Something Wilder(18)

Lily began stuffing everything back into the pack and noticed that everyone was chitchatting, lingering over their cold coffee. “What are y’all waiting for? You need me to carry you?”

They scattered, but Nicole stood there, quietly studying her. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Lily glanced at her and then away. “?‘Going on’?”

Nic’s blue eyes went wide, and she pushed her hair off her forehead. “Oh, we’re playing the bullshit game?”

It wasn’t worth trying to keep this from her. “I know him.”

“The quiet one.” It wasn’t even a question.

“Yeah. Leo.” She looked down at her boots and dragged a line in the dirt.

Surprised, Nic straightened and looked back over her shoulder. “Holy shit. That’s him? It’s that Leo? From the ranch?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he track you down?”

Lily was already shaking her head. “I’d bet Bonnie that he had no idea I’d be here.”

Nic sized her up quietly. “Should I worry?”

“What? No, I’m fine,” Lily assured her. “It was forever ago. It’s fine. I’m really fine.”

“Sounds like it’s fine,” she said dryly.

They both knew it was a lie, but Nic didn’t bother to ask again.





Chapter Six


LEO WALKED TO his tent in a daze, heart racing and palms clammy. With every step, his feet landed unsteadily on the ground—he felt like he’d walked onto a moving platform or into a wormhole. Seeing Lily wasn’t unlike being transported back to that first day at the Wilder Ranch, when she’d emerged from the barn and his world had instantly tipped upside down.

Except this time there was no anticipation, no immediate head rush of a dream that this woman could someday want him—only the stark recollection that he’d had the perfect love once and had pushed her away.

He was supposed to be packing, but instead he sat heavily down inside his tent, shell-shocked. Leo hadn’t heard her voice since the morning she’d called him, checking in when he’d failed to. He hated how brusque and sharp he’d been—he’d tried to reach her later, tried to fix it, but by then it was too late.

Now she was here and his blood felt electric for the first time in a decade, his head awash with anticipation and guilt… and something else. Hurt. Belated confusion. Why hadn’t she ever called him back?

After years of actively working to not obsess about where she was and what she was doing—envious of some imaginary man who got to love her and live the life he wanted—here he was, face-to-face with his first love, in the middle-of-nowhere desert. Leo had no idea how to proceed like everything was fine.

Minutes later, when the ringing in his ears eased and he trusted his legs not to buckle, Leo shoved his things into the roomy expedition pack Wilder Adventures provided and exited his tent. The remnants of breakfast had been cleared away, and Bradley was trying to figure out how to pack his tent into a bag the size of a coat pocket. Almost everyone wore jeans and long-sleeved shirts, but when Terry emerged from his tent, he’d changed into yet another set of camo military-style pants—the front pockets bulging with who knew what—and a vest with Velcro and straps and, somehow, even more pockets.

“You ready to do this thing?” Bradley asked Leo, who looked over at the shed, feeling deeply unprepared for the next ten minutes of his life.

“I have to grab boots.”

“If you’d paid attention to the packing list,” Terry said, “you wouldn’t be on your way to see teacher right now.”

Bradley smacked him in the stomach. “Have you seen teacher? She can bend me over her knee in the barn anytime she wants.”

Just then, Nicole passed by, eyes narrowed, and Bradley straightened immediately, muttering, “My bad.” Walter, who had just emerged from the outhouse, didn’t seem to know what to do with his arms and settled on some kind of salute.

“Knock it off,” Leo muttered to Bradley before setting his pack aside with the others and making his way to the opposite end of camp.

The tack shed was a twenty-by-twenty wood building next to a corral filled with a handful of excited horses who clearly knew it was almost time to go. Leo reached out, petting a soft nose as he passed, and stopped at the door. The shed leaned mildly in the shade of a spindly Russian olive tree, a wash stall with an ancient truck and trailer parked just behind. The door was wide enough to accommodate saddles or fifty-pound bags of feed and fitted with what looked like a sturdy lock for when they’d be out on the trail. It was meticulous inside, and he was hit with a bittersweet nostalgia at the heady scent of alfalfa and leather.

Lily was toward the back, working on something next to a big hook heavy with nylon halters, and Leo cleared his throat, wondering if he imagined the way she stiffened. He wished he could access the right words, the right way to open the most impossible of conversations, but his brain was a tangle. Why was she out here? Why was Lily Wilder, of all people, leading fake treasure hunts when she’d resented Duke’s relationship with real ones more than anything?

“You need anything other than boots?” She didn’t turn around, instead reaching for a lighter to melt the end of a piece of nylon rope.

Leo stared at her back, taking her in. Her braided hair was longer than when he’d known her, just past her shoulders. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing the same toned arms, those perfect, calloused hands. Lily had beautiful hands; long fingers—almost delicate. But capable and strong. He remembered how gentle they were when she stroked the head of her favorite gelding, how steady when handling a spooked horse. Her habit of tapping her fingers restlessly when she was lost in thought.