Page 42 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

Whenever I’d come to the lodge, she’d be at the front desk with a smile waiting. Though never for me. Those smiles would vanish the second I walked through the door. But it was nice to have a cheerful face behind that desk.

For the guests.

The only reason I wasn’t using the rear entrance was because the parking lot behind the lodge was always crowded with staff rigs. My trips to the lodge had nothing to do with Gemma or her smile.

And this trip to the cabin was out of necessity, not because I hadn’t seen her in three days.

My truck bounced on the rough road. There seemed to be more bumps than normal. I made a mental note to have Granddad find Gemma an old truck to drive around since this wouldn’t be good for the Cadillac.

If that car got ruined, well, it would be a travesty to the American classic.

And Gemma was staying.

My plan had backfired—something I wouldn’t admit no matter how many times Cash had razzed me about it this week.

If she was staying, we’d have to make sure she had the right tools to survive on the ranch and in the cabin through the winter.

The leaves on the trees had mostly fallen over the past two weeks, the orange and yellow littering the ground and fading to brown. This fall had been short thanks to the cold patch that had swooped in over the past week. Every night had dropped below freezing and we weren’t even ten days into October.

Next week’s forecast was calling for snow.

I was simply glad we’d moved the cattle out of the mountains, even if Dad had gotten his way and they’d been put in the exact opposite pastures where I’d planned to have them.

We’d argued. He’d won.

Yesterday, I’d been so frustrated I’d spent my day working alone.

A plume of smoke rose above the patch of pine trees, and as I rounded the last corner of the road, the cabin came into view and I saw Gemma outside, her arms loaded with wood. The sound of my diesel caught her ears and she stopped, watching me pull into the space beside her Cadillac.

“Hey,” I said as I hopped out.

“Hi.” She gave me a small smile and disappeared inside. When she came back out to the porch, she brushed at the flecks of bark that had stuck to her sweater.

This one was olive, the same as the first day she’d arrived nearly a month ago. She looked pretty and relaxed, standing there in the doorway to the cabin. Her hair was up in a ponytail that flowed over her shoulder in loose waves.

Breathe, East. She’s just a beautiful woman.

“What’s up?” she asked.

I cleared my throat and jerked my chin to the bed of the truck. “I’ve got a load of wood for you.”

“Thanks. I was starting to run low.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, shivering at a gust of wind. “It’s been cold.”

“This should last you a couple of weeks.”

“Let me grab my coat and I’ll help.”

“All right.” Maybe the chivalrous thing to do would be unload the half cord myself. But I’d grown up with grandparents who’d worked side by side their entire lives. My parents too. And Gemma wasn’t the type who’d sit by and idly watch someone else work.

I dug another pair of leather gloves from the jockey box of my truck and laid them on the tailgate for her. Then I started hauling loads to the metal rack Granddad had welded together fifty-some years ago.

Gemma joined right in, not saying much as we crossed paths. Every time I walked to the truck, she walked away from it with wood in her arms. Then I’d load up and we’d do the reverse.

It meant with every trip, we’d share an awkward glance, so I pushed harder, trying to change the timing. But the faster I pushed, she pushed. No matter how quickly I walked or loaded, she was keeping pace.

No one could accuse Gemma of slacking.

When the split logs we could reach from the ground were stacked, I nodded for Gemma to climb in. “Why don’t you hop in the back and push the wood toward the tailgate.”