6) Buck Doesn't Like You Either

The ride home was exactly what I needed.

The late afternoon sun hung low over the Montana hills, casting long shadows across the pasture as Sundance picked his way along the familiar trail. His steady gait made for an easy ride, something I appreciated after the kind of day I'd had. The old buckskin had never been much for rushing, and after all these years, I'd learned there was little point in arguing with him about it.

Sundance had a way of doing things on his own terms. He was a handsome old buckskin, though I doubt he'd have appreciated the compliment. His golden, sandy-colored coat had begun to lose some of its richness with age, and a dusting of gray had settled around his muzzle and above his eyes. His mane and tail were a deep, almost charcoal black, matching the dark stockings that covered his lower legs. A faint dorsal shadow ran down the center of his back, adding to the darker shading along his shoulders and hindquarters.

He wasn't a particularly large horse, but he was solidly built, with a broad chest, sturdy legs, and the kind of muscle that came from years of honest work rather than looking pretty in a pasture. There were a few small scars scattered across his hide, little reminders of a lifetime spent doing what horses like him were meant to do.

He carried himself with the sort of quiet confidence that came from having seen just about everything. He wasn't particularly affectionate, nor was he interested in making friends with every person or animal that crossed his path. Truthfully, he could be downright aloof.

But he was dependable, and I'd take that over flashy any day.

There was something reassuring about the old gelding. He knew his job, knew his surroundings, and knew me well enough that I rarely had to give him much direction. We'd spent enough time together working cattle that sometimes it felt like he could anticipate what I wanted before I asked. He wasn't the kind of horse who needed constant reassurance or praise. As long as I kept him fed and didn't ask him to move any faster than he deemed necessary, we generally got along just fine.

Buck trotted alongside us, occasionally disappearing into the tall grass before reappearing a few yards ahead, his nose working overtime on whatever interesting scent he'd managed to find.

There was something about being on horseback that settled my mind. No engines, no phones, no people asking questions I wasn't particularly interested in. Just the steady rhythm of hooves against the dirt, the occasional jingle of the reins, and the familiar warmth of Sundance beneath me.

It was my kind of peace.

As we approached the house, the familiar tree line began to thin, and I guided Sundance through the opening. The trees had always provided a natural screen between the house and the rest of the ranch, offering a little privacy from the open pastures and the daily chaos of running cattle. It was one of the reasons most people never realized just how much land and work lay beyond the little stretch of property surrounding my home.

Ryan certainly hadn't.

The house came into view as we emerged from the trees, sitting comfortably between two fenced-in paddocks. The smaller one sat closest to the house, where Sundance and Dreamer spent most of their time when they weren't out on the larger pastures. Beyond it was a much bigger enclosure I kept for working cattle, particularly when it came time to separate the calves from their mothers during weaning season.

Dreamer lifted her head at the sound of approaching hooves, her ears immediately perking forward. Her black-and-white Paint markings stood out against the fading afternoon light as she made her way toward the fence. A short, impatient whinny escaped her, followed by a few quick steps that suggested she'd been waiting for us all afternoon.

Dreamer had never been particularly good at playing it cool. Unlike Sundance, who preferred to keep his opinions to himself, she made sure everyone knew exactly what she thought. She was curious, social, and occasionally a little too clever for her own good. If there was a way to get herself into trouble, she'd usually find it. She also had a habit of demanding attention at the most inconvenient times, as though the world had been put on hold until someone remembered she existed.

I couldn't help but smile as she reached the fence.

"Yes, I see you. The world has been terribly unfair without me, hasn't it?"

Dreamer bobbed her head, giving another impatient nicker.

Sundance flicked an ear in her direction but otherwise paid her little attention. He knew she was there. He always knew.

The two of them had been together long enough that I sometimes wondered if they communicated without making a sound. Dreamer had enough personality for the both of them, and Sundance seemed perfectly content to let her do all the talking. They were an unlikely pair, but somehow they worked.

Buck picked up his pace, eager to get home, and I gave Sundance a gentle squeeze with my legs.

At least, that was the plan.

As we came around the final stretch between the paddocks, Buck suddenly slowed. His ears perked forward, and his tail went still. I followed his gaze toward the front porch.

Well, hell.

There he was.

Ryan sat on the bottom porch step, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands loosely clasped together. His black leather kutte was draped beside him, the familiar club patch visible against the worn leather. He looked entirely too comfortable for a man who had no business making himself at home on my property.

Even sitting there, he carried himself with the sort of easy confidence that made it difficult to imagine him being particularly uncomfortable anywhere. Apparently, a little unexpected company wasn't enough to put him off his stride.

His head lifted at the sound of approaching hooves, and even from a distance, I could make out the unmistakable hint of a smirk.

I pulled back on the reins, bringing Sundance to a slow stop.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered.

Buck didn't share my apparent lack of surprise. He remained several feet ahead of Sundance, his body stiff and his attention fixed on Ryan. A low rumble started somewhere deep in his chest.

I glanced down at him.

"Easy, boy."

He didn't move. His ears remained forward, watching Ryan with the kind of suspicion I'd come to recognize since their last encounter. Whatever opinion Buck had formed of the man, he hadn't changed it.

Ryan seemed to notice the reception he was getting. His eyes shifted from me to Buck, and he slowly lifted his hands from his knees. He didn't appear particularly bothered by the dog's warning, though he seemed smart enough not to test him.

"Guess I haven't made the best first impression," he called.

"That's putting it mildly."

Sundance stood quietly beneath me, completely unimpressed by the unexpected visitor. I couldn't help but appreciate that about him. At least one of us knew how to mind our own business.

I swung down from the saddle, gathering the reins in one hand while Buck stayed close to my leg.

Ryan's gaze followed the movement before settling on me.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one who had decided my afternoon needed an unexpected turn.