Maybe it was the chill of the mountain air or maybe it was a true blush, but Lance’s cheeks reddened at that.
“I wish I would have known,” he said. “I wouldn’t have waited all of these years to ask you out. Maybe I could have beaten Darren to the punch.”
Sarah lifted just one shoulder to her ear in a shrug. “I think things work out for a reason. I have to believe that because the path that I ended up taking with Darren at least gave me Laney, and she’s honestly my life’s biggest blessing.”
“It’s hard to have regret when you were given someone as special as that little girl.”
“Thank you for saying that, Lance.” She smiled at him. “I tend to agree.”
They walked another block down the road, where the cabins grew more distant from each other, and massive snow-laden trees formed a picturesque barrier along the street. The scenery was nothing short of breathtaking, the conversation flowed effortlessly, and the company was simply perfect.
And to think Sarah had once moved away from this idyllic place and these wonderful people.
Right here, right now, Snowdrift was exactly where she was meant to be.
And Lance was the only man to ever make her heart feel this at home.
CHAPTER 16
“That dog has half a mind to get himself kicked if he keeps nipping at Alpine’s hooves like that.”
Nana Jo pointed the tines of the manure fork at the rambunctious pup.
“It’ll serve him right,” Lance said with a snort.
“Or it’ll knock him into next week.” His grandmother prodded Tahoe with the tool, shooing him out of the stall. “How long did you say you were keeping him?”
“Until we can find his owners,” Lance explained, rolling the wheelbarrow down to the next stall and sliding back the door. Spending his Saturday morning mucking out the horse barn was not his favorite activity, but he knew his grandmother could use the extra hands. She’d sooner get a root canal than ask for a little help around the ranch.
“And if you can’t find his owners?”
“Haven’t thought that far ahead.” But that was mostly because the more time Lance spent with the fuzzy pup, the less he actually did to search out Tahoe’s rightful owners. Holden had posted on a few local social media pages showcasing Snowdrift’s lost pets. And when Lance was at Bitter Cold CoffeeBar that morning, he’d tacked up a flier on the community corkboard. They’d made a concerted effort.
“I think you might have yourself a dog, Lancelot.” Nana Jo propped the manure rake upright and leaned her weight against it. “Which means you should start teaching him some manners and commands. Beginning withno.” She nudged the pup with the toe of her boot, pushing him away from a steaming pile of manure that looked a little too enticing.
“Come here, Tahoe.” Lance clapped a hand to his thigh. “Leave the horse poop alone.”
After Scout’s skunk debacle, the last thing Lance wanted to deal with was a pup covered in manure. They had enough smells floating around their shop. He didn’t want his new dog to add to the stinky mix.
“Bring that wheelbarrow over here.” Nana Jo scooped a shovel full of manure onto the fork and gave a little shake to knock loose the bits of pine shavings.
Grabbing hold of the cart, Lance pushed the wheelbarrow out of the current stall where he waited and moved closer so his grandmother could deposit the pile into it. But before he could turn back to shut the stall door behind him, Doodlebug took advantage of the narrow opening and bolted.
Like a shot, Tahoe chased the pony down the barn aisle.
“Doodlebug!” Nana Jo tossed the fork to the ground with a clatter. “Get back here, you naughty pony!”
“Tahoe!”
They raced after them, Nana Jo’s silver strands whipping out from beneath her well-worn cowboy hat until the momentum completely knocked it from her head. Lance didn’t stop to pick it up. Hurrying toward the mischievous duo, they trailed several paces behind, Nana’s years and Lance’s knee giving them the disadvantage.
“You two are going to be in mighty big trouble when we catch up to you!” Nana Jo shouted, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.
“Ifwe catch up to you!” Lance added with a hint of playful exasperation.
His grandmother shot him a mock-annoyed look over her shoulder.
Lance wasn’t a runner. Give him skis, a snowmobile, or a sled and he could race with the best of them. But on foot and in the deep snow, he was about as fast as a lumbering bear.
