Page 32 of Colt

“I really hope I stay too.” I smile. “I mean it.”

Beck picks up his pitchfork. “I got a busy day ahead. But how about you and me hop in an ATV and take a little tour at some point this week?”

My heart lifts. “I’d love that.”

I feel breathless as the ATV crests a hill a few days later, giving us a wide-open view of the land as far as the eye can see.

Grabbing the handle on the doorframe above my head, I can only stare. “Beautiful. But that’s not the right word. There isn’t a word for this, Beck.”

Taking his foot off the gas, Beck chuckles. “Ulysses and Uma were lucky sons of bitches, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Is that the⁠—”

“Colorado River? Yup. We can head that way. Worth seeing for sure. There’s a spot with a rope swing we used to hit up as kids. I made lots of memories out there.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes as he squints into the distance.

I wonder what stories there are about Beck Wallace here. He’s a warm guy. Kind. Obviously has lots of energy.

But there’s also this…dreaminess about him. Or maybe it’s longing that I’m picking up on.

What do you long for, cowboy?

Makes me think about what I’m longing for as I look out over the incredible vista laid out before us. Rolling hills dotted with trees and brush rise and fall as far as the eye can see. There’s still lots of green, but the leaves have started to change, dotting the view with yellows, bright oranges, bold reds.

A canyon yawns open to our right. Beyond that, the Colorado River glitters beneath a wide-open sky so blue it almost hurts your eyes to look at it.

I fill my lungs with clean air that smells like falling leaves and feel my heart rise and my shoulders descend from my ears.

I’m not an outdoorsy person. But a gal could get used to this kind of scenery.

This kind of peace.

“You have one hell of an office,” I say.

The past three days have been…interesting. I’ve shadowed most of the Wallace family save for Colton, whom I’ve glimpsed here and there. He always seems to be busy when I’m around. He’ll be riding off on his gigantic horse just as I walk into the barn, or he’ll be chatting with employees or disappearing into the Wallaces’ newly built arena, where Ava oversees their nascent barrel racing training program.

It’s clear he’s avoiding me. Which, honestly, fuck him. I’d ignore him too if I didn’t think he had some valuable input for all the research I’m doing.

In the meantime, I’m relying on his parents and siblings to help me get my arms around what the Wallaces are all about. Paige sat at her kitchen table with me for hours yesterday, the two of us flipping through a stack of photo albums. Billie and I went for a long walk through a cleared stretch of land she called the north pasture, where she told me about the animal therapy program she’s hoping to develop. Tate and Mack gave me a crash course in breeding horses. It was a wildly shocking but also very informative hour and a half.

Beck laughs at my office comment, turning the ATV to avoid a large white boulder ahead. “Why do you think everyone in my family stuck around all these years? Once you get a taste of this”—he gestures out the windshield—“there’s no going back.”

I get it.

I may not be an outdoorsy kind of girl, but I’m starting to understand the appeal of this life. Being outside in the company of animals and trees, working together to keep everyone and everything alive⁠—

I don’t know. Kinda makes me wish I were born a Wallace. Could I ever live this life? Would I be happier here? Not just because it’s beautiful but also because I’d know from birth that this is what I was meant to do.

I’m jealous that Beck doesn’t seem to have any angst about the path he’s on. I wish I had that kind of certainty about what I’m meant to do with my life.

A cloud of dust rises from a cleared pasture up ahead. I sit up in my seat to get a better look, gasping when I see it’s a herd of horses.

They’re every shape and size: chestnut brown, white with black spots, white manes, dark ones. I can feel the thunder of their hooves in my chest as they dash across the pasture.

They’re stunning. But it’s the cowboy riding a gigantic black horse beside the herd that makes my breath catch.

He’s whipping a literal lasso in a steady circle around his head. Releasing it, he pulls the rope taut when it loops around a runaway horse’s gleaming neck.

I watch, transfixed, as the cowboy brings the horse to heel. It can’t be easy. His hands work quickly, dust billowing up around them as Colt leaps off his horse. The runaway does calm down, though.