I closed my eyes. The sound of ragged breaths and the rhythmic beats clopping against the hard terrain filled my ears. I held on tight, as I felt the power of the beautiful beast beneath me.

"Faster, Daddy!"

I squealed with delight as he whipped the reins and gave a swift kick, making the horse run faster, and my grip around his waist tighter.

The wind blew my hair around my face, and I smiled wider. We were running free. And not a single thing mattered more in those moments between the beat of the hooves underneath, than my daddy and me.

Suddenly, the horse came to a harsh stop, nearly making me lose my grip.

My daddy abruptly turned toward me, shaking me. His mouth was moving, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.

"What? Daddy, I don't understand."

I could hear my name being called, but it wasn't coming from him. It was coming from somewhere in the distance. I looked around, searching for the source, unable to find it. I turned back to face my dad, but he was no longer there. Fear clawed its way up my throat, before a sharp push shoved me off the back of the horse, and I fell with a piercing scream.

"Grace? Grace, wake up. We're almost there."

I slowly blinked open my eyes, allowing fluorescent light to pour in. A blurred face gradually came into view as I rubbed my eyes and groggily sat up, the dream I was in fading like the sun beneath the horizon.

"How long was I asleep for?"

"Just twenty minutes or so. We're about to land. They just announced it."

Mark pointed out the airplane's window; we sliced through the last of the clouds as tall buildings came into view.

Although there weren't many.

Wyoming's empty land was vast and one of the reasons I was excited to vacation there. It was a welcoming change from the busy hustle of our every day city life.

Mark, on the other hand, wasn't exactly thrilled about my vacation idea. He much preferred city life, so when I suggested spending our five-year anniversary at a lodge in Wyoming, it took a fair amount of convincing—and bargaining—to get him on board.

In the end, he agreed on one condition: he could still work.

I counted it as a win. No matter where we vacationed, he would have worked anyway.

Mark had worked at an advertising company with my stepdad, Frank, for six years and had become obsessed with climbing the corporate ladder.

That's actually how we met. I'd stopped by Frank's office one afternoon to bring him lunch, and he introduced us. According to Frank, Mark had real potential, and I'd be lucky to end up with a man like him.

Five years later, he was still chasing Frank's approval, and Frank was more than happy to give it. To be fair, Mark had an incredible work ethic, and I admired that about him. But there were times when it felt as though work mattered more to him than our relationship ever would.

I was hoping this trip would be a reset for us—a chance to reconnect away from deadlines, expectations, and the constant pull of work.

At least, that was the plan.

The plane jolted as the wheels met the runway, rocking my body against the seat. I gripped the armrests, pressed my head back, and squeezed my eyes shut.

I loved flying.

Landing, however, was an entirely different story.

I wasn't sure if it was the jarring impact that unsettled me or the reality of being grounded again—stuck in one place without the liberating feeling that came with soaring through the clouds.

"I don't know why you make such a big deal out of landing, Grace. We're fine."

Mark let out an exasperated sigh and patted my hand where it clung to the armrest.

I cracked one eye open and glanced over at him, watching as his hand retreated almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax and nodded.

"Yeah, I know. It just always puts me a little on edge. But we're fine. You're right."

I offered him a small smile before reaching down for my bag beneath the seat, wanting to be ready the moment we were allowed to deplane.

After all, we were finally in Wyoming.

The airport was small, so we barely had to wait for our luggage. Mark went to pick up the rental car while I grabbed our bags and met him outside.

Together, we tossed everything into the trunk and set off toward the five-star lodge that would be home for the next nine days.

It was about a thirty-minute drive from the airport to the lodge. I spent most of it gazing out the window, taking in the breathtaking landscape. It looked like a painting come to life—the towering mountain peaks in the distance, sprawling fields of green dotted with vibrant wildflowers, and the occasional glimpse of wildlife roaming freely. Everything about it filled me with a sense of peace I hadn't felt in a long time.

Then, without warning, the dream from earlier crept back into my mind, tugging at my heart before disappearing just as quickly.

I drew in a slow breath and rolled down the window, welcoming the cool mountain air as I tried to shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of my stomach.

When the GPS indicated we were nearly there, I sat up quickly, leaning forward in anticipation as the lodge came into view.

Mark pulled into the entrance, and I let out a quiet gasp. It was even more beautiful—and far more charming—than the photos online.

The entire lodge was built of cedar and stone, with tall glass windows and soft lighting placed strategically to give it an almost ethereal glow. Two sweeping staircases curved upward and met at the entrance, while statues of wild mustangs lined the front lawn as if guarding the property.

I turned to Mark, ready to share in the moment, but caught the faint grimace he quickly tried to hide. His expression shifted into a tight, polite smile.

"Let's get inside, shall we?"

That effectively ended my excitement.

Inside, I paused to take everything in. The lodge was a seamless blend of rustic warmth and refined elegance—soaring ceilings, glass chandeliers, and mounted wildlife art that gave it such a graceful charm.

To me, it felt inviting. Almost like home.

To Mark, it was clearly just a place to stay.

Still, I refused to let his reaction dull my mood. I would find a way to make this trip worth it for both of us.

It's going to be great, he'll see.

Truthfully, the travel had worn us both down.

By the time we checked into our mountain-view room, my shoulders ached from sitting on the plane for so long. I welcomed the hot shower, letting the water wash away the exhaustion that had settled into my muscles.

When I finally crawled into bed, I let out a contented sigh. The sheets were cool and impossibly soft against my skin, and I couldn't resist burrowing farther beneath the blankets. For a few blissful moments, I simply lay there, savoring the comfort.

Mark climbed into bed beside me, and before long, exhaustion claimed us both for a much needed nap.

When I woke, the room was bathed in the warm glow of early evening. I reached for my phone on the nightstand.

Nearly dinner time.

Almost on cue, my stomach let out an impatient growl, making me laugh to myself.

Apparently, it had waited long enough.

I rolled onto my side to find Mark already awake, his attention fixed on his phone. I nudged his arm.

"What do you say to exploring a little more of the lodge and finding somewhere to eat?"

"Sounds great, I'm starving. Let me just get dressed into something else."

Partially reluctant to throw the covers off me, I followed Mark out of bed and we quickly got ready.

As we headed down to the first floor in search of something good to eat, I decided to stop by the front desk to ask for recommendations.

Mark decided on a casual bar and grill, insistent on getting a few good beers.

We were swiftly seated, and I thanked the waitress as she handed us our menus. I scanned mine eagerly, already beyond ready to eat.

Plate after plate passed our table, each one making my stomach grumble louder than the last. The smell of grilled steak, buttery rolls, and garlic drifted through the restaurant, and I won't pretend I didn't watch every dish like a hungry bear waiting to pounce.

As a chef, I was usually particular about food. But at that moment, I was so hungry I was certain I could have eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without a single complaint.

After we ordered, Mark and I settled into small talk while we waited. Though the more time passed, the more I could tell his patience was beginning to wear thin.

My leg began bouncing under the table as my eyes searched for our waitress. I was just about to try and flag her down when Mark spoke.

"It seems I'm going to be made to wait forever. Go to the bar and grab me a beer, sweetheart. You know the kind I like."

A breath I hadn't realized I was holding slipped out slowly as I stood.

Of course I knew the kind he liked. He and Frank had spent enough time drinking together that I could probably order it in my sleep—Corona with a lime.

I took the few steps to the mahogany bar and leaned against it, waiting for the bartender to finish mixing a drink.

While I waited, I couldn't help but notice the man standing beside me.

He had an intimidating presence—quiet, grounded, the kind that made you aware of him without him trying. My gaze drifted before I could stop it.

He tipped his head back and took a swig of his beer, his Adam's apple moving sharply as he swallowed in one smooth motion. When he lowered it, he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around the bottle.

I forced my attention away, turning back toward the bartender just as he finished mixing the drink.

"What does he pay you?" a deep, smooth voice rumbled.

I spun my head back so fast, looking toward him, confused if it was me he was addressing. His profile was still shadowed by the Stetson on his head as his fist continued to clench the bottle in his hand.

"Excuse me?"

He jerked his head toward Mark who was on his phone, paying no mind to me, before turning his full face toward me, gauging my understanding.

"He pays you, doesn't he? Guy calls you sweetheart in that shit tone and tells you to fetch him his own beer, you two must have some sort of an arrangement."

No, he didn't.

My jaw dropped—literally. Not just as a figure of speech but actually dropped as I stared at him.

I took a moment to really look at him now that his face was turned toward me.

He looked to be around my age, with chestnut hair peeking out from beneath the black Stetson perched on his head. A strong jawline, high cheekbones, and the bluest eyes I had ever seen held my attention a second too long before I forced myself to look away.

I definitely didn't want to become infatuated with a complete stranger—especially not one who had just implied I was a prostitute. Or an escort. Or... something equally offensive.

Whatever he thought I was, it didn't matter. I was insulted either way.

"I'm sorry, but what?" I threw my hand out as if to say 'stop' and shook my head, completely thrown off. "He's my boyfriend. It's called taking care of him. You know, what you do in a relationship?" I snapped, completely surprised by my own outburst.

That wasn't like me at all.

But apparently it was in that moment, because I wasn't able to stop my sudden onslaught as I looked him up and down. "Actually, who am I kidding, you have probably never been in one. You don't seem the type."

His slightly glazed eyes narrowed in on me, searching my face momentarily before looking away and taking the last swig of his beer.

"Pretty sure you take care of each other in a relationship. But you're right, what do I know?" He waved the bartender down. "Nate, this lady here needs to order."

My eyes widened before settling on him, utterly shocked and confused by his actions. My outburst suddenly felt a bit unfair. I placed my order, then looked back toward the abrasive stranger, unsure of how to act now.

"Thank you. But you didn't have to do that. I could have gotten attention."

He abruptly turned his whole body toward me and stood.

He was close—closer than I expected—towering slightly as he tilted his head down, narrowing the space between us to almost nothing. The tight arrangement of the bar stools left no real room for distance, no respect for personal boundaries.

His breath, warm and faintly laced with alcohol, brushed my skin. Heat followed instantly, a slow, unwelcome awareness spreading through me. My breath caught before I could stop it.

"I'm sure you could have. But wouldn't want your boyfriend waiting any longer—I'm sure he hates it."

He pulled back with a smug, infuriating smile. "Ma'am."

With a small tip of his hat, he walked off.

I stood frozen for a beat, his words ringing in my ears.

My mouth parted slightly, more from disbelief than anything else, and a heat of irritation curled through me.

I turned just in time to see him disappear into the crowd, my grip tightening around the edge of the bar as I stared after him, completely caught off guard by the audacity of his assumption.

He was right, of course, which made me all the more mad.

Mark hated to wait on me. But there was no way in hell I would ever admit that to him.

Grabbing the beer, I plastered a fake smile on my lips and headed back to our table where Mark was already looking irritated. I set the drink down in front of him and tried to push the conversation out of my head.

I was not going to let that man-child get to me.

Not even a little.

Congratulations! You have completed the first chapter lol Thank you so much for choosing to give this book a chance! Your notification is responsible for my happy dance😉 Hopefully I will see you in the next chapter. But if not...👇

Stay safe, stay kind, stay authentically you💕

-Allie