Braving the Storm (Crimson Ridge #2)

Chapter 5

A fter settling on our roommate truce, Uncle Storm—or do I call him Storm, I still don’t know—announces that he needs to head out to the ranch where he has work booked for the day. Which makes me realize, with a jarring thud, I don’t know anything about this man’s life, other than having heard glimpses of his past as a professional rodeo star. A world champion at one time, no less, from what I remember being mentioned when I was young.

There were times he’d come visit the house and meet with my father in the years when they were still talking, and I remember overhearing snippets of conversation. Snatches of words the two of them exchanged about things like winning buckles and prize money, and usually what sounded like my father trying to shove business advice down his brother’s throat.

I know nothing about ranches or rodeos. I also don’t know anything about surviving how cold it is here. Never in my life have I lived somewhere with seasons, not even for a brief experience while on vacation. Our family trips were always the same. Tropical destinations, calculated to perfection, whereby my dad could spend his entire time on the golf course rubbing shoulders with the wealthy and powerful boy’s club .

“Could I come with you today?” I dry my hands on a tea towel with frayed edges and at least five holes in it. After he cooked breakfast, it seemed the minimum I could do was wash up the dishes.

Steely blue eyes meet mine from where my uncle is busy collecting his phone and keys before lifting his coat by the fleece collar.

“Out to the ranch?” He furrows his brow.

“Uhh. Well, sure… but also, if it’s at all possible, could we maybe go into town on the way there or back? I arrived in the dark, and I think I’m going to need some groceries and things…” I trail off once more, god I seem to be unable to finish a sentence around this man. Feeling a little foolish as I hear myself say those words out loud, because I’ve got a perfectly good rental car, don’t I? Which means I’m independent. An adult capable of getting myself around. For fuck’s sake, I even made it here in the first place, despite all the odds and ice-bound elements stacked against me.

Except, in the cold light of day, I now feel extremely nervous about driving, especially when I’ve never faced snow or frozen roads from behind the wheel before.

My uncle, however, seems like he’d handle it as easily as breathing.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek before my brain can start commenting on how easily he handled other things, too…

“Sure. Might as well show you where to find everything in Crimson Ridge.” He shrugs, then, in a soul-stealing moment, his eyes drop down my figure.

Heat floods my pussy, lavishing me with a traitorous sweep of tingling sensations between my thighs.

“Is that what you’re planning on wearing?”

I open and close my mouth, glancing down at myself, confused and determined to ignore the visceral reaction my body just had to his eyes being on me.

“Yes?” It comes out as a question.

“Nope. Absolutely not.” He grunts and stomps past in the direction of the bedroom, crashing around in there for a minute before returning with a thick flannel shirt and heavy coat. Dropping both items on the counter beside me, he carries on toward the door and picks up a tan-colored cowboy hat—one I didn’t even notice hanging on a hook behind the door before now—shoving it on his head.

Do not stare. Briar, don’t you dare. Do not let yourself be swept away by how unbelievably hot your uncle looks covered in tattoos and with his sexy leather cuff on his wrist and wearing too-tight wranglers. Ignore, with every ounce of self-restraint you possess, the fact he’s now gone and added a motherfucking cowboy hat into the mix.

Screw my miserable life.

“Put those on, and for the love of god, I hope you’ve got something less flimsy to wear on your feet because I ain’t dealing with you losing toes to frostbite on day fucking one out here.” Then he’s out the door, taking his perfectly fitted jeans with him, calling over his shoulder before the door slams. “I’ll be waiting in the truck.”

I’ve had the grand tour of Crimson Ridge.

It took all of five minutes.

This place is reminiscent of a quaint Hallmarky setting. I’m sure there are a hundred movies where the city girl goes to a town like this and gets swept off her feet by a volunteer firefighter, his eight-pack abs, and a golden retriever named, ‘pumpkin spice.’

Folks wave for no apparent reason. Even people passing each other on the road driving in the opposite direction of one another. What the fuck? I genuinely didn’t think people did that kind of thing.

Back home, the unspoken rule is to avoid eye contact and look the other way. Strangers are exactly that. Strangers.

I’ve picked up groceries, winter-appropriate layers, and two different kinds of boots—one pair in a chunky work style, the others are some proper black cowboy boots because my uncle looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel when he saw my white sneakers—and the whole time I’ve had to do so while drowning in his masculinity.

His shirt and jacket are a potent scent of man that I’m entirely unprepared or ill-equipped to deal with. My body took one deep inhale of the collar and promptly turned into a purring feline ready to rub and twine around his ankles, drunk on a heady blend of woodiness, spices, and leather. There’s a smokiness there, too. Faint and subtle, but it keeps tempting me to bury my nose in the fleece lining, chasing that charred scent.

Wearing his clothes makes me drift off into reveries of nights in these mountains, beneath the stars, curled in front of a bonfire, being held in strong arms.

An embrace that I could only ever hope in my furthest away fantasies might end in heated kisses and perfectly rough touches.

“Devil’s Peak Ranch is at the top of the mountain access road. Colt is what you might call a neighbor out here, except you’d be trekking a hell of a long way to borrow a cup of sugar.”

Uncle Storm’s words jolt me out of my daydream. How badly my cheeks flame doesn’t bear thinking about. It feels like I’ve been caught red-handed in the act of something very wicked… namely that the stranger I should have been picturing was tattooed and broad-shouldered and far too similar to the man filling the opposite end of this long seat.

The truck tires bump over the grit and rough road beneath us, and I realize we’ve passed the turn-off to get to the cabin.

Our cabin? My cabin? I don’t even know what to call it.

Ours feels too much like we’re a couple, and with my current predicament of how badly my body is behaving all because he insisted on my wearing his clothes, I’m not certain it’s a good idea to entertain thoughts of anything along those lines.

Maybe I need to name the cabin. Like how people give a sailboat a name ?

We carry on higher up the mountain, passing more and more snow as we do so. It’s obvious, even to my inexperienced eye, that wherever we are headed, this ranch would get snowed in much more frequently.

“Do you work up here a lot?” My eyes track the scenery. There’s a steep ravine on one side of the road—terrifying, thank you very much—on the other are sturdy pine trees and rock faces. Everything appears frozen in crisp shades of white and pale blue.

“When the horses need shoeing. Or when Colt needs help getting shit done around the ranch.”

“Shoeing?” I give him a look, but he’s concentrating on the road, and that sets my pulse a little more at ease. Not that I’ve been white-knuckling the seat this entire ride, but I might have been as we traversed some of the narrow bends and blind corners.

“You’ll see.” He doesn’t give me any more than that. Around us, the truck speakers thud with a whole lot of angry-sounding drumming and aggressive lyrics. My uncle’s choice in music is… a lot.

But he drums his fingers in time, seeming to enjoy his taste in death metal.

It’s not doing anything to calm my jangled nerves, but I’m hardly in a position to take control of the playlist.

Sucking in a breath, I focus on the winter wonderland outside, which is utterly breathtaking, prompting me to dig out my phone—this thing has been intentionally left on airplane mode ever since I boarded my flight—and film a little of the snowy vista as we drive.

“It’s so pretty,” I murmur.

And that’s when we crest the final ridge, and Devil’s Peak makes her dramatic appearance on the horizon.

“St?rmand Lane’s niece has never ridden a horse before?” A sapphire-eyed cowboy with an impeccable jawline leans on the side of our vehicle. Kayce Wilder was all beaming smiles and seemed friendly enough when he came out of the barn to greet us as we arrived and first hopped out of the truck.

Uncle Storm grunted something before striding away, leaving me unsure whether to follow after him, or stay put.

So I’ve ended up standing around in the gravel parking area outside an incredible-looking mountain homestead, trying not to openly drool over how gorgeous this ranch is.

Not that I have any experience in visiting other ranches before, but this one seems picturesque and has an energy about it I can’t help myself from immediately being drawn to.

“You’re for real?” Kayce looks me up and down with a bemused expression.

“Nope. I can’t even remember the last time I saw a horse in person, either.” I grimace and cover my face with my hands. “Annnnd now you probably think I’m some sort of city-girl-idiot admitting that out loud.”

Kayce laughs, a deep, genuine chuckle that lights up his eyes. “Nah. Don’t sweat it. If you’re Storm’s niece, you’ll do just fine around ‘em. That man is like the fucking horse whisperer, I swear.”

I have to bite my tongue about five ways as the immediate urge bubbles up to shout and dramatically wave my arms in an effort to emphasize that we’re not related by blood in any way, shape, or form.

Except, I realize how utterly absurd that would be and not suspiciously odd behavior at all.

God, I really am the queen of overthinking.

“Can we go see them?” Deflecting to something other than talking about uncles and nieces, I give Kayce a hesitant smile.

I mean, it’s the truth. I am genuinely curious. Although the part of me who spent half the truck ride up this mountain imagining how my own uncle’s stubble would feel brushing over my lips, that hussy has an ulterior motive.

Something about the prospect of seeing that tattooed, giant of a man around animals is doing things it shouldn’t inside my stomach.

Fluttery, swoony things.

“Yeah, come on, Briar. He’s only checking them out for who needs what for their shoes. Now that the snow’s thawed and the forecast is good, Storm’s gonna come up and get them all done.”

I feel like this man could be speaking a foreign language, but I trot behind him to keep up with his long strides. With every muddy patch I navigate, I’m ever more grateful for my new boots that are keeping my toes warm and dry.

“Is this your ranch?” As we walk into the barn I take a couple more photos and videos on my phone. This feels magical. A picture book level of unreal. Am I romanticizing this entire moment, or does the air even feel lighter up here?

After being trapped for so long, this mountain is absolutely the place my tattered heart needs to be in order to find some solace.

“Ah, you won’t get much use out of that thing up here. There’s no cell coverage up the Peak.” Kayce jerks his chin towards my phone. “Reception down in Crimson Ridge can even drop in and out when the weather gets hectic. We’ve got patchy internet up here inside the house, at least. Drives me nuts being so isolated, but it is what it is. Come to think of it, Storm might have only just managed to get WiFi at his place. Pretty sure he lived all hermit-style without it for years.”

“You know, I actually could use some digital detox time while I’m here, so that doesn’t worry me in the slightest.” Hopefully, I sound breezy as I say the words. Inwardly, I’m dreading what will be waiting for me on my phone when I do eventually check my messages.

Kayce stops beside a wooden partition, and a horse's head immediately pops over with a loud snort.

The size of it and suddenness makes me jump and stifle a squeak. This horse is taller than he is, even with his cream-colored cowboy hat on, which means they both tower over me .

“Hey Winnie-Win, meet your boyfriend Storm’s niece… this is Briar.”

My cheeks go a little pink at the introduction, but I quickly shake it off.

“Can I take a photo of her? She’s beautiful.”

“Of course. Winnie’s a total slut for the camera. But come give her a pat and say hello first, city girl.” Kayce chuckles and shows me how to do a proper horse greeting .

I’m in love within seconds.

Not with the charming cowboy—I mean, he’s nice to look at, you’d be blind not to appreciate that golden, all-American athletic glow—but with the horse. Actually, all the horses.

We work our way around the barn, and Kayce is the perfect tour guide. Which I discover is actually what he does here at the ranch during the warmer months. Visitors come and do activities like trail riding, and some even stay over at the property while they still operate a herd of cattle and run a relatively small ranch operation.

Or, at least, his dad does, and Kayce helps out, from what I can gather.

“You’ll vibe with Layla when you get to meet her. The two of them will be back any day now… They took off for the winter, and last I heard, they were in Ireland somewhere but getting ready to fly out.”

Half my attention is on the man beside me, and the other half is on the prickling sensation that dances along the back of my neck. I still haven’t seen sight nor sound of my uncle, and feel a little disappointed that I didn't catch a glimpse of him around the horses.

They’re such gentle giants. Old souls speaking through big, liquidy eyes as they peer at me and nibble my hair. Their whiskery muzzles and velvety feeling lips explore my pockets, searching for treats, which leaves me giggling each time at the tickling sensation.

I’m aware that as worrying as it is that I’m curious, I very much want to see what he’s like around these creatures. It’s barely been a day and I have an unhealthy amount of interest in the man I’m going to be leaving here with—going home in the company of after we’re done. Alone.

The man I should not be thinking about at all.

Kayce ushers me down past the rows of stalls filled with shavings and hay, surrounded by an earthy smell that hits my nose, we head in the direction of a room found at the far end of the building. It smells rich and leathery inside the cramped space, and I see all sorts of riding-related equipment. Saddles and halters and stirrups. Or at least, that’s what I think these things are called.

Then, my eyes fall on the figure I’ve been secretly hoping and sneaking sidelong glances to watch out for. He’s leaning over a table along one wall, flipping through a notebook, and when we walk in, he straightens up, letting the pages fall shut with a thud.

His blue eyes flicker to me, and then to Kayce. It’s quick as lightning, but I see the way his eyes tick down ever so slightly.

That’s the moment I register that Kayce’s hand is settled on the small of my back. It’s not anything more than a guiding touch, a polite motion to show me through the doorway before him, and there definitely hasn’t been anything more than friendly chat between the two of us.

I feel awkward all the same.

Does he think I’ve been out here flirting and throwing myself at the first sign of attention from a man?

Would he care if I did attempt to date someone, anyone, while I’m here in Crimson Ridge?

Do I care if he cares? Do I want him to care?

Oh my fucking god. If I’m even thinking about this for two milliseconds, then that is certainly my sign that I need to try and find myself a date.

“You two all done?”

“Yup. Catch you tomorrow, old man.” Kayce steps back, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Meet you at the truck.” A wall of muscle pushes straight past me. He does that thing again, where he’s out the door without a second’s hesitation, muttering over his shoulder as if I’m a giant inconvenience.

While I’ve been stuck in my little internal battle, the other two have been talking, and I’ve been completely zoned out. So now I’m scurrying to catch up with my uncle, while behind me, I hear Kayce call out.

“See you tomorrow, city girl. Wear something for riding. We’ll have you up on a horse in no time.”