It was mid-afternoon when Samara steered the UTV along the road that led to the western section of the ranch. She wanted to check in with Bear, the foreman who oversaw the cattle. It was beginning to snow again, just like the forecaster predicted.
She wished the only things on her mind were the weather and the missing horses, but she was still thinking of Adalard. The scene in the truck and their brief kiss played like a broken record in her thoughts. She muttered a curse when she hit a pothole, and the UTV roughly bounced.
“It wasn’t really a kiss. It was more of a peck,” she defended, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
She sighed with relief when she saw the bunkhouse, barn, and stables. Bear was talking to one of the cowpokes when she pulled up in front of the barn. She saw a saddl
