Page 3 of Ride Me Cowboy
In the hutch under the kitchen counter, Boots flicks an ear lazily and opens one eye. He’s mostly retriever, mixed in with Collie, we think, because he’s got rusty red fur all over, except his feet, which are a creamy white—hence the name. He’s eleven now and spends most of his time flopped on the floor, wherever he can find the sun. Never mind that he’s not supposed to be in the house. That rule got broken a long time ago and none of us has ever bothered to enforce it.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Beth says, in a way that almost seems to come from the deepest parts of her soul. Like she’s never known peace before. Like she’s been craving it her whole life.
“Where are you from?” I ask with a good attempt at a relaxed, conversational tone, as I move into the kitchen and flick the coffee machine to life, reaching down to scratch the top of Boots’ head.
She glances across at me, hesitation in the lines of her face, as though I’ve just asked her for the nuclear codes. “New York,” shesays, finally, glancing back to the windows, but not before I catch a hint of pink in her cheeks.
“I mean, more recently.” I grab out two mugs and hook one under the machine, then press a button so the kitchen fills with the aroma of coffee beans.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” she says, walking toward me now and hovering on the other side of the kitchen island.
“This is a long way from New York. I presume you didn’t uproot yourself for a three-month contract.”
“Oh.” Her eyes fall to the coffee cup in the machine. “Yes, I—,” her tongue darts out and swipes along her lower lip. I somehow manage not to let that get under my skin, not to notice it in that annoying way I’d noticed her breasts and her soft, smooth skin. She lifts a hand and pulls her long hair over one shoulder, toying with the ends. “Sorry,” she says, dropping her hand away immediately.
I frown. “What for?”
Her eyes pierce mine for a second before she fixes her gaze on a point over my shoulder.
“Is it—does anyone else live in the house?”
“Besides me, you mean?” I prompt.
She nods quickly.
“My brothers Beau and Austin are here most of the time. My other brother Nash is in Phoenix, but he comes back a fair bit. My sister Cassidy is studying in Utah, but she’ll be home later in the summer, and there’s Mack—Mackenzie. An intern.”
“Oh, okay.” She relaxes a little, offering a tight smile. “Great.”
And even though I don’t make a habit of rescuing people the way my dad did, I hear myself say, “You don’t need to worry, Beth. I ain’t gonna bite.” Her eyes widen and she looks stricken and relieved all at once.
What the hell has Reagan gotten me into?
Chapter Two
Beth
I’M NOT AFRAID OF him biting. I’m not really even afraid of him, as much as I am the ghost of my husband. Which is really stupid, because Christopher is dead—he has been for three months. He can’t hurt me anymore. I’m safe.
I’m safe.
The thing is, it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that, how much I replay the moment of his death, and the fact it equaled my freedom, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop looking over my shoulder. Once you’ve gotten used to living like that, it’s a hard habit to shake.
The man standing across the island bench from me is so handsome he looks AI generated. Like if you typed in ‘square jaw, moss green eyes, stubble, tan cowboy’, you’d get something like him. He’s built, too: strong. He looks like he could choke one of those huge bulls I saw across the paddock on the long drive to the house with his bare hands, but that doesn’t mean hewill. First impressions can be deceiving—that’s a lesson I learned again and again and will never forget.
Before Christopher, I would have looked at this rugged man mountain Cole Donovan and probably felt my stomach fill with butterflies, because he’s absolutely gorgeous, with all those pure alpha male vibes, from the way he fits out those faded, old jeans to the button down shirt, the fact he tipped his hat like a real cowboy, and removed it the second we stepped indoors, to the way he stands, all tall, proud and broad. Yeah, a few years ago, I would have given him a bright smile and flirted with him in the hopes he’d ask me out. I might have asked him about his ranch and his life, and I might have had some fun with the whole thing. But that version of me is like a whole other person, one I haven’t known for years. Not since I was twenty-one, met Christopher and learned that letting your guard down with the wrong person—who could be anyone—can lead to disaster.
So I stand here, arms braced at my side, and try to think of something to say in response to his reassurance.
“Coffee?” He slides it across the bench to me, like he knows it’s my Achilles’ heel. The dog near his feet lifts his head a little.
“Thanks.” It smells good. Nutty and strong. I take a sip, closing my eyes and letting it work its magic.
“So, Raegan told you what the job is?”
“Keeping the books straight,” I say with a nod, glad to be on solid conversational group. Numbers I can talk about. Numbers I’m good at.
“Right. She’s pretty fussy about it, so she has some systems?—,”
