1
The day away from his multitude of responsibilities was exactly what Colt needed.
The fresh air, the heat of the summer day, the feel of his horse beneath him… and his shoulders relaxed, releasing the always present tension. He gave Tank his head as they trotted along the verdant green field, away from the ranch and stables. They had both been cooped up for far too long. Today’s ride was way overdue.
He couldn’t remember the last day he had had off. It had been weeks, what with the summer rush, and there was always work that needed to be done.
Truth be told, Colt was burned out. The dull repetition of his days and nights had become tedious. When his alarm went off every morning, he grimaced at facing the deluge of tasks. It had been far too long since he had viewed his day with a modicum of excitement. Quite simply, he thought about walking away from the ranch and all his myriad responsibilities, only to immediately feel contrite because he was fortunate to have grown up here, to have been handed the reins of Silver Springs Ranch, and be the head of the operations by the time he was twenty-five.
Didn’t make carrying the mantle any easier, though.
And just because he was worn out, didn’t mean that he didn’t love the ranch—because he did, with every part of his being. Colt had poured his heart, blood, sweat, and tears into this place over the last eight years. He was proud of the family business, and the pieces he had added to the ranch since his father had passed the torch of overseeing the company to him. Now, at thirty-three, the ranch was the total sum of Colt’s life, day in and day out. The extent of his world revolved around the acres of the ranch and reached as far as the town of Winter Park, but that was it.
Saddled on Tank, his seven-year-old chestnut Rocky Mountain horse, he left the grassy fields, took one of the mountain trails and rode up into the mountains surrounding Silver Springs Ranch. The ranch itself belonged to Colt—well, to his family, the Andersons. He had quite the nest egg from his share of the profits, and had invested what he made wisely.
They had been lucky this summer with all the rain they had received this year. They hadn’t needed to contend with forest fires in this area, in what was becoming known as the burning season. It was always a threat during the summer months, even with enough precipitation. And Colt knew how quickly that luck could turn, where a single spark from lightning or a careless camper could ravage thousands of acres.
“We’ve needed this, haven’t we, boy?” He patted Tank’s neck.
Tank jerked his head up and down in response. Colt laughed at the reply. He’d had Tank since he was a yearling, had helped train him himself, and they were bonded for life.
They crested the first ridge on the path. On the trail rides, the guides stopped at this spot for guests to take pictures of the panoramic view. It was a beauty. Always one of his favorites, the overlook had a clear view of the fertile valley below full of cattle and green grass, and in the distance, you could see the main ranch buildings, the hotel, the stables, and even a few of the guest cabins.
The path veered away from the ranch. It leveled off flat through a mountain meadow still full of wildflowers in the August heat—probably from all the rain they had received lately.
Colt knew these forests and streams, the meadows and trails, by heart, and so did Tank. He gave Tank his lead and they raced through the field. The ride exhilarated him. The strain, the malcontent, dissolved at the pounding of Tank’s hooves over the ground. The feel of the wind as it whipped over his form was invigorating. Horse and rider rode as one, reveling in the freedom and the glory of the day.
Signs of life were everywhere. Insects hummed. A raven screeched overhead. Chipmunks chittered in the trees and raced for cover out of their path. It all competed with the thunder of Tank’s hooves over the packed earth as they galloped.
At the far end of the field, Colt directed Tank onto the high trail. They were going to spend the day on the path. Colt had lunch packed for them in his saddlebags. A part of him thought he should have brought a bedroll and some overnight gear with him as well. That way, they could spend the night beneath the stars. He shrugged. If they got caught up, he had at least had the foresight to pack extra grain for Tank. They’d make do.
It was warm enough that, realistically, he could go without the bedroll, and simply use Tank’s saddle and blanket. He’d brought along matches for a fire, and had his shotgun to ward off predators. He didn’t go riding into high country without it.
Horse and rider moved as one over the hills and dales of the route as the evergreens thickened around bends, past crystal-clear creek beds of rushing snow melt from nearby glaciers. He lost track of time, enjoying the easy ride and open air. Colt wasn’t ready to end the day outdoors too soon.
And it became startlingly clear the further they rode, that this was what had been missing in his life.
Colt needed to ensure he took more time away from the monotony of the job. It didn’t matter how much he loved the ranch, but day in and out, nothing ever changed, not even the selection of available female company. It was no wonder he was courting burnout like a lover. And it was high time he found some companionship of the female variety. There were a few women in town who—if he was chomping at the bit—would do in a pinch for a Dom like him. And then the occasional tourist would cast her gaze in his direction during her stay.
He liked women, enjoyed the hell out of them when he was of a mind to. But the problem with women in town and the tourists was that they looked at him, and all they saw were dollar signs. It was one of the reasons why, when the new doctor, Grace O’Neal, had moved to town and taken over her deceased grandfather’s medical practice, Colt had made a play for her. But in the end, the good doc had fallen for one of his best buds, and Emmett, the ornery son of a bitch, had taken one look at Grace and fallen spurs over Stetson.
In the end, when it came to it, Grace was now more like a sister than anything else. Which left Colt with the women who knew he had a sizeable bank account.
It was both a blessing and a curse. Colt understood how fortunate he and his family had been with their ranch, the ingenious additions each generation had made that kept it a thriving, successful business. He never wanted for a roof over his head or food, and could afford first-class vacations to exotic locales, if he ever stopped to take them.
But it also left him having to question every woman’s interest, since most wanted him purely for his pocketbook. He hated to admit that it bruised his ego and made him unsure if he turned a woman’s head because of his looks or his wallet. Truth was, it was likely a combination of the two. And Colt wasn’t being egotistical when it came to his looks—women had always chased after him and flirted with him, as far back as his teen years.
Part of his hang ups over women seeing dollar signs and how they could make it work to their advantage were echoes of the number Carly had done on Colt’s self-esteem. They had met shortly after he was made head of the company, and she had tried to change him into some slick city businessman, used the prestige of his money and position to open doors for her, and demanded he keep her in luxury she deemed essential to her wellbeing and their relationship. He’d gone along with it for a while because he had convinced himself he was in love with her.
And she had only been in love with his bank account.