shaking leg over her horse’s rump. She unhooked her foot from the stirrup and slid, ungracefully, gratefully to solid ground. She winced as she walked—a new blister had formed over the old blister on the back of her right heel. But, she didn’t care. She had succeeded! She had triumphed!
Taylor limped her way through the quick camping routine she had established for herself, and then once she was satisfied with her situation she backtracked on foot to go find Clint. It was ridiculous to try to pretend she was alone when she wasn’t, in fact, alone. She had tried all day long and it hadn’t worked. She’d never been good at pretending.
“What’s up?” Clint was surprised, and not pleased, to see her come around the corner. He twisted the top back onto the glass bottle he had in his hand before he tucked it back into his saddlebag.
“We may as well make camp together.”
Clint hadn’t unpacked his gear or unsaddled his horse. “That’s what you want?”
It wasn’t. But it was practical. She had always been, until recently at least, a very practical woman.
“It’s practical,” she told him. “It’s hard for you to babysit me from way down here.”
Clint nodded his head after a bit and then fell in beside her on foot instead of remounting. The silence between them was uncomfortable for Taylor—and when she was uncomfortable, she tended to talk. It was a bad habit she’d never truly been able to break no matter how many times her ex-husband complained about it.
“You must have drawn the short straw to get this gig.”
No response.
“My entire family thinks I’ve gone off the deep end.”
“Have you?”
“Gone off the deep end?” Taylor asked with a labored breath. She had exchanged her gym membership for a frequent customer card at the local bakery over a year ago. She had packed on the pounds and her cardio was at an all-time low. This trip was either going to break her or help her snap the heck out of it!
Clint nodded. She could see by the look on his face that the question wasn’t sarcastic or rhetorical—he genuinely wanted to know if he was traveling with a loony bird.
Perhaps it wasn’t wise to be so forthcoming with the cowboy, but she was tired of living a dishonest life. She’d lived with lies in her marriage—always hiding who she really was in order to fit some impossible standard of the “perfect wife.” So she told Clint the truth.
“I’m not sure.” Taylor’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Maybe.”
It was odd. They were strangers, but they worked well as a team. Clint chose a spot on one side of the permanent fire pit, while she found the perfect place on the opposite side to set up her tent.
While she worked, she sneaked quick glances at her cowboy bodyguard. He was unlike any man she had dealt with in her adult life—there was a sharp edge to this cowboy. He had the look of a man who’d fallen on hard times more than once in his life. Years, presumably tough years, were etched on his narrow face and around his deep-set eyes. Everything about the man seemed to be suffering from too much wear; from his cracked leather boots to the hat that had been faded from black to a muddy gray by the sun, everything had seen better days.
Clint went off in search of kindling to start the fire while Taylor focused on finding a spot in the flat open field for Honey and Easy to graze. After they were settled, she worked on settling herself. She unzipped the black bag containing her tent and pulled it out of the bag. After the olive-green tent was unrolled, she quickly lifted and snapped the four frame braces into place.
She had the tent assembled and staked into place by the time Clint reappeared. The cowboy had a mostly smoked cigarette clutched between his teeth and was carrying an armload of kindling. He dumped the wood into the pit and then knelt down, wincing. She had noticed that he had an odd stiffness in his legs when he walked—it reminded her of how her grandfather moved before he underwent knee replacement surgery.
“I need to hibernate for a minute.” Now that they had stopped for the day, the ache in all of her joints and muscles, the fatigue she felt all over her body and the foggy brain that she had been fighting for the last several hours overwhelmed her. She had to lie down.
Clint looked over at her and gave a quick nod to let her know that he heard her. The man wasn’t a talker and he seemed determined to stay out of her way. She could appreciate that about him. If she had to have company on this journey of self-discovery, at least her company would be quiet.
Taylor zipped herself into her small tent and stretched flat out on her back, palms upward, legs straight, eyes closed. She groaned, low and long, wishing that she could locate a place on her body that didn’t hurt. With effort, she pushed her torso upright and reached down for her boot. She had developed a donut belly over the past six months and it was a chore to reach her foot.
With fingers stiffened from holding the reins all day, Taylor tugged, eyes closed, biting her lip to distract her from the pain she was feeling as the heel of the boot scraped over her blister.
“Ahhhhh!” Taylor yanked the boot off the rest of the way.
Even the simple chore of removing her boots was made harder by the excess weight she had gained.
“Gosh darn it, you’re out of shape.” Taylor muttered as she pulled off the other boot.
She tossed the boots toward the tent flap; slowly, she peeled off her sweat-soaked socks. Her socks stank, her feet stank, and the bloody blister now covered the entirety of her right heel. Taylor wrinkled her nose while she gently prodded the blister—why hadn’t the stupid thing popped already?
After examining it, Taylor struggled out of her jeans, quickly took off her T-shirt and bra, and put on a clean T-shirt that covered a portion of her panties. Once inside of the sleeping bag built for one, she slipped on her standard eye mask to block out the light and sighed the sigh of a woman who had finally found a comfortable spot after a long day of discomfort. She wiggled farther down into the sleeping bag, the top edge tucked under her chin, and prayed for sleep. Ever since the divorce she hadn’t slept well. She was hopeful that on this journey, pushing her body to the limit, that exhaustion would force her to sleep.
“Please, God—please let me sleep.”
* * *
At first, Clint was grateful to have Taylor shut away in her tent. He didn’t want this grunt job that his stepbrother Brock, foreman of Bent Tree, had volunteered him for, but with a negative balance in his bank account and creditors trying to track him down, he didn’t have a choice. At least while she was in her tent he didn’t have to worry about her.
While Taylor was temporarily contained he built a fire, broke into the beef jerky he always took with him when he went on long camping trips, drank some cheap tequila and chain-smoked cigarettes while the sun slowly disappeared behind the taller mountains off in the distance. Dusk was his favorite time to be in the mountains—it was quiet. Peaceful. He’d had a shortage of peace in his life ever since he was a kid. Which made him appreciate moments like this one—a good fire, a full stomach and a little hair of the dog.
But, every once in a while
