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were disappointed that I didn’t try to make out with you two seconds after we met.”
    Minutes ago, we had been talking about man-eating bears and I’d been set to hike solo. Now that Logan had me alone in the middle of nowhere, he decided to tell me what he really thought.
    â€œPut your arms back or you’re going to fall off,” he said. Ignoring him, I just stared at my camera case.
    â€œNo,” I said. “If I touch you, watch out, that means I’m a belt chaser!”
    â€œBuckle chaser,” he said, his tone softening. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Really. I was just surprised that you—”
    I cut him off. “Didn’t try to hit on you just because we’re sitting like this? Do you think girls who aren’t from around here find all cowboys irresistible?”
    â€œI didn’t say that,” Logan said. “But a lot of tourist girls are the same. They think Lost Springs guys are backwoods idiots who do nothing but ride horses and kiss the visiting girls. People treat this place like Vegas. They get to leave and no one at home knows a thing.”
    â€œWell, I’m not one of those ‘people.’ You didn’t even know me and you lumped me in that category.”
    â€œYou didn’t know me and you put me in the ‘crazy horse protestor’ category,” Logan said.
    â€œAt least I was accurate!” I said. “Okay, maybe not the ‘crazy’ part, sorry. But you
are
a protestor. Why? What is it about the horses that makes you feel like you have to protest?”
    Logan took a
long
pause. “The real answer is personal,” he said. “It’s only something that I tell my friends. The easy answer is one you’ll find out if you stay on the ATV with me.”
    I sighed. “Okay, okay. Keep your secrets. But know that I would protest for my dad if I needed to.”
    â€œYou don’t,” Logan said. “Your father made sure every possible piece of paper was signed before he got here. The Bureau of Land Management already gave him a thumbs-up, so he’s good to go.”
    â€œThen why are you protesting?” I asked, shaking my head. “Just to show you’re upset? What?”
    â€œI don’t know why each person is protesting,” Logan said. “We’re all there for different reasons. Everyone knows that we can’t stop your father. For some of the townspeople, I think they would feel as though they let the horses down if they didn’t at least show their support.”
    Logan fell silent. I didn’t speak, either.
    â€œIt seems like if we want to make it through this ATV ride, we have to stop talking about our dads,” I said.
    â€œAgreed,” Logan said. He opened up the gas more and we zipped over the long, weed-filled grass.
    A few minutes later, he turned off the four-wheeler at the base of the black rocks and got off.
    â€œC’mon,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
    I shrugged, hopped off the ATV, and stepped behind him through the dewy grass. If only our entire exchange could float away in the gentle breeze.
    Â 

    CHAPTER SEVEN

    When in doubt, let your horse do the thinkin’.
    We walked around the base of the gentle hill and the black rocks choked the grass and weeds. Logan knelt down and felt the ground. He brushed aside a few rocks and exposed the rich brown dirt.
    â€œFeel this,” Logan said, motioning for me to bend down.
    I stretched my hand forward and felt the spot where he’d touched.
    â€œIt’s warm,” I said, feeling the ground again. It was weird touching ground that was actually hot under my hands. It wasn’t just warmed from the sun—it was a different, moist heat.
    Logan nodded. “Now, remember what that felt like and come over here.”
    â€œWhat was that?” I asked, staring at the spot before jogging after Logan as he made his way across the loose