Page 6 of Ride Me Cowboy
He looks at me, expression impossible to discern. “’Cause this is the best spot on the ranch,” he says, simply. “The high point, to get the breeze, close enough to the creek out back to fish and fetch water, back in those days, not to mention a view of the road in case some highway robbers came out looking for trouble,” he adds, lips twitching in something like a smile.
I feel my own smile responding, ever so slightly.
“My mom always loved it,” he says, voice a little lower, before he clears his throat and starts walking again, his hips swaggering in that way that makes his butt look ridiculously good. Muscled and toned and…stop thinking about his butt.
“This side of the house is pretty deserted,” he says, with a hint of apology, when this is great news for me. “This is Mackenzie’s room—the intern,” he gestures to a closed door on our right. “She’s been here a couple of years now.” He hesitates, slows, then turns to look at me. “She’s a good kid, but she’s…rough around the edges. She can be prickly. Don’t take it personally if she snaps at you. She snaps at everyone. In fact, it’s a sign of trust.”
“Got it,” I say, halfway tempted to tell him that if walking on eggshells was a competitive sport, I’d be a gold medalist. “I’ll give her a wide berth.”
His frown etches deep parentheses on either side of his mouth.
“I didn’t mean that. You just seem like someone who’d take Mackenzie’s brand of humor to heart. Don’t.”
I try to ignore the fact that he’s already gotten a read on me and just nod to signal my understanding.
“Great.” We walk past another door, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Then another. At the end of the hallway, he gestures to the last one. “This is you.”
The minute I step inside, I realize that this room has something the others don’t: windows on three sides, showing an almost complete panorama of the ranch. The beautiful garden, then the landscape this part of Arizona is known for, with those dramatic, flat-topped mesas in the background and a lush, overgrown pine forest in the front, and then, a pair of timber French doors that open out onto the courtyard.
There’s a double bed in the middle of the room, a small desk, and an old rocking chair.
“It’s lovely,” I say, genuinely. I mean, it’snothinglike my room back home, with the sweeping views of Central Park and the deluxe, professionally decorated suite of furniture, but it’s homey and comfortable, and right now, what I want more than anything is to be comfortable.
I expel a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“My brothers and I are on that side,” he says, tilting his head across the courtyard. “When Cass is home, she’s in the room next door to yours, but she’s not here for another month or so yet.”
“Got it,” I say, not particularly bothered by who sleeps where, only needing to know that this is my room, my private space. Something I haven’t had a whole lot of and need to start getting used to.
“So, any questions?”
I bite into my lower lip. “I mean…” But I hesitate. I’m so used to Christopher. How I hate that man and what he’s turned me into. I vaguely remember the woman I was before him. Confident, funny, relaxed, smart. But a week or so after our wedding, I started to learn that asking questions was one sure fire way to get on his last nerve. I dig my nails into my palm, my voice just a whisper when I say, “How does this work?”
His brow furrows. “How does what work?”
“Being on the ranch. Can I cook my own food? Or do I cook for everyone? Or do I eat in here? Do I keep to set hours or can I work whenever I want to?”
He drags a hand over his jaw. “Reagan always worked from early morning to just after lunch, but that was because of her kid. It suited her. I don’t have a problem with you choosing your own hours.”
I nod.
“You can cook your own food. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” He looks totally aghast at the idea, so a laugh bubbles in my throat.
How long has it been since I’ve just spontaneouslylaughed?I immediately snuff the sound—it’s so rare it almost frightens me. “No. I eat everything.”
“Great.” He visibly relaxes. “I mean, you do you, but I don’t reckon my guys here would let you hear the end of it…”
“When you say, ‘your guys’, you mean… your brothers?”
“The staff,” he corrects. “You’ll meet them over the next few days, I’m sure. They’re teddy bears,” he says, as though he knows I need to hear that. “Gruff, about as smooth as a barbed-wire fence, some of them, but they’re salt of the earth, decent men. Any of them give you trouble, though, you let me know.”
“No women?”
“Other than Mackenzie?”
I nod.
“Nah, but that’s just the way it’s happened. We don’t discriminate. Some of the best ranchers I’ve ridden alongside have been girls.”
