Swift and Saddled: A Rebel Blue Ranch Novel
Swift and Saddled: Chapter 4

I’ve made a lot of stupid decisions in my life—really stupid decisions—so you’d think that I’d understand that stupid decisions have consequences.

For example: If you choose to marry an asshole, your marriage is going to suck. If you choose to eat nothing but old Doritos for dinner, you’re probably going to wake up hungry. And this is my new favorite: If you impulsively decide to kiss a stranger in a Wyoming dive bar, you will lose your iPad.

Which you need. For your job. That you start today.

Excellent.

Now I had to show up for the first day of my biggest job to date without my planner, renderings, color schemes, product spreadsheets, and basically everything else I needed. Because not only did I leave my tote at a bar after kissing a stranger, I left it at a bar that doesn’t even have a phone number. Which honestly feels kind of illegal.

But the whiff of cigarette smoke coming from my hair told me the Devil’s Boot didn’t care too much about the legality of having a phone number.

So not only would I look like an idiot on my first day, I would also have to return to the scene of the crime and risk running into the handsome cowboy stranger, which would lead me to another stupid decision.

Because goddamn.

I could not get that kiss out of my head. I dreamed about what would’ve happened if the bartender hadn’t caught us. Would he have kept going? In my dream, he slid his rough hands under my shirt and dragged them up and down my body. I undid his belt. He lifted me off the ground. I wrapped my legs around his middle. He pinned me against the wall and—

“Double shot vanilla latte for Ada!” The barista’s voice shook me from my inappropriate nine a.m. fantasy.

Right. Coffee. That’s what I was doing. Not getting pressed up against the wall by a hot cowboy in a dusky dive bar.

Which was a bummer, but probably for the best.

I went up to the counter, picked up my latte, and nodded a quick thank-you to the barista. She looked at me for just a little too long—like she couldn’t figure out why I was here. The eyes in the coffee shop also lingered on me a little too long. It was like I was wearing a giant neon sign that said not from here.

I never realized how grateful I was for drive-thru coffee places until this moment, but even so I had to admit this place was cute. Also, it was called the Bean? Needlessly adorable.

Once I got back outside, I snapped a quick picture of my coffee cup with the mountains as a backdrop to post on my socials with the caption “Day 1. New project coming soon.”

I started @homeiswherethehartis after failing out of my interior design program. Honestly, I wasn’t really built for school. Starting my own business helped me realize that that was okay—that just because I wasn’t good at school didn’t mean I couldn’t be a good designer and that I could learn my trade in a different type of classroom.

What started as volunteering to declutter and organize people’s closets had turned into something that I was proud of.

Too bad I was the only one in my life who was.

Still, the community I built on my profile was one of my favorite things. There were people out there who didn’t even know me who liked to follow along on my projects.

And I had a feeling this one was going to blow everything else I’d done out of the water.

My red 1993 Honda Civic was waiting for me in the parking lot. Honestly, I was surprised she’d made it to Wyoming in one piece. I should’ve had more faith in her. After my divorce, she was the only car I could afford. She had her flaws. The power steering fluid leaked, so I had to refill it once a week if I wanted to be able to steer. She also didn’t have air-conditioning. But she was the only thing that had never let me down. I sat in the driver’s seat and pulled up the map to Rebel Blue on my phone. Thank goodness I’d kept that in my pocket and not put it in my tote. I didn’t quite know how I was going to approach the day without my iPad, but at this point, I didn’t have a choice.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, Ada. And your stupid prize is looking like an idiot on the first day of your new job.

Google Maps said that Rebel Blue was about twenty minutes from the town center. It was nine o’clock, so I was running right on time.

You would never catch me going anywhere without at least a ten-minute buffer.

Honestly, I’d prefer fifteen, but the coffee was a necessary stop.

I took a quick second to look at myself in the rearview mirror. The first thing I noticed was that I looked tired. The dark circles under my eyes were not doing me any favors.

Rebel Blue Ranch, here I come.

I grew up in California, so I wasn’t a stranger to the mountains, but I’d never seen mountains like these before. My mountains were mostly dry, dull, and brown. Plus, I’d grown up in the suburbs of San Francisco—not in the heart of the Wild West. The winding roads that led me to Rebel Blue were carved into what felt like the entrance to another universe. It was the beginning of April, so there was still a good amount of snow packed onto the mountains, especially the higher up I looked. The stark white of the snow against the big blue sky was incredible.

I swore the Wyoming blue sky was way bigger than the California one.

My favorite spots were the places where the snow had melted enough that you could see the greens and browns underneath. It felt like a promise—that no winter could last forever.

Damn, it was crazy what these mountains were doing to me. One beautiful view, and I was contemplating my entire existence. Even though I felt small, the moment felt…big. Really big.

“In point five miles, turn left,” Siri’s voice blared through the speaker, and I trained my eye on the left side of the mountain road, looking for the entrance. I didn’t know if it would be clearly marked or if it would appear out of nowhere.

After a minute or two, I saw a massive wooden arch and gate. “Arch” wasn’t the right word—it was more like three sides of a square with a gate at the bottom. I slowed the car and pulled off the road, coming to a stop in front of it. Near the top of the square, big iron letters spelled out rebel blue ranch. Above that, burned into the wood, was an outline of what I thought was probably a bull skull. Or a steer? Is that what it was called?

The gate was open, and beyond it was a dirt road that seemed to go on forever. I looked down at my phone. The address that Weston had given me was apparently about a mile up the road.

I really hoped my car’s shocks would make it. I lifted my foot off the brake, took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold into Rebel Blue.

Here we go.