Something Wilder

Because no matter what she did—no matter how hard she blinked, or how savagely she pinched her own thigh or stared at the sun to burn something else into her vision—she couldn’t seem to shake herself out of the stunning reality that Leo Grady had popped back into her life.

A couple of hours into the ride, she could take him in without her stomach clenching. He was still lean, but subtly bulkier in the way swimmers are—broad-backed, long-limbed, toned. Looking at him now, she could see nothing of the colt still growing into his frame. This Leo was a man who moved with ease in his body. His riding posture was as instinctively solid as it had ever been: hips forward, back straight but relaxed, heels down in the stirrups, with one hand resting on his thigh, the other loosely holding the reins.

Eager, hyperattentive, twenty-two-year-old Leo faded into a childish fever dream, paling in comparison to this man.

That summer, it had taken her forever to realize that the way he chased her wasn’t standard for him. For weeks she’d assumed he was a player, a flirt pretending to be shy. No one who looked like that and came after a girl with such bare intentions could possibly be as sincere as he seemed.

But he was. And the more she’d gotten to know him, the more she’d realized that he was usually reserved to the point of stoic silence. That Leo trusted only the people closest to him with the quiet, raspy flow of his thoughts. And right now, being reminded of how carefully controlled he was—how that same control meant that he would spend hours figuring out her body in ways she hadn’t even understood yet, how that control meant that when he’d decided to stay at the ranch with her she knew he’d thought about it from every angle, but how that control also must have been what allowed him to disappear entirely, like a ghost into fog—made Lily want to knock him off Ace and onto his ass.

“It’s fitting I’m riding an Arabian,” Terry said out of nowhere, dragging two fingers over his dusty mustache. He kept moving his horse to the front of the group, and Lily kept telling him to fall back in line.

“Calypso is an American quarter horse,” Nicole cut in breezily.

“Given that in ancient times,” Terry continued, ignoring her, “Arabians were reserved only for men to ride.”

“Do you just make bullshit up all day long?” Nic asked. Clearly she had already entered the Tired of a Guest’s Garbage phase. It had barely been twelve hours; a new record.

“It’s not bullshit.” Terry took a long pause to clear his throat and launched a thick ball of phlegm to the side. “The Arabian bloodline is the only pure bloodline left in existence.”

“That’s—no.” It was the first thing Leo had said in hours. “There are lots of other pure-blood breeds, Terry.”

“He’s right,” Nicole said, impressed.

Walter angled himself in the saddle to glance back at him. “Did you learn that when you worked on the ranch, Leo?”

Leo’s eyes briefly flickered to Lily, then away. “I—well—”

“Ease up on Calypso’s reins, Terry,” she interrupted, saving them both. But she was relieved to discover that Leo hadn’t tipped his friends off to what had gone down between them years ago. She suspected it was just a matter of time before the other three figured it out, but the longer she had without them gossiping about her, looking at her differently, the better.

Terry huffed out an annoyed breath. “Calypso is a mare who needs a strong hand.”

“She’s my horse,” Lily reminded him, “and you’ll ease up or you’ll walk the rest of the way on your own feet.”

“Today is our shortest day on horseback,” Nic said, glancing nervously between Lily and Leo before turning her attention to the rest of the group. “In part because you’ll be sore. We’ll reach tonight’s camp in about a mile or so.”

“Another mile?” Bradley whimpered and tried to find a comfortable position in the saddle. “I already can’t feel my balls.”

Just as he said it, they came around a bend and the second night’s camp came into breathtaking view in the distance: a dramatic outcropping of wavy brilliant-red rock hugging a small open pasture of russet earth and clumps of spiky green sagebrush. Lily squinted to see the four hay bales with fresh targets for the archery competition and four others with iron bullhorns protruding for the lassoing. In a locked chest nearby, there’d be four sets of locks to pick, four books with code to solve, and four slide puzzles.

Usually, this was Lily’s favorite day of the trip. It was the first full day out in the crisp air and unreal landscape. Everyone was excited to be riding but happy to get off the horse after only a couple of hours. Guests were getting used to the idea that they’d done this for fun, gamely ready for adventure until the end. Tonight’s dinner, chili and cornbread, was Lily’s specialty. She loved the games, loved watching the guests with their newfound confidence, loved the usually friendly competition. But this time, she was filled with vague dread because whatever Terry thought was going to happen when the games came out, he was mistaken. He’d probably never seen Leo in this element.