Prologue
SARAMARIA
The grass tickles my bare arms, a soft whisper against my skin. I close my eyes, letting the Wyoming sun bake my face until I can feel my freckles multiplying.
Beside me, my horse shifts her weight.
“Easy, Blossom,” I call out. She lets out a low neigh.
This spot by Muddy Creek is my sanctuary, the only place on this entire ranch where I don’t feel like I’m suffocating.
I came out here to escape, to breathe and think about my parents. I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since they died.
Fuck.
I rub at the spot in my chest that aches whenever I let myself remember. The creek babbles nearby, a constant companion to my thoughts.
I should be cleaning tack or mending fences or whatever chore my grandfather has decided will “build character” today. Instead, I’m here, pretending the ranch doesn’t exist.
The sound of hooves against packed earth makes my eyes snap open. I don’t need to look to know who it is. Only one person rides with that kind of purpose, that unshakeable confidence that both infuriates and attracts me.
Boone Reyes.
He swings down from his favorite horse, Midnight, a massive black stallion with a temperament as wild as the Wyoming wind. Boone’s movements are fluid and easy, like he was born in a saddle.
His jeans hug his thighs in ways they shouldn’t, and his scuffed boots have seen more miles of this ranch than I have. A piece of grass dangles from his lips, and he twirls it between his fingers as he walks toward me.
At twenty-one, Boone’s already got the build of a man who’s worked the land his whole life—broad shoulders, muscular arms, callused hands that could break a man but have touched me with surprising gentleness.
His dark hair falls across his forehead, and his eyes, the color of rich soil after rain, seem to see right through me. He’s been working on our ranch since he was seventeen, growing up alongside me yet always feeling worlds away.
“Knew I’d find you here.”
My heart does that stupid little flip it always does when he’s near. I sit up, brushing grass from my jeans. “What are you doing all the way down here? Don’t you have actual work to do?”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Your grandfather sent me.”
Of course he did. I flop back onto the grass with an exaggerated groan. “Crap. What does he want now?”
Boone shakes his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “He just said to find you.” He pauses, his gaze sweeping over me. “But did you clean out the horse stalls I asked you to this morning?”
I frown. “Yes, I cleaned the horse stalls. I’m not completely useless.”
His smile widens, a genuine, devastating thing that makes my stomach clench. “Then in that case, you’re not in trouble. So why are you pouting?”
“I’m not pouting.” I am totally pouting. I turn away, searching for my iPod in the grass. When I find it, I jam the earbuds in and crank up the volume. Paramore’s “Misery Business” fills my head, Hayley Williams’ angry vocals matching my mood perfectly. It’s a flimsy wall, but it’s all I’ve got.
I can feel his presence more than see him. The air shifts, grows thicker. I keep my eyes fixed on the clouds, pretending I’m lost in my music, but every nerve is tuned to him. He shuffles his boots in the dirt. I can practically hear the sigh he lets out.
“You can ignore me all you want, Saramaria. I’m not going back to the ranch without you.”
Damn him. I rip the earbuds out, sitting up so fast I get a little dizzy. “Fine.” The word is a curse. I scramble to my feet and stomp over to Blossom, grabbing a handful of her mane.
Before I can even figure out my footing, Boone is there. His hands close around my waist, and he lifts. It’s effortless. One moment my feet are on the ground, the next they’re finding purchase in the stirrup as he boosts me into the saddle. The protest dies on my lips, replaced by a gasp.
His hands are warm and strong through the thin fabric of my tank top, his grip sure. The feel of his arms, the muscles flexing as he hoists me up, sends a jolt straight through me. It’s just as overwhelming as I remember from last year, when he pulled me from the mud after my horse spooked during that storm. For one terrifying, exhilarating moment, I was pressed against his chest, drowning in his scent of rosemary, citrus and cool mint.
He was the one person who came looking for me that day. The storm had come out of nowhere, turning the sky a bruised purple. I’d been bringing the herd in from the upper pasture when the thunder spooked Blossom, and I went down hard. The world was a blur of mud and rain and panicked horseflesh. And then he was there, pulling me from the mud, his hands clamped around my arms.
