Katrina was forced to hold on tight again. “I’m not afraid of you, Reed.”

“That’s okay. I’m scared enough for the both of us.”

Katrina didn’t know how to respond to that. The idea of Reed being afraid of anything was patently absurd.

A long time later, the truck rocked to a halt on the dirt road, an aspen grove fanning out on the downhill side, and a steeper hill running up the other.

Reed shut off the engine. “We’ll have to walk it from here.”

“Walk?”

He pushed the driver’s door open. “Unless you want to wait here. I shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

“No, no.” She reached for her own door handle. “Walking is fine.” Luckily, she’d worn comfortable runners. Her midcalf, low-rise tights weren’t perfect for bushwhacking, neither was her tank top, but she gamely hopped from the seat.

Reed retrieved a worn leather tool belt from the box of the truck, strapping it around his waist, stuffing a hammer, tape measure, screwdrivers, wrenches and pliers into the loops and pockets. Then he tucked some lengths of rod and pipe beneath his arm, hoisted out a battered red toolbox and turned for a trail that wound up the side of the hill.

Katrina quickly fell into step with him. “You want me to carry anything?”

He snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I was just trying to be helpful.”

His long strides were incredibly efficient, and she had to work to keep up.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s not pretend you’re going to be any use as a pack animal.”

“Let’s not pretend you’re going to give me a break.”

“You should have stayed back at the ranch house.”

The trail grew steeper, and, as they neared the crest, she was forced to grasp at the branches of trees to pull herself forward. “And miss all this?”

Reed stood tall on the top of the ridge, a sloping meadow splayed out before them, falling away to a deep valley before rising to the next hilltop.