Shaking my head at my own dumbass, I start steering Midnight back towards the ranch.
One day, years from now, I’ll probably look back at this and call her the one that got away. The one I let go because I couldn’t bring myself to figure out what it meant to want someone for real. The one I convinced myself didn’t matter because wanting her would hurt more than ignoring it.
So yeah, I’ll file her away. Keep it a distant memory. A flash of heat in a life too rooted in routine. A reminder that I’m still capable of feeling something real, even if I never get to touch it again.
And that’s fine.
It has to be.
Because I’ve got rodeos to catch, a ranch to help run. A family who counts on me. I don’t have time for soft eyes and city girls and this ache in my chest that won’t fucking quit.
But something tells me, forgetting Mia Bonney will be the hardest damn thing I’ve ever tried to do.
***
By the time I return to the ranch house, the sun is high overhead, and sweat trickles down my back. I stable Midnight, brush her down, and head to my house where smoke greets me before the door even swings open.
“Christian? You burning down the damn kitchen again?” I call, stepping inside.
Lily appears from the living room, phone in hand. “He's trying to bake another batch of donuts for Mama. Lord help us all. It's not going well.”
“I can see that,” I say, choking and waving away smoke. “Guy can disassemble a machine gun blindfolded in a sandstorm, but give him a mixing bowl and a stove, and he triggers a biblical fire.” I mutter as I walk to crack open a window.
“Any reason he's destroying the kitchen unsupervised?”
“I'm supervising,” Lily protests, though her attention is clearly on her phone. “Oh, by the way, did you know there's someone staying in the rental cottage across the road?”
I freeze for a second, my heart doing a strange skip. “No. Who?”
“Some woman from out of town.” Lily continues to scroll through her phone, disinterested. “Dad said she booked in yesterday. Said she needed a place while she sorts out some travel issues.”
That gets my full attention, and I freeze mid step, but I try to keep my voice casual. “Did he mention her name?”
“Nope.” Lily glances up, suddenly more attentive. “Why? You think it's your mystery woman?”
“She's notmymystery woman, Lily” I say automatically.
Christian emerges from the kitchen, flour covering most of his face and clothes that’s not protected under the apron he brought with him. “Who's not your mystery woman?”
“The new tenant across the road,” Lily explains. “Grant thinks it's his city girl.”
“I never said that.” I protest, though my mind is racing with possibilities.
Christian wipes his hands on his already-destroyed apron which features the picture of a half-naked woman’s body in a tiny string bikini, the full length of the apron, the breasts now covered in flour.
“She’s not your mystery woman, huh?” He smirks with one quirked brow “That why you look like someone just kicked your puppy and proposed at the same time?” He tosses over hisshoulder as he walks back into the kitchen through the smog of smoke. “Better fix your face, Grant. If she sees that pout, she’ll think you’re constipated, not contemplative.”
Lily snorts and yells after me as I move to the lounge opening more windows. “Why don't you go find out for yourself?”
Before I can deliver a comeback worthy of my blood pressure, we hear it—a sound that chills the soul.
Gurgle.
Then…
BLOOP.
Then—
