With a final glare, he turns and marches down the steps. “I’ll have someone drop off your bags here tonight.”
I stand with my chin up and arms crossed like I’ve won. When the truth is—no one did. And I have a feeling there’s going to beplenty of these rounds.
I shut the door and turn back to my little cabin, expecting to see a spider or roach skittering past me.
“Nope. No roaches here,” I mutter under my breath. “Just bears and hot, grumpy cowboys.”
12.42 a.m.
Willow:How’s your first night?
I send her a pic of my cabin in reply.
Willow:Cute. But you’re not really staying there are you?
Rose:It’s OK, it was worth it.
Willow:What was?
Rose:The look on his face.
Willow:Your brother?
Rose:No. My boss.
5
Wilder
The first ray of sunlight hasn’t even warmed the fields and my patience is already burning out. It’s past eight and Rose was due in the Saddle Room an hour ago. I stare at the collection of vintage saddles mounted on the walls instead of getting my head into all the work I have ahead of me.
Since my new assistant is a no-show.
I run a hand through my hair and reach for the paperwork stacked on the desk, shuffling through it like I’m looking for something specific when I know damn well I’m not.
I toss the papers back down, berating myself for thinking I could make this work.
This was a mistake. Dad warned me never to do business with friends—which, let’s be honest, is exactly what I did with Wesley. Except he’s not the problem.
I grab my hat from the desk, shove it on my head, and pace to the window. Still no sign of her walking down from the cabins.
How hard can it be to show up on time?
Maybe her phone died. Maybe the sound is off on her alarm.
MaybeIhadthiscoming.
Rose isn’t exactly what I expected when she stepped out of Wes’s car fifteen hours ago. Short shorts, burgundy boots, and green eyes that lock me in like a forest path, leading somewhere I can’t resist.
This is a sign.
If she’s distracting me this much without even being here—there’s no way I could work side by side with her all summer.
Especially when she keeps slamming herself into me—accident or not.
Her throaty gasps from our collisions wrapped around me like velvet. I swear I kept hearing them all night in my head. If Dallas wasn’t asleep in the next room, I’d have blasted music just to tune them out.
And the shower I took when I got home barely erased the lingering sensation of her touch.
