“Ollie.” The dog leaned into her hands, eyes half-closed. “My aunt had a Goldie. Sweetest dog, always bringing everyone his favorite toys.”
“That’s them. Loyal to the bone.”
Aftyn looked up at Cole, his broad shoulders backlit by the sunlight pouring through the window, and her heart caught. “Can he come with us?”
“Sure. He loves to run. Just have to keep him out of the pond or he’ll be soaked before we get started.”
Cole pulled open the fridge and laid out thick-sliced ham, crisp lettuce, and vine-ripened tomatoes, then held up a bottle of mustard and a bottle of mayo. “Which one?”
“Mayo.” She grimaced as if he’d offered her something far worse. “I hate mustard.”
Cole tilted his head, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. “What’s wrong with you?”
Aftyn laughed, sunlight slanting across the counter. “It’s fine in potato salad, but my aunt puts too much in her deviled eggs and I can’t eat them. Do not tell her I said that if you ever meet her.”
“Your secret’s safe.” He layered the ham and lettuce on thick golden-brown bread, then handed her the mayo. She smeared a coat on each slice and tucked them into plastic bags while he packed everything into a brown sack.
His gaze drifted to the rack of hats by the door. He lifted a white straw hat and held it out. “This one is my mother’s. Mine would slip right over your eyes.”
Aftyn set it on her head and studied her reflection in the windowpane, the brim shading her face just right. “What do you think?”
“You look like you were born and raised in Montana.” Cole smiled. “Leave your phone here, service is spotty out there. I’ll bring a walkie-talkie.”
She nodded and followed him out. Ollie burst past them into the sunlit yard, and they strolled across the dry grass toward the barn, its roof sloping against a backdrop of rolling green hills.
“How many acres do you have?” Aftyn asked, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Cole paused midway across the yard. “Two hundred each. Ethan’s to the west, Seth’s runs south, my folks’ land stretches east.” He kicked at aloose pebble. “Dad used to grow barley until a drought wiped out his fields and he lost the contract. He handed the reins over to me and was done with it.”
“And you kept it going?”
“I wasn’t going to, not after watching what he went through. I planned to just run the ranch and train horses. Then Ash Beckett showed up and talked me into planting feed crops for cattle. Seth jumped on board too.”
“And Ethan?”
“Breeds and sells barrel racers. His horses trace back to champions, bloodlines that practically carry themselves under the right rider. He’s booked solid. Only Trick Dillon rivals him.”
“Trick Dillon.” Aftyn laughed when Cole rolled his eyes.
“Go ahead, say it.”
“Say what?”
“That he’s handsome. Women seem to love him.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “Handsome doesn’t cut it. He’s—” She sighed and waved a hand. “Gorgeous.”
“He’s also married.”
“I know, I checked. And I think it’s so attractive when a man wears his ring, like he’s proud of it. Some men don’t bother.”
“Depends on the job. You don’t want it catching on something. It’d take your finger right off.”
“Ouch.”
Cole chuckled, slid his hands into his pockets, and nodded her forward. “Come on.”
The barn’s wide doors were open to shafts of light cutting through dust motes, the air thick with straw, leather, and warm horses. Cole strode down thecenter aisle, hat brim low, his Wranglers doing nothing to hide the lines of strong thighs and a perfectly fitted—
