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and close the gate back in Vermont, and what a pain it had been. He laughed, telling her that it had been that way here until he and his brother took over running the ranch.
    The snow-covered pastures and the bare trees of winter made it seem as if she could see forever. It was peaceful, and the ride seemed quite long before they came to the main house. His home was a large, white farmhouse with black shutters and a wrap-around porch—old in style, but beautifully maintained—and behind it were a few large structures and penned-in areas. The sweet smell of hay and the unmistakably pungent scent of horses hung in the crisp, cold air surrounding them, reminding her of her time as a child back in Vermont, riding on her uncle’s farm.
    “Wow…this is breathtaking, and huge. How many acres do you own?” she asked, as they parked the truck and began to unload their luggage.
    “Well, here’s a little over 130 acres, but I also own some acreage down in southern Colorado that’s undeveloped at this time,” he responded, as he lifted both their bags and tilted his head toward the house. “Let’s get settled and I’ll take you out back to the stables.”
    As soon as they entered the house, an older woman, mid to late fifties, of Spanish descent, her long black hair pulled back neatly in a bun, rushed over. “Mr. Brooks, welcome home. It’s good to have you back,” she said, with an accent.
    “Thank you, Marisol. This is my friend, Ivy Hughes. Ivy, this is my housekeeper, Marisol. She’s been with our family for over 30 years. Practically raised me. Naturally, she stayed on after my parents’ death.”
    While getting to know each other, Deacon had shared that his parents were gone, and that he and his brother split the responsibilities of the ranch as equal partners in White Stallion Enterprises. His brother’s family lived in a house he’d built on ranch property close by. Deacon inherited his parents’, fully renovating and updating it before moving in.
    After giving her a brief tour of the house, Deacon took their bags upstairs to his master bedroom, then turned to Ivy and wrapped her in his arms. “I was originally going to put you up in the guest room down the hall, but I figured you’d stay here with me if that’s all right.”
    Nodding her head, Ivy stood on her tippy toes, snaked her hands around Deacon’s neck and leaned into him for a kiss. “I’d really like to stay here with you. I want to spend every moment with you before I have to leave.” The reality of the situation hit her for the first time. They only had one more day together before she headed back to New York. There was no turning back at this point; her heart was involved, and she wasn’t going to spend their last day together dwelling on how hurt she would be to leave, justifying that she would deal with that after tomorrow. Kissing him one more time, she pulled away, grabbing his hand. “Come on cowboy, you have a ranch to show me!”
    “Oh darlin’, I’d much rather stay in bed all day with you,” he grunted, as she pulled him along.
    “Oh, I’ll bet you would, Mr. Insatiable, but I want to see the horses, and you promised me we could ride.”
    “Okay, okay. Anything for you, Ivy, but bundle up sweetheart, it’s cold out there,” he acquiesced.
    Tightening the scarf around her neck, she slipped on her gloves and buttoned up her jacket before heading out. The large stables were bustling with activity as the workers finished mucking out the stalls and feeding the horses. Deacon stopped to talk to his stable manager, George, and introduced Ivy to him. George was an older gentleman, probably in his sixties, with a full head of white hair and a polite, slow, southern drawl. Lifting his hat, he called her ma’am and told her it was a pleasure to meet her.
    “Ivy and I are going to take a short ride George. Can you have one of your men saddle up Daisy and Gert for us?” Deacon requested.
    Scratching the back of his neck, George