden behind a baseball hat pulled too low for me to see. He bolts, jumping into a white pickup truck. Broad in stature, arms hidden by a long-sleeved shirt, but that’s about all I can tell from this distance.

“Yeah, get outta here!” I yell, my voice shaking at the end. I dismount Stella, jogging to the spot where he’d just been and crouch to inspect the damage. The wire’s half cut, curling out like a wayward curl of mine. One glove lies in the grass, torn across the palm.

I’ll have to ask Miller if this is a usual occurrence or if this is something we need to look out for. It’s time I step up and be the leader this ranch needs. I do it at home, so why not do it here, where it actually matters to me?

I’m in the stables stacking bales of hay against the wall when I feel his eyes on me. The trail of heat they leave in their wake may as well be a visceral touch. One I pretend to miss. He said he was leaving today, but I guess he didn’t say when. But that’s just Lucas. It’s the details that surround him that threaten to undo me. His timing, his mere presence, the way he quietly takes up space until the air feels like it bends to accommodate him.

I try to swallow the annoyance clawing up my throat as I keep stacking, but then the tack room door swings open. The soft creek makes my eyes twitch. He still doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to.

There’s a half wall separating the two of us, and as I bend to pick up the next bale, my eyes land on his forearms, tanned, strong, and methodical as they flex to fold hand towels.

“Don’t you have a game to play?” I snap. My adrenaline is still high from the fence encounter, and my patience for human interaction, his interaction, is paper-thin because of it.

He lifts the stack he’s finished, placing it neatly on the shelf before he turns and picks up some more from the pile of clean ones. “Yeah. Had therapy this morning.” He flaps a towel obnoxiously through the air before making a show of flattening it against the table and folding it to perfection. “Thought I’d get some work done before hanging out with my favorite cows. I can leave, though, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

My hands find my hips, but before I can open my mouth, he chuckles.

“Down, girl.” His eyes dance with amusement, “I’m not looking for a fight.”

I let out a huff before turning back to the piles of hay that still need to be moved. I could ask him to do it. He could knock it out in half the time it’d take me. Heck, he could probably throw them into place and not have to walk back and forth across the stall.

But my pride isn’t about to let me admit that, so instead, I pick up another and walk it to the far wall. I make two more trips before his silence gets the best of me. Or maybe it’s his magical forearms I’m still thinking about. Hard to say.

When I drop the bale, I grab a fistful of hay and turn, launching it at him over the hip-height wall. “Stop staring at me, it’s distracting!”

The hay drifts down like golden confetti, and dread punches me right in the gut because I know the smile that’s growing on his face like the back of my hand. It’s his slow-growing, you-just-started-something-you-can’t-finish smile.

He hops the wall with ease, backing me into the wall of hay I’ve built in the corner. He braces his arm next to my head, his bicep level with my eyes, and my hands immediately settle on his chest. Heat sears my palms, but I don’t pull away.

“Why in the world would I be distracting to you?” he murmurs, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “You don’t even like me anymore.”

“I never said I didn’t like you,” I whisper, but it comes out way more breathy than I meant it to.