Otley is still holding my gaze. “What do you think, Lily?”
Would I want to be anywhere else, even if I wasn’t being hounded by the world’s press?
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
“Woo-hoo!” Leo hoots, hopping from foot to foot. “Hear that, Moondance? We’re taking you home!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – LILY
Sweet View Ranch lives up to its name, set beneath a blazing blue sky and air that rolls over my tongue like butterscotch. It sits on a small rise above a sparkling lake, about twenty minutes outside Glenwood Springs, high in the Rocky Mountains. It’s a part of the country I’ve never seen before, but I’m already in love with the aspen and fir ridges, open meadows, and alpine lakes that surround the property.
After a mile long drive along the private road, we roll under a wooden archway, and the ranch house comes into view. It’s impossible not to catch my breath at the sight. It’s spread over one level, giving it a low horizontal silhouette, but with steeply pitched slate roofs that promise soaring ceilings and light-filled rooms. Warm wood accents and rustic stone columns blend perfectly in with the lush landscape, offering both a bold and a welcoming feel.
But nothing smells as sweet or looks as tempting as the alpha at my side.
“You love it here,” I murmur as we step out of the trailer andpause to stretch out the travel kinks. Otley is staring up at the house like he’s finally come home, the sharp lines of his mouth softened into a rare smile.
“It’s the best,” he replies as he takes my hand. “Doesn’t matter what’s happening out there, I come here and everything feels lighter.”
“Well, it suits you. You look happy.”
He tilts his head, the light making his eyes shine like quicksilver. “That’s probably because of the company.”
I bite the edge of my tongue, well aware that a goofy grin is trying to hijack my face.
“Mr. James!” A handsome alpha in dusty jeans, a Western shirt, and boots with spurs is striding towards us, slapping the dust from a Stetson on his thigh. “I was just working on that stretch of fence near Oak Ridge that keeps popping its posts.”
Otley steps forward and they slap their hands together in greeting. “As ranch manager, you don’t have to start every day wrangling wire, George.”
“Need to keep my hand in or I’ll go soft,” he snorts, pressing his hat to his flat belly. When I bite back a smile, he nods his head shyly in my direction. “Welcome to Sweet View Ranch, ma’am. Anything you need, just give me a shout.”
“It’s beautiful. You’re so lucky to live here year-round.”
“We are,” he replies, drawing a boy of about twelve to his side. He has his father’s lanky limbs, cleft chin, and thick hair the color of fresh straw. “This is my son, Bobby. He can show your boy around, if you like.”
Zander and Leo are leading the horses out the back of the trailer, but as a couple of wranglers hurry over to help, Leo sidles to my side. He studies the older boy with a mixture of awe and defiance in his eyes, and for a moment they size each other up. I’m about to step in and smooth things over when they exchangean almost identical grunt and meander off in the direction of the stables.
“Be careful, Leo!” I can’t resist calling after him, earning an embarrassed scowl over his shoulder.
“Bobby has an old head on his shoulders,” George assures me as we head up the wide, stone steps to the main house. “He won't let him get into any trouble.”
There’s an air of calm competence about the ranch manager, but I’m still haunted by the nightmare we left back in Knotty Falls. “It’s just that things are a little chaotic at the moment.”
“Mr. James briefed us,” he says quietly, opening a glass door and ushering us inside. “Not a word will be said to your boy about the bad business out there, and every ranch hand we have is on the lookout for strangers. No one will get close enough to trouble either of you.”
His words echo Otley’s slightly more violent approach to protecting our privacy, and I feel a pang of gratitude. “Thanks. It’d be nice to let down our guard for a bit.”
George nods, then gestures to the room, which is a huge, open-plan space filled with cozy couches around a massive stone fireplace. I’m admiring the cathedral ceilings, stained-glass windows, and rustic chandeliers when Otley gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Do you want something to eat or the full tour first?”
“I’d love the tour,” I tell him, and after saying goodbye to George, Otley walks me through the house, which is set out in a rambling floorplan of airy spaces, connected by breezeways and sitting areas. Every room is drenched in natural light and finished in luxury touches that somehow still feel warm and cozy. In the east wing, we stop to admire the gourmet kitchen with its stone countertops, a custom cherry island, and a cute breakfast bar with cowhide stools. It flows effortlessly into a grand dining room with coffered ceilings and a glossy redwoodtable that could easily sit a dozen. I pause to gawk at the stone fireplaces, reading nooks, and picture galleries sprinkled through the wing. There is also a library, media room, and gym, and although I’d like to linger, I can feel the tension in Otley’s grip as he guides me over to the other side of the house.
There are multiple guest rooms, each with a beautifully appointed ensuite, but the jewel in the crown is the master suite. It’s set at the end of the wing and up a short staircase, the outer wall a gently curved line that reflects the lake’s edge in the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s the perfect mix of elegant, handcrafted furniture and cozy furnishings, including oversized armchairs and antique floor rugs in earthy tones. Like the rest of the ranch house, there’s an effortless look to it, but I can tell every detail has been chosen with care.
“This is our pack suite,” Otley tells me in a gravel voice, his hand warm in the small of my back. “Tristan decorated it. He said that every good ranch needs a nest under the stars.”
I look up as Otley pushes a button and the wood ceiling slides back, giving way to engraved glass panels. Bright sunshine streams through the atrium, but it’s easy to imagine it filled with starlight and the moon’s soft glow. “It’s stunning. Tristan has an amazing eye for beauty.”
“He sure does,” Otley replies, nodding towards a familiar framed picture on the nightstand. It’s the one he took the first day we met, Logan and Leo beaming at me with love written all over their faces. “There’s one of those in all our homes now.”
