Swift and Saddled (Rebel Blue Ranch, #2)

by Lyla Sage

Our sunsets glow with color, And in the pearly dawn of morn, The pungent scent of sage drifts down, On a breeze that’s mountain born. —“This God-forsaken Land,” Juanita Leach, cowboy poet, circa 1940s

fucking dimples. Those should be illegal. Or at least require some sort of warning before flashing them at people. Warning: Dimples may appear and cause panty-dropping.

Some days I wasn’t very proud to be me, but I was always proud to be my dad’s son.

It was that word “nice” that frustrated me. It wasn’t a bad word, but to me it didn’t feel like a good one. I’d always been called a “nice” guy. It didn’t matter the context—with friends, with women, with strangers—I was always “nice.” Again, not bad, not good—just there.

“I see you, Ada. I always see you, even when you won’t look at me.”

You are earnest and talented, tenacious and funny.” I couldn’t have looked away from him if I’d tried. His green eyes gripped me and wouldn’t let go. “I would never insult you by calling you something as generic as nice.”

“Why do I have to leave?” Gus asked. “Because you have things to do,” Emmy hedged. “No, I don’t,” Gus said—the only one who wasn’t getting it. “Oh my god,” Teddy groaned. “You are literally so stupid. C’mon, Top Gun, let’s go shave off that mustache.” “Oh, fuck off,” Gus snapped.

“I feel stupid saying it now, but I honestly didn’t expect feeling better to be so…hard, I guess. And right now, I’m okay,” I said. “Right now, what I’m doing works, but I expect that there will come a day when I feel the ache in my bones—like the kind my dad feels before a storm—and what I’m doing now won’t work, and I’ll have to start over. It terrifies me.”

The woman I saw in the mirror was comfortable. She still enjoyed solitude, but she didn’t feel lonely anymore, and for someone who’d felt lonely her entire life, that was worth everything. It wasn’t that I grew up feeling like I didn’t belong, but like I didn’t belong where I was but might belong elsewhere. Maybe I could belong here.

It was weird. I’d spent my entire life feeling like I didn’t belong—not because I didn’t fit in or because I was lonely, but because I felt like I just belonged elsewhere. But I hadn’t known where. I think I might have been homesick for Rebel Blue before I knew it existed.

“I know you.” “No, you don’t. Those are all little things. Tiny things.” “The little things are the big things, Ada. They’re the things all the big things are made of. I might not know you all the way, but I want to, and I’m just asking you to give me a chance to do that.”

“You say you’re not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun.” I rolled my eyes, trying to move them in a way that would stop the tears from falling. “I would rather have the moon anyway.”