Something Wilder(19)

He remembered the way it felt when those fingers danced across his bare skin.

Wave after wave of realization left Leo wondering if he would ever get over the fact that it was Lily. Right there. Lily Wilder was just right there.

But, he noticed, she seemed to have no reaction to him whatsoever.

“I realize this might be a weird thing to ask,” he hedged, “but do you remember me?”

“Of course I remember you, Lovesick City Boy.” She turned, and the flatness in her hazel eyes read short on time and patience. It was an expression Leo had seen dozens of times… just never directed at him. With him she’d been standoffish at first, pushing him away, almost—he’d realized in hindsight—to test the strength of his attraction. But once she’d given in, she’d been as vulnerable and wide open as the sky outside. She’d given him everything without hesitation: her body, her innocence, her trust.

“So?” she prompted, impatient. “Do you need anything besides boots?”

He had to swallow before he could answer evenly. “No.”

Lily tossed the rope down and walked to a cabinet, opening it to reveal a tidy collection of boots in various states of wear and tear. She hadn’t asked him what size he needed, but Leo figured he’d take whatever he got. Lily stretched for a pair on the top shelf, then walked over to dump them at his feet. A small cloud of dust kicked up around him.

“Those should work.” She’d already returned to what she was doing.

He bent to pick them up and froze halfway. Holy shit. “You kept these?”

“Waste not, want not.”

She was as difficult to crack as the Riemann hypothesis.

Straightening, he moved to sit on a dusty trunk and slipped off his sneakers. After a few moments of tense silence, he risked it. “I didn’t know this was your business.” Leo paused, trying again. “I mean, I didn’t even know where we were headed until we got to the airport. We never—”

“Trust me, Leo,” she interrupted quietly, “I believe you had no intention of ever running into me again.”

“That’s not…” He closed his mouth, not trusting what might come out. What was happening here? He’d always known she’d be hurt that he hadn’t returned, but what had she expected him to do?

With words failing him, he picked up the first boot, staring down at it. The brown leather was smooth in his hand, the heel scuffed but still solid. Years ago—maybe a month before he’d laid eyes on Lily—when Duke told him over the phone that he’d want to get a pair of riding boots, Leo hadn’t had the faintest idea what differentiated a riding boot from a hiking boot. In town, Duke took one look at Leo’s Timberlands and sent him into Martindale’s, where the woman said a good pair of boots could last ten years if he took care of them.

As Leo slipped his foot into one now, he could see she was right. They’d obviously been worn, but when he stood, the instep gripped like it should, and the heel was snug enough not to slip. “Still fit perfectly.”

She hummed in the corner: acknowledgment, not interest.

The familiar, stubborn set of Lily’s shoulders creaked open a time capsule buried beneath Leo’s ribs, sending a stabbing ache through him. He reached up, rubbing the spot just beside his breastbone. He’d loved Lily so deeply that it changed his biology. Standing here now, it seemed his love for her hadn’t gone away, it had just been vacuum-sealed and stored. Back in her presence, the physical memory of his infatuation was released in a deluge, gasping to life, and adrenaline flooded his bloodstream.

He knew he’d been excused, but his feet wouldn’t move. A heavy, knowing silence stretched between them. “How have you been?” he finally said.

“We’re not doing that, Leo,” she said, not bothering to turn around. “We’re not long-lost friends. I am the guide, and you are the guest. We’re only talking right now because you’re paying me.”

Well, then. He bit back a reply, knowing it wouldn’t be helpful; there was a canyon of hurt between them on both sides, and five minutes in a toolshed wasn’t going to bridge it.

Besides, they were standing in a room full of sharp ranching implements. The Lily he remembered knew how to use every one of them—there was a pitchfork right next to her, for God’s sake.

And yet he had so many questions. Lily had always hated these stories, this trail, hated the word treasure. Duke might’ve been a wanderer, but the Lily he’d known would’ve had to be buried in the barn at Wilder Ranch before she’d let someone else run things. She’d never willingly leave.

“I just wondered what you were doing here,” he managed, finally. Something ugly settled in his gut. “Why are you out here instead of getting the ranch ready for the season?”

Lily turned on him and instinct propelled him back a step.

“It’s not my ranch anymore.” She lifted her chin. “Now get your boots on and head out. We’re done in here.”





Chapter Seven


AFTER A BRIEF orientation to the gear they’d be using, Lily led the group over to meet the horses. Dynamite was patient enough to keep steady as Walter worked up the nerve to step into the saddle. Bullwinkle—as big a jokester as his rider—had Bradley on his ass twice before they’d even left the corral. In a stroke of irony, Terry was matched with Calypso—a grouchy, bitey mare—and after only a moment of hesitation, Leo managed to swiftly mount Lily’s most sensitive horse, a beautiful black gelding named Ace.