Page 25 of Don't Burn Bridges
He grinned. “She likes to make her riders look good.”
Shylo glanced at him. He seemed calm, in control—completely in his element out there, as if he'd been born to ride a horse. As Maple shifted beneath him, something caught Shlyo’s attention. A rifle rested in a leather scabbard attached to the saddle.
“Why do you have a rifle?”
“For coyotes, mostly. Feral dogs too. They'll go after calves and foals, which is why we keep the youngest livestock in the pastures closest to the buildings. Out with the herd, we've got donkeys and ranch dogs. Coyotes usually know better than to tangle with them.” He shifted his gaze to her. “I've had to use the rifle before, but I’d rather not have to do it again.”
“Do you always carry one?”
“When I'm out riding, yeah.” He rested a hand on the stock. “A lot of folks around Hazard keep a rifle or shotgun in their pickup. You'll see some people open-carry a pistol too. In ranch country, guns are just another tool. Most days, they stay right where they are, but you never know what you'll run into.”
“Where I grew up in West Virginia, bears wandered through occasionally, and plenty of people hunted. I never realized carrying a gun was part of a rancher's workday.”
He smiled. “When you’re out checking fences and moving cattle, you're a long way from the house if something decides your livestock looks like dinner.”
“Good to know.”
Upon entering the woods, a soft breeze welcomed them, dropping the temperature to a comfortable level. They rode along a well-traveled path, with sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden threads that danced across the forest floor. The earthy scent of damp leaves, sun-warmed pine, and cedar filled the air, mingling with the musk of the horses. A bird called overhead, and somewhere off to the right, came the gentle flow of what sounded like a creek winding through the trees.
Up ahead, a gray squirrel darted across the trail and disappeared into the underbrush. The horses’ hooves made soft, purposeful thumps against the packed dirt and scattered twigs, and with each breath, Shylo took in the unfamiliar wildness around her. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen—older, wilder, and somehow alive. It conjured images of the enchanted forests from childhood fairy tales.
They rode in silence for a while, but it felt unforced and oddly soothing, catching her off guard.
She was enjoying the rhythm of the ride when Seth brought Maple to a halt near a break in the trees as the path widened enough for both horses to ease off to the side. Shylo wondered what made him pause when he dismounted and stepped to her side.
“Here.” He offered his hands. “Lean your shoulders forward a little, then swing your leg over the back of the saddle. I’ve got you.”
She accepted the assistance without argument. Her legs were a little unsteady after the ride. Once she was down, he led both horses a short distance off the trail and hitched their reins to a thick, downed tree trunk. Then, without pause, he unbuckled one saddlebag and pulled out a hammer and a small pouch of nails.
“This way,” he said, heading toward the gap in the trees.
Shylo followed him, ducking beneath a few low branches as they stepped into a hidden pocket of woods. The forest briefly opened up into a quiet glade, and the ground dipped slightly toward a shallow stream that curved lazily across the clearing. On the far side, visible through a few more trees, a simple split-rail fence stretched along the edge of the property—one rail halfway detached and sagging where it had pulled loose.
She hadn’t even known a road was nearby, let alone that they were this close to it.
They reached the stream and paused at the edge. The water wasn’t deep, but it moved clear and quick over a scattered line of smooth stones, the same sound she’d noticed earlier on the ride but louder now. Without a word, Seth reached back and took her hand. His grip was reassuring in a way that made her pulse skip.
Together, they stepped from rock to rock. Her boots slipped once, but his hold didn’t waver, anchoring her as she caught her balance. By the time they reached the far bank, her hand was still in his, and she wasn’t quite ready to let go. He didn’t release her until they were up the soft slope and on level ground again.
Once they reached the fence, he knelt to assess the damage. Before he could ask, she stepped forward and pressed a hand to the loose rail. “I’ll hold it, if you need me to.”
He looked up at her, a flash of surprise in his eyes, then gave a quick nod. “Thanks.”
The wood was rough and slightly damp beneath her palms as she steadied it. Seth worked with quiet focus, the sharp tap of the hammer echoing through the trees with each strike. She watched him for a moment—brow furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his forearm flexing with each swing—before returning her attention to her grip.
When he drove the last nail in, she released the rail, stepping back as he gave it a firm shake to test it. It held.
He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “That should do it.”
She nodded, glancing past the fence toward the narrow road. “It’s weird,” she said. “I didn’t even know we were this close to anything.”
“A little piece of paradise hidden in civilization,” Seth replied, his voice low.
Turning slowly, she took in the serene glade. Wildflowers bloomed in soft clusters near the stream in shades of violet, yellow, and pale blue, swaying gently in the breeze. A short distance away, a rabbit munched on some grass, eyeing the humans warily, while dragonflies and bees flew by. Above them, the sky stretched wide and blue, brushed with soft, cotton-like clouds that drifted lazily—like strokes of white paint across a watercolor canvas.
But when Shylo’s gaze met Seth’s again, everything else seemed to fade away. He wasn't merely staring. Somehow, he seemed to see every part of her in a way that made her pulse stir and her breath catch.
The space between them felt suddenly charged—fragile and full of possibility.
