Brooklyn
The sun isn’t up yet. I can just see the orange glow beginning to illuminate the peaks around me. I’m not usually one for being up this early, but a sunrise over the Rocky Mountains is worth it.
I yawn for the third time in a row as I pull down the long road adorned with a massive wooden archway.
“Slade Ranch,” I read the sign aloud as I squint to try to make out if that’s a house or a barn I see straight ahead.
I roll down the window of my Toyota 4Runner. Other than the crunch of gravel beneath the tires, it’s eerily silent out here. I close my eyes and take in a few deep breaths of the crisp morning air. It’s early September here, so the mornings and evenings have started to bring frost and a chill to the air—though by midday, it’ll be in the high 70s with sunny skies. While I’ve only lived here for two weeks, I feel like I’ve already gotten a taste of Colorado’s unpredictable and ever-changing weather.
My phone dings. It’s a text from my younger sister, Mallory. It’s just after 6 a.m. here, which means it’s 7 a.m. back in Chicago, where I’m sure she’s already at her vet office for her residency.
Mallory:Hey sis, miss you! Hope you’re having a great time in Colorado. Give me a call so we can catch up. Love you.
I smile as I type out a response.
Me: Miss you too lil sis. I’ll give you a call soon so we can catch up. Lots to share! XoXo
Mallory and I have always been close. Leaving her back in Chicago was the hardest part of my decision to move out here. I almost didn’t take the job at Slade Brewing, but Mallory refused to let me give up my dream to stay close to her.
“Brook, who knows where life will lead me when my residency is done here? You know I’ve always dreamt of working with horses, and Chicago isn’t exactly overrun with stables.”
She grabs my shoulders and gives me a little shake.
“I’m serious. You go meet some sexy cowboy and pave the way for me to come out to Colorado in a few years.”
I laugh when I recall our conversation. The reality is, she was serious. I don’t doubt that whether I’m out here or not, Mallory will find her way out west someday.
I finally reach the end of the long driveway and put my SUV in park as I look out the windshield at the large custom-built home. It’s stunning. The wraparound porch has a railing made of logs and a few rocking chairs. There’s a wool blanket thrown over the arm of one of the chairs and a table next to it that looks like a tree stump. Whoever designed this house perfectly nailed that upscale rustic lodge look.
I climb the stairs and approach the door with a hand raised to knock when it suddenly swings open, and I’m greeted by a shirtless Tyler.
“The hell are you doing here?”
His dark hair has flopped down over his forehead. He runs his fingers through it, brushing it back off his face. He lifts his other hand and quickly pulls on a flannel shirt, but not before I get to admire the way his chiseled body ripples with the movement.
“Good morning to you too.” I give him a sincere grin but he doesn’t reciprocate.
“How’d you know where I live?”
“Not hard to Google Slade Ranch or ask anyone who lives within a hundred miles of here.” He just stares at me. “Trent told me. Can I come in?”
He steps aside and allows me to walk through the doorway. His flannel shirt is still hanging open. I quickly glance down to see a trail of dark hair that runs down his chest, dipping beneath his jeans that sit so deliciously on his hips.
His eyes catch my gaze and his fingertips quickly work to button the shirt. “Didn’t expect anyone this early,” he mutters, shutting the door behind us.
“I know it’s early, but I also know that you guys tend to be up before dawn and all that. I also know you’re busy, so I figured we could run through some things before the campaign launches in 10 days.”
“Campaign?” He scratches at the back of his head like this is the first time he’s heard about it.
“Yes, the campaign, Tyler. The one where we agreed you’d be the face of Slade Brewing International?” A coy grin slowly spreads across his face. “Oh, you’re a funny guy, huh?”
He walks toward the kitchen. “I’ll put some coffee on.”
“I’m actually surprised it’s after 6 a.m. and you’re not out in the pasture already,” I say, glancing around the great room. The ceilings have to be at least 12’. The large exposed wooden beams draw your eyes upward to a massive floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the property. It’s absolutely breathtaking.
The house is decorated very tastefully and way more professionally than I had expected from Tyler Slade—a man whose closet seems to consist solely of jeans, flannels, and cowboy hats.
I grab the bag I brought in with me and pull out my iPad and portfolio and lay the boards across the coffee table.