"That her?" Trevor Wild asked his brother. The question rose from his lips like vapor, his warm breath chilled by contact with the early morning air.

He already knew the answer to his question, but he wanted to make sure he wasn't hallucinating the pretty blonde woman standing in front of the old bunkhouse with her arms crossed. She appeared to be in deep contemplation of the woodpile he had been gathering there all season, and the intensity of her concentration made her blind to everything else—including the two men watching her from behind the fence across the property.

"That's her," his brother confirmed. Trent hitched the front of his Wranglers up and blew casually on a steaming mug of coffee he had lifted out of the ranch kitchen. Trevor, sleep-deprived from his long drive home from the conference, felt a surge of jealousy at his twin's morning alertness. "Sabrina Hearthstone, Wildhorse Ranch's very own Glamping Adventure Coordinator. I'd say it has a certain ring to it, but I'm not sure half of those words were meant to exist in the English language."

Trevor cringed in private agreement, the shadow of his hat brim concealing his reaction to the distasteful word. “Glamping,” a portmanteau of glamorous camping, was not a concept he had ever imagined, let alone expected to put into place at Wildhorse. At thirty-two, he was sure life had more unpleasant revelations in store for him, but whether Sabrina Hearthstone might be the next unfortunate event in a glamping-related string of surprises remained to be seen.

"Looks like you're going to have your hands full with this one," Trent remarked as the distant female figure pulled her hair back into a ponytail and dropped to a squat. He said it in the tone of a horseman surveying a particularly unruly filly. Trevor wondered what his brother had gone through already with this woman; still, there was no mistaking the slight tone of admiration in Trent's voice.

"Looks like she's got her hands plenty full already," Trevor mentioned. He squinted across the lawn at Sabrina, who appeared to be dismantling and hauling much of the woodpile up onto the porch. "What the hell is she doing?"

That scrap was probably lousy with splinters—not to mention pill bugs and termites—yet she didn't shrink from grappling with it barehanded. She might as well have been holding the front door wide open and inviting the pests to brunch in the goddamn bunkhouse living room.

"No idea," Trent replied, before amending. "I thought she said something about wanting the scraps for planters or a coffee table or something. You know, like a project."

Trevor sighed and cuffed his brother on the shoulder. "Thanks for keeping an eye on the place while I was away." He tipped his hat in advance of another momentary farewell. "You want to stick around for a bit? Give me the rundown of what's been going on?"

"Sure. Not like I have a job or anything."

The grim line of Trevor's mouth flexed a little. "I'll catch up with you in a few, Sheriff."

"You know I'll be here. And get some coffee!" Trent hollered the suggestion after him. "Something tells me you're going to need it!"

Something tells me you're right. What he wouldn't do for a cup as black as Sabrina Hearthstone was fair. Despite feeling dead on his feet, Trevor loped the length of the yard to reach the new adventure coordinator. She glanced up when she heard his bootsteps; she opened her mouth to start talking almost before he was within earshot.

"Oh! I'm so glad you're here, Trent. Do you mind helping me with this monster?" Sabrina wiped her forehead and indicated the log giving her trouble. Trevor knew it all too well. Not only had he struggled for more hours than he would readily admit to unearth it and drag it this far, but his unwillingness to move it again was the entire reason the wood scrap on his property had started accumulating here in the first place.

Trevor doubted a pair of freckled, toothpick-thin arms would provide the help he needed to haul it, but he had never turned down a woman in distress before. "Sure." He pulled on his work gloves and stooped to wrestle the other end of the log into his arms. "But I'm not Trent."

"Huh?" Sabrina glanced up to take him in again, and dropped the side of the log she was holding. Trevor grimaced and set his end down, also. The way his mouth tended to frown naturally—and only deepen when he was annoyed or working—distinguished him from his more approachable twin brother.

"No…I mean, wow. You really aren't, are you?" Now that Sabrina had halted operations, Trevor straightened to regard her in turn. The way she looked him over, with eyes as wide and summer-blue as the Texas sky, made him acutely aware of just how closely they stood.

"No. I really am not," he agreed. He wondered how much Trent let her get away with while he was gone. Sabrina Hearthstone had a face as pretty as an angel's—pair that with her ridiculously tight, stone-washed designer jeans, and he doubted his brother had been willing to deny her much. She was the living, breathing lyric of a country song standing before him—the worshipped, vaunted city girl—and for the first time, Trevor contemplated how much trouble he might be in having her on his property.

At least they had managed to agree on one important detail so far: he wasn't his brother Trent. While the Sheriff of Lockhart Bend might be willing to let certain behaviors slide, Trevor expected a rigid adherence to his rules. If she already found him more serious, more commanding, than his twin brother, then it might make his job a hell of a lot easier.

"So, you must be Trevor," Sabrina deduced. "The owner. Unless you're triplets I wasn't aware of," she appeared to mutter to herself. She extended a slender hand to him, and Trevor removed one of his gloves before taking it in his own. He wondered what his callouses must feel like rubbing against her soft skin. She didn't draw back immediately, which he also found curious. They held the handshake a few seconds longer than strictly necessary before Sabrina withdrew and flushed a little.

"Sorry I mistook you for your brother," she apologized. "I guess I didn't realize you'd be back today."

"I keep to a schedule," Trevor stated. "Which is something you're throwing off already, Miss Hearthstone." He nodded toward the scraps she had accumulated on the porch. "I’m tossing that wood out in the quarterly clear-out.” She stared at him blankly. “That's tomorrow. You want to keep any of it for arts and crafts, I expect you to go through it all today."

"Excuse me, Mr. Wild, but this isn't for arts and crafts," Sabrina protested. She gestured toward her woodpile selections. "This is upcycling! I'm going to make good use of this stuff. If we want to attract customers and garner favorable reviews, then we're going to need to liven up the living spaces with a few rustic decorations."

Upcycling. Great. Another made-up word. Trevor hooked his thumbs in his belt and didn't budge an inch, predicting his silence would be enough to settle the matter. Generally speaking, it was. Today, however, his natural powers of intimidation appeared to be diminished after the long drive. Sabrina had her hands on her hips, her dark pink lips pursed in challenge. For the life of him he couldn't decide if her expression was meant to convey a fight or invite a kiss.

"And it's going to take me longer than a day to figure out what I can and can't use here," she clarified.

"You signed a contract," he said. "And part of that contract clearly states you agree to adhere to the ranch's schedule." And my rules, he was going to add, before Sabrina interrupted him unexpectedly.

"How about time for coffee?" she said. She turned away from him to start up the front steps to the porch, before throwing offhand over her shoulder: "I assume there's room in the ranch's schedule for that?"

The offer sounded like a tactical maneuver rather than a true invitation, but he followed her up the steps to the bunkhouse despite his suspicion. He couldn’t help noticing the sequins studded around the back pockets of her jeans. The detail—and only that detail—drew his attention to Sabrina's pert hindquarters. She sure could fill a pair of impractical pants. The denim might as well have been painted onto those shapely, athletic legs of hers. He doubted she could fully bend over in them but would have been willing to be proved wrong.

"You were at a conference, right? How did it go?" Sabrina smiled perkily as she took the bunkhouse pot off the burner and poured them each a mug of coffee. Trevor hovered in the doorway, studying her change in expression and still wondering if he was being taken for a ride. He would have thought then that she certainly had the cheerful demeanor to be successful in her chosen profession…if he didn't still have doubts that her chosen profession actually existed.

"It went fine." The impromptu conference had given him a lot to chew on, and he felt cautiously optimistic about the future of Wildhorse's breeding program for the first time since he had taken a chance and hired an adventure coordinator. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't like the fact that he had to call on Trent to help Sabrina move in. Trevor was the ranch owner, and he would have rather seen to the matter himself—but his meeting with the other breeders in the area couldn't be put on hold.

He accepted the mug of coffee Sabrina handed him and settled back against the porch railing. The blonde leaned against the outside of the bunkhouse, crossing her legs and folding her arms, pursing her kissable lips and blowing steam off her own mug.

"I got in touch with your company originally because the ranch needs another source of income," he began.

"Obviously." She flexed a grin to let him know she was on the same page.

"But I'm not giving up the quarter horse breeding program. It's what we've done here for three generations, since my grandad's day. It's the heart and soul of this ranch, and it's what Wildhorse is known for." Trevor scowled, hoping to stamp his next point home. "So, I don't want our programs intersecting, Miss Hearthstone. You see to coordinating the campers and keep them out of my hair, and I go about my business as usual, including paying your company’s fee."

"Fine, Mr. Wild. Just so long as you understand what I most certainly won't be doing is keeping our campers out of the stables," Sabrina fired back. "You can't expect anyone to have even a half-baked glamping experience—nor can you expect them to spread positive word-of-mouth and leave us glowing reviews—if our customers aren't even allowed to experience the horses. You tell me what barns to stay out of, and I will—but judging by the tour Trent gave me, there's plenty of stable space for all of us. Besides," Sabrina continued as she smiled once more, "contrary to what you may think, I've been around horses before. I happen to know that most ranch animals enjoy the extra attention and go on to live happy, more fulfilled lives as a result. You wouldn't deny your horses that, would you?"

Trevor didn't like that she was pushing for such a huge compromise already, but now seemed like the perfect time to segue into what he really wanted to talk about: rules. He withdrew a folded set of documents from the inner pocket of his jacket and passed them to her.

"Then you stick to the schedule I've laid out for you," he said. He allowed himself a moment to privately relish the look of horror that crossed her face. He had guessed from the start that she was the type of woman to flout the rules, but he intended to put an end to that behavior before it had even begun. He sipped his coffee and watched as Sabrina riffled through the multi-page document.

"This is…why are there checklists?" she asked incredulously. She rattled the pages at him. "Do you actually expect me to fill these out and turn them back in to you?"

"I expect you to read them over and know how things work around here," Trevor replied. "I run a tight ship, Miss Hearthstone. A ranch this size doesn't operate without a strict schedule and systematic chores that go along with it. Everyone pulls their weight on a ranch, and Wildhorse's adventure coordinator is no exception."

"As you've so bluntly stated, you’re funding my paycheck," Sabrina muttered. "But I guess I was hoping you would consider me more of a collaborator than an employee."

Trevor paused to absorb this. All the while, Sabrina gazed back at him with the first somber expression he had seen out of the energetic woman. He had intended to control that fire he saw, not snuff it.

But what she said deserved some reflection. While his brother had a vested interest in Wildhorse, Trent led his own life in town. Most of the responsibility fell on Trevor's shoulders, and he was more than happy to bear the brunt of it.

But Sabrina was offering to shoulder some of that burden also. Not only that, she wanted to be his active collaborator—she only fought his insistence that they operate separately because she thought the ranch would benefit from a partnership.

At least, that's what he was reading into her imploring look. She may have been a city girl, an outsider thrust into the middle of his carefully-ordered world, but that didn't preclude a certain amount of business savvy. If anything, he should probably expect it from her.

"All right. Collaborators," Trevor agreed. He sealed their agreement by raising his coffee, all the while eyeing her from beneath the wide brim of his hat. "Do me a favor and look those over anyway. It'll be important for you to know what hours I'll be in the stables. We can come together again once you've familiarized yourself with the schedule to work out times for camper activities."

"Fine." Sabrina smiled, and proceeded to roll his documents up. She used the resulting tube to point toward the woodpile. "But I'm going to need extra time with your wood. I mean…!" She flushed as Trevor looked on in amusement. He might not have even noticed the slip if it weren't for the immediate look of mortification that passed across her face. "What I meant to say was, I don't think I'll be able to adhere to that part of the schedule," she stated. "You can't rush art, Mr. Wild."

"Art," he echoed her in a deadpan voice.

"I'll take personal responsibility and get rid of any scrap when I'm done," she insisted. "You can depend on me to keep my word. And besides…" Sabrina's smile brightened like a sunbeam as she gave him the thumbs-up. "You're not going to regret what I have in store."

Trevor exhaled through his nose in frustration. "I think I already do," he muttered. He drained the rest of his coffee and set his mug down on the railing. "All right, Miss Hearthstone," he said. "We'll catch up with one another tomorrow. Come find me in the stables once you've familiarized yourself with the schedule."

"Should I call beforehand to make an appointment?" Sabrina asked as he stepped down off the porch.

Trevor said nothing in response; just tipped his hat brim in farewell, deepening the shadows across his face and hiding the way his mouth twitched slightly upward despite his best efforts.

* * *

"Well, I happen to think Sabrina's a great addition," Trent said. "Spunky. Beautiful."

The sun had risen to take its noontime place in the sky, and the two brothers had retreated inside the easternmost stable block to escape its rays for a bit. Trevor had shed his coat hours ago and now had his sleeves rolled up. He plunged elbow-deep into one of the metal water troughs he had brought in from the pasture, scrubbing off the algae and crud that had accumulated over the last three months.

"Two out of three isn't bad," Trevor said cryptically from inside the tub.

He heard Trent chuckle. His brother leaned in the aisle, chewing a piece of straw and doing little else to be constructive. Apparently, now that Trevor had returned to take the lead on things, Trent thought he had earned himself a break from chores. "Leave it to you to make a checklist for a woman," his brother replied eventually. "No wonder you're still single."

"You're one to talk." Trevor used the back of his wrist to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he rose. "How long you been without a woman now?"

"You're right." Trent grimaced. "Must have less to do with organization and more to do with our damn looks. I forget sometimes we share the same genes."

Trent may have been Trevor's identical twin, but their disparate personalities had manifested themselves physically long ago. It sometimes felt to Trevor like he was looking in a funhouse mirror, where every feature was the same yet somehow inverted, rather than directly at his twin. Trevor found the time to shave less often than his brother did, and his skin was dark in comparison to Trent's town-tan. The heels of their work boots still made them equally tall, and the physical activity required by their professions made them equally broad, but Trent's face was a lot pleasanter to look at, or so Trevor thought. His brother gave up a smile or laugh far more readily, and he put people at ease with no effort at all; he had laugh lines to Trevor's frown lines.

Trent's identical dark eyes sparked with humor all of a sudden. Trevor had the distinct feeling he was about to find out he was the punchline to some secret joke his brother kept, but was surprised by Trent's next comment. "Might share the same taste in women, too," Trent hinted.

An image of Sabrina came unbidden into Trevor's head. For a city girl, she was just about everything he had been expecting her to be, down to her impractical designer jeans, and yet…their first encounter had left him feeling strangely winded. He couldn't be certain it wasn't all the breath he had expended on arguing with her. She had an animation and energy to her that the profile picture on her company's website simply hadn't been able to convey.

So yes, at the end of the day, Sabrina Hearthstone had surprised Trevor. He wouldn't deny that he found her attractive, and something told him her eager personality was just as magnetic to anyone who happened to enter her orbit. Personally, he didn't know what to make of it.

Still, if Trent insisted on continually throwing the adventure coordinator at him as a distraction, he supposed he would have to set his brother straight. "I can't speak to taste," he said finally, "but what we don't share is the same opinion about things. This whole 'glamping' thing is just a temporary means to an end," he reminded his brother. "The ranch is still going to operate like it always has. Once we're out of the red, I'll cut the adventure program and send Miss Hearthstone and her glue gun on their way to bedazzle someplace else."

"Does Sabrina know that?" Trent asked.

"Miss Hearthstone and I have reached an understanding," Trevor said curtly. "She stays out of my side of the business, and I stay out of hers. We come together to discuss any overlap. At the end of the day, nothing happens on this ranch without my stamp of approval. Same as it's been since Grandpa passed."

"You know, it might not be a bad idea to consider changing with the times," Trent reminded him. They’d had this conversation more than once since the untimely death of their grandfather, and Trevor never warmed to it. Change, and one as significant as what his brother hinted at, wouldn’t so easily fit into the schedule, even if he wanted it to begin with.

"Grandpa James was a good man," Trent continued. "He didn't mean to leave you in a hole…"

"I'm sure he didn't mean to leave at all," Trevor grunted.

"But he wouldn't want you to stay in that hole on his account either, Trev. Hell, you're a horseman. You know better than I do that the most recent stock he purchased isn't paying for itself. And without them, you don't have the money to make that balloon payment he still owes," Trent concluded. "Wildhorse doesn't have to just breed quarter horses. Why don't you admit this glamping program is a good idea? It might just be the thing that saves your sorry ass and keeps the ranch operating for another season."

"I'll find a way out of this on my own." Trevor turned away to work a kink out in the hose. "Always have before. More importantly, the ranch will find its way out. So, you don't need to worry yourself with trying to retroactively contribute to the family legacy. Grandpa didn't expect you to care about this sort of thing before, and I certainly don't expect you to start caring now."

"And when this sort of thing happens again?" his brother demanded angrily. Trevor could see that he had hit a sore point, and it wasn't exactly unintentional. A part of him felt guilty for continually stonewalling his brother, but another part knew it was only a matter of time before Trent threw up his hands and walked away. "You could have the most successful breeding program in the world, and you're still going to run into this sort of trouble again down the line! It's inevitable!" Trent exclaimed. "You need a back-up plan for the long haul, brother. You need a gal like Sabrina bringing fresh ideas to the table. Lord knows you don't listen to me—maybe you'll be more likely to listen to reason when it comes from a beauty in blue jeans."

"Sabrina doesn't belong here!" Trevor snapped. The stable block descended into silence. When Trent didn't respond immediately, Trevor glanced up from his work to see if his rise in temper had caused his brother to retreat. Trent was leaning on the other side of the aisle, same as before, only this time he appeared to be keenly studying him.

"Then send her back and choose another coordinator," his brother stated finally. "Hell, choose another program. One that better suits your narrow idea of what you think this place is. One that you're comfortable dealing with."

"I'll deal with Miss Hearthstone just fine," Trevor responded as he kneeled to scrub once more. "So long as she follows my rules."