Catalina
First of all, he’s my dad’s best friend. He’s probably an old prude. Second of all, he’s nowhere to be seen. I’m literally sitting in the dirt because who the fuck owns all this land and has their house miles away???
Layla
Get your steps in, bitch.
Catalina
Shut up, Layla, fine, I’ll start walking.
I’m about to shove my phone back in my bag when something yanks at my hair, tugging my head sideways, jerking me closer to the fence.
What the fuck?
I slightly crane my neck to get a glimpse, and I’m met with a baby cow chewing on my bow.
“OH MY GODDDDD!!!”
My scream echoes across the pasture. I scramble, flailing backwards off my suitcase in a complete dramatic collapse, landing flat on my back in the dirt.
This can’t be happening.
No. Fucking. Way.
I just got mauled by a cow in broad daylight, andnow I’m lying in literal shit-soaked soil. My six-thousand-dollar outfit is destroyed. This is an absolute joke. I go limp, fully surrendering to the dirt, and close my eyes shut.
A voice drifts into earshot. Deep, rough, and slow as molasses, laced with a Southern drawl that rolls over me like thunder wrapped in velvet. It’s the kind of voice that doesn’t ask questions; it gives orders. I hate how it instantly makes my stomach flip.
“Did your daddy send you here to lay on your ass or help me work.”
I bolt upright, scrambling like a psycho, my hand flying to my bow like I can somehow make myself look presentable. I open my eyes, the sharp sunlight blinding me for a moment before my vision adjusts, then—there he is.
My dad’s best friend.
I look up, and yeah, no one warned me aboutTHIS.
I take him in slowly, my eyes trailing from the brim of his worn black cowboy hat down to his dust-covered boots. He’s sitting on a brown horse, but he looks tall. His frame fills out the sleeves of his shirt with effortless strength, no flexing required, like the land itself carved his body. His skin is sun-warmed and tanned, kissed by too many summers under open skies, and the tattoos inked down his arms catch the light in a way that makes it impossible to look away. There’s one on his neck, a dark rose etched onto his skin, and it holds my gaze longer than it should.
His hair is dark brown, messy in that unintentional kind of way, like he rolled out of bed looking like sin and didn’t bother fixing it because he didn’t have to. The thick, well-groomed beard framing his jaw only adds to the roughness. Then there are his eyes—icy blue.
My god, this man is gorgeous.
For just one stupid second, I forget where the hell I am.Long enough to lose myself in him, long enough to hate myself for it.
His voice cuts through the silence, dripping in that thick southern drawl.
“Are you done starin’, darlin’?”
My mouth falls open, hanging there like I’ve never seen a man. I snap it shut so fast my teeth click. Heat rises in my throat, spreading across my cheeks, and I swear even the cows are judging me.
How fucking embarrassing.
I cross my arms, quickly standing as I dust the dirt off my sweats. “Where have you been?”
I point to my luggage strewn in the dirt. “I need help carrying my stuff to your house, since it’s three hundred miles away.”
He scowls, unimpressed with my tantrum. “Darlin’, I’m not your chauffeur.”
