Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

DAKOTA

T he truck's engine rumbled like distant thunder rolling over the landscape as Dakota gazed out the window, the last rays of the setting sun painting the Texas horizon in strokes of fiery orange and crimson.

"Up ahead is the main stretch leading to Copper Canyon Ranch," Landon said, his voice low and steady over the growl of the engine. "That's where we all live and work. You'll be staying in the main house, so you won't have to mingle with the ranch hands unless you want to."

“Who all lives in the house?”

“My two brothers, Colt and Bryce, Colt’s wife, Briar—you met Colt and Briar the other day—Etta, our housekeeper, and the rest of the household staff. We have small cottages for our married couples and male and female dormitories.”

Dakota turned her head, her sapphire eyes reflecting the twilight as she watched him navigate the winding road with ease. His hands, strong and sure on the wheel, sent a flutter of anticipation through her. She was acutely aware of the space between them, filled with the earthy scent of his leather jacket mixed with a hint of sagebrush from the vast rolling hills that surrounded them.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet loud enough to slice through the thickening tension. "This is... more than I expected."

"Colt, my older brother, he runs the business side of things. Bryce is the youngest—he's got a wild streak as wide as the canyon and he runs the horse operation," Landon continued, oblivious or indifferent to the effect his proximity had on her. "And I run the cattle side of the business. Etta has been our housekeeper for as long as I can remember. They're good people. You'll fit right in."

The words washed over Dakota, a cascade of names and relationships that felt overwhelming in their simplicity and promise of normalcy. As the sky deepened into indigo, she could feel the weight of her past, heavy on her shoulders, even as the land around spoke of freedom and new beginnings.

"Can I... could we possibly do introductions tomorrow?" Dakota asked, grappling with the desire for rest and the need to maintain some distance from this magnetic cowboy who seemed to see right through her defenses. "I'm just…"

"Exhausted?" Landon finished for her, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Of course. No one's gonna bother you tonight. You can meet everybody when you're ready. Be warned—breakfast and dinner are communal and held up at the house."

Gratitude washed over Dakota like the first rain after a long drought. She gave him a nod, her gaze lingering on the stubble that darkened his jawline and wondering what it would feel like beneath her fingertips or better yet, to have it rub up against her inner thigh. She quickly looked away, chastising herself for the errant thought.

"Thank you, Landon. Really," she said, feeling the pull of an attraction she wasn't ready to explore. But it lingered there between them, a heat mirroring the dying day's warmth—a promise of something untamed and raw simmering just beneath the surface of their newfound acquaintance.

The truck's engine hummed a reassuring lullaby as Dakota gazed out the window, her eyes tracing the contours of the Copper Canyon Ranch. The land stretched endlessly, shadows clinging to the curves of the terrain like dark silk. The setting sun flamed the sky into embers, casting a warm glow over everything. Landon said nothing more, allowing the silence to swell between them—a comfortable quiet that wrapped around Dakota like a protective shawl.

They turned down the long driveway that led to the heart of the ranch—a grand main house, its rustic charm highlighted by a wide wraparound porch and tall oak trees providing shade. Nearby, a large, weathered barn anchored the property, flanked by smaller outbuildings that hinted at the hustle and bustle of the ranch.

Landon didn’t pull up to the front of the house but drove around to the back where several other vehicles were parked.

"This is it," Landon announced, indicating the house. “Most everybody comes and goes through the back door, which I’m sure drives Etta nuts. He cut the engine and cast a glance her way, his eyes reflecting the last of the day's light. They held a depth she could swim in and never find the shore.

Dakota followed him inside, her senses alert. The smell of clean house, spices, and leather greeted her, the scent wrapping around her like an embrace. He led her through a large kitchen that had seen many meals prepared with care, down a hall and up a massive staircase. Every corner held a hint of the people who lived here—practical, yet personal.

Dakota trailed behind Landon, the warmth of the place embracing her. She couldn't help but notice the intricate wolf motifs artfully scattered throughout the house—carved into the mantle, woven into a tapestry that hung on the wall, even etched onto the backs of the dining chairs. Each sighting sent a shiver down her spine, not of fear, but of exhilaration. These symbols seemed to hold a significance that whispered to her soul, echoing the tales her grandfather once recounted in hushed reverence—the legends of ‘the wolves’ of Copper Canyon.

She paused before a painting that dominated one wall, its brushstrokes capturing the wild beauty of a wolf's gaze, almost lifelike in its intensity. "My family has always felt a kinship with the wolves here," Landon's voice was low and smooth, startling her. "They're part of the land, part of us."

"Maybe you can tell me more about them," Dakota suggested, her curiosity piqued as she turned to catch Landon watching her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Maybe." The word hung between them, laden with implicit promises.

"Here's your room," Landon said, stopping before a door at the end of the hallway. "You can stay here as long as you need to or longer if you like. I’ll let Etta and my brothers know you’re here."

"This is perfect." Her voice came out softer than she intended, betraying a vulnerability she wasn't ready to admit. She glanced around the room—the soft linens and gentle colors, a stark contrast to the rugged cowboy standing in the doorway.

"All right then. Get some rest." His words were simple, but the way he looked at her, as though he could see right through to her weary soul, made her feel exposed.

"Thank you, Landon." She managed a small smile. He nodded once, his gaze lingering on her before he stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him.

Dakota leaned against the footboard of the bed, her pulse still racing from his proximity. Her body hummed with an awareness that hadn't been there before, an acute consciousness of the man just beyond the wall. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart—an echo of desire that mingled with the night air seeping through the cracked window.

Later, Dakota peeled away the layers of road dust and fatigue under the steaming caress of the shower. Time lost meaning as the water cascaded over her, washing away the grime and the lingering weariness that clung to her skin. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to indulge in the simple luxury, her thoughts drifting inevitably to Landon—the enigmatic cowboy who had become her unexpected savior.

The water enveloped her, a liquid cocoon, and for a brief moment, she imagined it was Landon's hands instead, strong and sure, tracing paths down her back, igniting flames wherever they roamed. With a gasp, she shook off the fantasy, chastising herself for letting her mind wander into dangerous territory.

Eventually, she emerged, her skin tingling from the heat, and slipped between the cool sheets of the bed. The fabric kissed her body, soothing and soft, a stark contrast to the day's harshness. As she lay there, the weight of exhaustion pressing down upon her eyelids, Dakota felt a sense of security seep into her weary bones. The dangers that had dogged her steps seemed miles away, held at bay by the sanctuary of Landon's home.

With the night enfolding the ranch in its quiet arms, silence became Dakota's companion. Yet within its depths, she sensed the stirring of life outside—of creatures and secrets that thrived under the cover of darkness. And as she drifted into sleep, it was with the knowledge that, for now, she was safe within the domain of the wolves and the man whose presence promised both peril and protection.

As darkness descended upon Copper Canyon, it brought with it whispers of things hidden and wild, much like the man who had offered her refuge. Dakota, despite her exhaustion, found sleep to be a fickle companion, chased away by thoughts of what lay beneath Landon's calm exterior. When sleep finally claimed her, it was fitful and filled with dreams.

The dream unfolded in shades of moonlight and shadow, the world around Dakota hazy and surreal. She stood in the middle of a vast, untamed wilderness, her bare feet sinking into soft moss as a cool breeze tip-toed through the trees. The scent of pine and damp earth was sharp in the air, grounding her even as the dream carried her deeper into its grasp.

From the shadows ahead, movement stirred—a large figure, its presence commanding and fierce. A massive wolf emerged from the cover of the forest, its coat a dark, shimmering blend of sable and silver. Its luminous dark eyes locked onto hers, and Dakota’s breath caught in her throat. There was no fear, only a strange, undeniable sense of recognition.

The wolf moved toward her, each step deliberate and powerful. Dakota felt her pulse quicken as it closed the distance, its immense size both awe-inspiring and comforting. When it reached her, the wolf paused, lowering its head slightly as if in acknowledgment. She reached out instinctively, her hand brushing against its warm fur, the contact sparking a connection she couldn’t explain.

But before she could make sense of it, the wolf’s ears pricked, and its body tensed. A low, guttural growl rumbled from its chest, vibrating through the air. Dakota turned, following the wolf’s gaze into the darkness behind her. She couldn’t see anything, but she could feel it—a looming threat, faceless and menacing, closing in.

With a snarl, the wolf leaped forward, placing itself between her and the unseen danger. Its movements were a blur of raw power and precision as it surged past her, its growls turning to feral roars. Dakota’s heart pounded as she watched the wolf charge into the shadows, its massive frame disappearing into the night.

The sounds of a struggle echoed around her—snarls, crashes, the sharp crack of branches breaking. Dakota stood frozen, torn between terror and awe, her instincts screaming for her to run yet rooted by the strange certainty that the wolf was protecting her.

Suddenly, the noises ceased, and silence descended like a blanket over the dream. Dakota strained to see into the darkness, her breath hitching as the wolf’s glowing eyes reappeared, emerging from the shadows. It approached her slowly, its powerful body battered but unbroken. When it reached her, it lowered its head again, pressing its forehead against her hand as if to reassure her.

A wave of warmth and safety washed over Dakota felt an overwhelming sense of belonging—like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And then she woke up, her heart racing, her hand still tingling as though the wolf had truly been there.

Sunlight spilled through the curtains, and Dakota stirred, a frown creasing her brow as she registered the unfamiliar warmth of the bed. The realization that she'd overslept sent a jolt of embarrassment through her. She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding with the kind of urgency that came from having been on the run for too long. She pulled on her clothes from the night before. She really was going to have to either retrieve her overnight bag or buy additional clothing.

Carrying her boots in her hand, she padded down the hallway, feeling the smooth wooden floor beneath her bare feet. The scent of sizzling bacon wafted towards her, guiding her steps to the kitchen where a woman—Etta perhaps?—stood, her back to Dakota, working at the stove. She turned at Dakota’s step upon the floor.

"Good morning. You must be Dakota; I’m Etta. Landon said not to wake you," Etta greeted her warmly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a knowing smile. "Sleep well?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—" Dakota's voice faltered as she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly conscious of her disheveled hair and rumpled clothing she’d worn the night before.

"Not to worry," Etta said, her tone light but firm as she faced her, her kind eyes cradling her in their gaze. "You needed the rest. No need for apologies. As you might expect, the rest of the ranch has had breakfast and is off and running. I heard you get up and thought I’d make you some breakfast."

She plated the breakfast she’d prepared and gestured to the coffee maker with a nod. Dakota watched her move with an ease that spoke of countless mornings spent in this very kitchen. It was domestic, intimate, and she felt a surge of gratitude mixed with an unfamiliar longing for something more than mere survival.

"Thank you," Dakota murmured, accepting the plate. "I can't expect you to do this every day."

"Not to worry, I won’t," Etta teased, bringing the food to the table and taking a seat across from her.

Dakota's cheeks warmed at her words, a flush that spread despite her best efforts to remain composed. They sat in companionable silence, the air heavy with unasked questions and the tantalizing aroma of the meal before them. A sense of safety enveloped her, as potent and tangible as the steam rising from her mug of coffee.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, held the charm that seemed to echo Landon's soul—a blend of the wild and the welcoming. And as Dakota allowed herself to relax into the chair, she couldn't help but wonder about the people who inhabited this place, serving her not only breakfast but also a sliver of peace in a world that had become tumultuous and terrifying.

Dakota traced the rim of her coffee mug with a slender finger, the warmth seeping into her. The scent of sagebrush and pine drifted in through an open window, mingling with the savory aroma of breakfast. It was easy, dangerously so, to feel at home here.

"Did you sleep well?" Etta asked.

"Like the dead," Dakota admitted, her tone light, brushing over the depth of her relief. "The ranch is... quiet."

"Quiet and full of secrets and stories," Etta said with a half-smile, her eyes searching hers. "But everyone has secrets and stories, right?"

She nodded, a tingle of unease threading through her. How much could she reveal without unraveling the delicate fabric of her past? "Some more than others," she responded, her words dipping into the pool of her own hidden depths.

"True enough." Etta leaned back, casually folding her arms across her chest. “Don’t fret; when you're ready to tell yours, we’ll be here."

The offer hung between them, tender and fraught with implications. She sipped her coffee, buying time as she wrestled with gratitude and the weight of her own secrets. The silence grew, not awkward, but a dense fog of unsaid words and simmering attraction.

"Thank you… for everything," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Anytime, Dakota." Etta’s soft reply sounded a bit like a growl, but without any rancor, unintentional perhaps, but it sent a ripple of awareness down her spine.

They finished their meal in a comfortable silence, the clink of cutlery punctuating the quiet. When the last bite was gone, Etta stood and stretched. "Grab some boots from the mudroom—should be a pair that'll fit you—and head on down to the barn, Landon will be waiting for you," she said, her voice now all business. "It's high time you saw the rest of Copper Canyon Ranch."

Dakota found the boots, worn but sturdy, and slipped them on. They were a snug fit, almost as though they'd been waiting for her. Stepping outside, she made her way down the well-worn path that led to the barn. The golden light of morning spilled over the land sprawling before her like an untamed promise. With each step, Dakota felt the layers of her old life shedding away, leaving her vulnerable yet somehow freer than she'd ever been before.

She felt his presence even before she entered the barn. He began his guided tour, the distance between them both a necessity and a challenge. It was a kind of waltz of proximity where every glance held the potential for collision. And though they both understood the steps, neither was quite ready to close the gap. Yet.