Page 35 of More Than This Land

“You saved him.” She avoided looking at him as her fingers worked through the calf’s coarse hair. Then she glanced up at him as a realization came to her. “That seems to be your pattern lately. Fighting for things everyone else gave up on.”

He cleared his throat and pushed down the guilty pleasure at the thought that he’d impressed her. “I wanted to check the line cabin property today. Get your thoughts on the guest ranch expansion financials. Figured since I offered you a ride next time you came out and didn’t deliver last week, we’d take care of everything all at once.”

“I brought my notes.” Claire straightened, pulling her hand away from the calf. “When do you want to head out?”

“Now, if you’re free. Horses are saddled. The ride takes about forty-five minutes. Property’s beautiful this time of year.” He’d spent the morning preparing, telling himself this was purely business while knowing he’d been finding excuses to spend time with Claire since Sunday dinner. Watching her laugh with his family and even get in on the banter occasionally made everything more complicated. She wasn’t supposed to fit into his life like this. He was supposed to be strong enough to ignore the attraction constantly tugging on his heart.

Claire’s eyes widened. “Really?” She clasped her hands and hopped from foot to foot.

“Really. I picked Daisy for you. She’s gentle and knows the trail.”

“Lead the way, cowboy.”

They walked to the main barn where two horses stood cross-tied and ready. Daisy, a palomino mare with a patient temperament. And Duke—Luke’s bay gelding who’d carried him across every inch of ranch property for the past eight years.

He showed Claire how to check the girth and adjust the stirrups, guiding her through the motions. “Ready?” He laced his fingers together, creating a step.

Claire positioned her boot in his hands. Luke lifted and she swung into the saddle with more grace than her nervousness suggested. She settled into the seat, gathering the reins with fingers that only trembled slightly. “Do you realize your horses’ names sound like you named them after The Dukes of Hazzard?”

“Blame Noah. It was his idea.” He brushed dirt from his hands and gripped the mare’s reins as Claire settled. “How’s that feel?”

“I think my stirrups are too long.” She tried pressing upward with her boots in the stirrups but barely moved.

“Hold on, I’ll fix them.” He took a step back and fisted his hands. “Can you pull your feet out of the stirrups?”

She wiggled her feet, then pulled her leg into a ninety-degree bend to give him access to the stirrup.

He adjusted the leather, making sure he kept his hands well away from her leg, then did the same on the other side. “What about now?”

She worked her boots into the stirrups and grinned. “Better.” A breath later, she leaned forward and patted Daisy and her braid fell over her shoulder to brush against his cheek. “It’s higher than I remember. Probably because the last horse I rode was about half this tall. But that’s okay. Daisy and I are going to be great friends, aren’t we, girl?”

The mare’s ear flicked back, acknowledging her rider.

Luke backed up before he did something incredibly foolish and mounted his gelding in one smooth motion. His body knew this dance, and had performed it thousands of times. But there was a different purpose to today. Today he planned on showing Claire one of his favorite places on the ranch.

They rode out through the south gate, following a worn trail that wound through grazing pastures before climbing into foothills. Wildflowers dotted the grassland as spring took hold. Meadowlarks called from fence posts. The mountains rose ahead, still wearing snow on their highest peaks.

“This is incredible. I’d forgotten how big the sky feels out here.”

He’d lived under this sky his entire life and no doubt had taken it for granted. He tried to see what Claire saw as she drank in the view.

The trail narrowed, forcing them into single file. Luke led, doing his best to pay attention to the trail and Claire in case she needed him. He focused on her breathing and the creak of leather when she adjusted her seat. She murmured encouragement to Daisy on steeper sections, and a small bit of his worry that he’d push her too far evaporated as they climbed higher. The main ranch buildings disappeared behind rolling hills. Up here, the world consisted of grassland, sky, and the two of them moving through a landscape that looked almost untouched by human hands.

“There.” Luke pointed ahead where a small cabin sat nestled against a stand of pines. “That’s the line cabin. We used to offer it to seasonal workers, but it’s been empty for years.”

They dismounted near a hitching post weathered gray by decades of exposure. Luke tied both horses, checking knots twice while Claire stretched her arms over her head and twisted.

“You okay?” He moved toward her, one hand already reaching to offer comfort.

“Just stiff. That was amazing. I’d forgotten how freeing riding is.”

He left her to stretch out the kinks and tried the door. It stuck fast, the wood swollen with rain and time. He pushed again, forcing his weight into it until it gave way with a groan. Inside, dust motes danced in light filtering through grimy windows. A potbellied stove covered in years of grime squatted in one corner. A rough-hewn table and two chairs occupied the center. And against the far wall, a faded sofa that had seen better decades.

“It needs work.” Luke surveyed the space with his hands on his hips. “But the bones are solid. It could be converted into guest lodging. Two or three units if we build additional cabins. If we market it as an authentic Montana ranch experience, guests could help with daily operations and learn ranching basics.”

Claire flipped her notebook open. “Initial investment would be significant. Building codes, permits, insurance. But the tourism market for agritourism is growing. If you positioned it right, you could expect bookings year-round.”

They spent twenty minutes reviewing numbers and projections. His thoughts fractured between Claire’s proximity and the business at hand. She chewed her pen, concentration creasing her forehead.