Trish followed Aaron through a narrow canyon, the red rock walls close enough to touch, and marveled at the vista opening out before them. A faint game trail led down to a verdant valley filled with lush grass, wildflowers, and even a gentle stream. No wonder the Shaughnessys kept this place a family secret.

“It’s stunning,” she said in all sincerity. Though it paled in comparison to the proud cowboy sitting his horse a few steps ahead of her. The late afternoon sun glinted like gold in his hair.

He glanced back and smiled. A real smile. It stole her breath. “Growing up, this was our playground,” he said, waving an arm to encompass the valley. “Whenever we got on Mom’s nerves—which was often,” he grinned, “Dad would bring us out here to blow off steam. We even stayed in the cabin a few times.”

Now that he mentioned it, she could see the dark brown roof of a log shack nestled under a giant cottonwood, the leaves a bright yellow gold. “It’s quite breathtaking.” And so different from the concrete jungle she’d grown up in.

“Come on.” He clucked to his horse and the animal began to make its sure-footed way down the steep grade.

Trish’s horse followed suit, not giving her time to get scared. She grasped the pommel with both hands, glued her gaze to Aaron’s broad back, and prayed. It was like going downhill on a roller coaster, but without seatbelts and a good deal slower—thank goodness. Pebbles rolled beneath their hooves, sending little puffs of dust floating into the air like signal beacons. Aaron controlled his mount with the slightest of hand movements, glancing back now and again to make sure she hadn’t fallen off, she guessed. No chance of that; he was going to have to pry her fingers loose when they reached the bottom.

And then they reached the valley, and she was struck by the peaceful setting. Birds flitted here and there, Lark Sparrows and Golden-cheeked Warblers, while a Scissor-tailed Flycatcher perched on a fallen log watching them with inquisitive eyes. Bees buzzed, gathering the last of the year’s nectar, and a busy squirrel dashed across the trail, cheeks full of his fall harvest. Everywhere she looked, there was movement and yet she felt a deep calmness settle over her—as though this was a place out of time; a healing ground.

“Stupid really,” she murmured, “but I feel as though I’ve been here before. Maybe in my dreams?” She smiled to lighten the moment. “Was the cabin here when your family bought the land?”

Aaron dismounted at the foot of the stairs before answering. He folded his arms over the saddle to stare up at her from under the rim of his cowboy hat. “Nah. My great-granddad built it and brought his bride here until he could build her the hacienda.”

Trish looked at the ramshackle shack with new eyes. A gift for a bride.