Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
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.
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.