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“You look like a cowboy,” she said, the words slipping out half wonder, half mocking. Like she couldn’t decide whether she was starstruck or making fun of him. Probably both.
Come on Sage. Behave. He’s been nothing but nice. Just let it go.
“Ready?” he repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching.
She tugged the borrowed flannel tighter around herself, cheeks warming. She should leave it there. She really should.
She paused.
Couldn’t help it.
“Giddy up, partner,” she drawled in her best (terrible) cowboy voice, then attempted what she imagined a cowboy walk might look like—if that cowboy was a curvy goth brat with thick thighs, zero ranch experience, and a serious attitude problem.
Well. I tried.
As Sage stepped out onto the wide wraparound porch, the cold mountain air settled on her—clean, sharp, laced with pine and snow. She stopped dead, breath fogging in front of her.
The world unfolded in every direction like something too big to be real.
A sprawling, multi-winged log-and-stone mansion stretched out behind her, snow-heavy rooflines and warm timber glowing under the pale winter sun. A circular drive curved in front, flanked by towering evergreens draped in fresh powder. Beyond it, hundreds of acres of untouched land rolled toward jagged, snow-capped peaks that scraped the bright blue sky.
To the left, a huge bright-red barn stood like a giant against the white landscape, massive doors closed against the cold, with a large workshop attached that looked built to handle anything. Further down the gentle slope she could just make out what might’ve been a pond or a natural hot spring—steam curling faintly above the snow in the distance, impossible to tell which. And even farther on, nestled among the trees, a small guest cottage sat like its own perfect little fairy-tale house, smoke drifting lazily from its chimney.
Smoke curled from multiple chimneys across the whole property. The silence was enormous—only the soft creak of snow settling and the distant whisper of wind through the trees.
This isn’t a cabin! It’s a big ass fucking country…
Sage stared for a long second, then turned to Cal with an expression of pure, fake sympathy. She shook her head slowly, like she was delivering terrible news.
“Rough life, huh?”
Cal’s eyebrow lifted.
“No, I get it,” she continued, voice dripping with mock understanding. “Just hang in there… “I’m sure one day you’ll be successful enough to afford something nicer than this run-down patch of dirt.”
He looked at her. Really looked. The corner of his mouth twitched again.
Cal stayed quiet as he opened the passenger door of the big black truck for her, one massive hand resting on the frame like it weighed nothing.
She stopped walking. Stared at the open door. Stared at his hand. Looked up at him.
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Would you stop? This isn’t a— you don’t have to— this is like a cheesy romance novel.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Normal people just… get in cars. By themselves. It’s not a thing.”
He waited. The door stayed open. He stayed right there with that patient, immovable certainty, in no particular hurry at all.
“My mama—” he started.
“—Would beat you up,” she finished, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” She climbed up into the truck, the leather seat creaking under her. “I’m filing a complaint.”
“Noted,” he said, and gently closed the door.
She could have sworn she heard it as he walked around to the driver’s side—the low, rumbling sound of something that might, in a man with fewer scars and more practice, have been a laugh.
9
