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“Rough is an understatement,” I say to Gumby.
The pup wags his tail in agreement.
I slip into the connected bathroom, stripping out of my mud-stained shirt. It’s not the first time I’ve looked like I entered a mud-wrestling contest, nor will it be the last. I wipe away the dirt smudges from my face with a damp washcloth, horrified to discover my raccoon eyes in the small vanity mirror. It’s probably too much to hope that Ryder didn’t notice. “I don’t care,” I say first to myself. Then to Gumby, “I definitely do not care.”
The blue, black, and white button up shirt swallows me whole, promising me it’s not one of Paps’ work shirts. I feel almost naked with only a bra beneath it and tuck the front of it into my leggings. A hint of manly cologne drifts up, temporarily intoxicating me. Definitely not Paps.
Gumby lets out a bark, pulling me from my thoughts before they have the opportunity to get out of hand.
“That’s right. We don’t like grumpy Ryder, do we?”
I trail the excitable pup to the door, impressed by how easily he zips in circles with three legs. I’ve seen it dozens of times before in osteosarcoma patients. Gumby sits by the door, but I don’t move. I’m frozen with my hand on the knob, my gaze locked on those mismatched eyes. His obvious zest for life leaves me hopeful that there’s another explanation for his condition.
The door opens and I fall forward, catching my palm on a solid wall of muscle. Two strong hands grab my elbows to steady me. The familiar manly scent is stronger now. In a momentarily lapse of judgment, I’m tempted to fall against that muscular chest. Ryder’s wearing a black t-shirt that unfairly clings to every contour. I’d bet my cheek would fit perfectly?—
“You about ready? We’re waiting on you.”
“You had to speak,” I mumble, sidestepping him to follow the intoxicating aroma of a home cooked meal. I can’t remember the last time my dinner didn’t come from the freezer.
I try to ignore the moody cowboy, but I feel him trailing behind me. As though some electrical current connects us. I swear, if he’s staring at my ass…the thought gives me a thrill.
After dinner is finished, I should probably avoid the ranch until Pap’s surprise birthday party this weekend lest I make some unwise decisions concerning my tingling lady bits.
“Say, Macy,” Paps says, pulling out the chair at the head of the oval shaped table in the dining nook off the kitchen. “You have plans while you’re in town?”
“Paul, leave the girl alone,” Gina playfully scolds, carrying a pot of spaghetti sauce to the table and placing it near the center. “I’m sure she has better things to do than play with farm animals.”
A glimpse of Ryder counting a stack of plates on the opposite end of the kitchen island should be all the warning I need. But I’m a sucker for animals. Especially misfits. “You need some help, Paps?”
“Got a pregnant mare I could use some help with?—”
Before Paps can elaborate more, the back door bursts open. A woman charges full speed in my direction. I have only enough time to recognize the chipper shriek of excitement before my best friend, Everleigh James, tackles me with a fierce hug. Effectively knocking the wind right out of me. Thankfully the wall catches my back, or we’d be sprawled out on the floor.
“In my defense, I tried to leave her on the side of the road.” I catch a glimpse of my oldest brother Wyatt, still in uniform, over Everleigh’s shoulder.
“What were you doing on the side of the road?” I ask Everleigh when she finally lets me come up for air.
“Flat tire,” she answers, nonchalantly. “Your brother happened to be driving by and let it slip that you were in town.” The last few words are an accusation that causes a slight pang of guilt to knot in my stomach. It’s been years since I’ve seen my childhood best friend in person. We’ve talked plenty on FaceTime and have enough text messages to amass an epic fantasy series. But over the past few months, we’ve talked less and less. Which is why I may have failed to mention the last-minute plans I made to visit Emerald Creek. “Were you going to tell me you were home, Macy?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Liar.”
“I wasn’t even sure you’d be here.”
“Where else would I be?” There’s a hint of melancholy in her tone that I don’t dare pick apart in front of an audience. A year ago, Everleigh lived in Oklahoma, chasing every storm that offered the slightest hint of severe weather. I knew moving home to Montana where there are on average two tornadoes a year was a hard decision for her. But I’ve had this nagging feeling that there’s something she’s not telling me.
“Ryder, grab a couple extra plates,” Gina orders, drawing my attention back to the frowning cowboy at the opposite side of the kitchen. My gaze snags on those Wranglers, hugging an unfairly perfect ass in all the best ways.
“You have any trouble with Gertie?” Wyatt’s question is the drench of ice water I need.
“She fits right in,” Paps says, smiling that goofy old man smile I’ve always cherished.
“The goat is your fault?” Ryder’s question, directed to Wyatt, is far too close to my ear. I feel a rush of heat as he moves around me to set the stack of plates on the table. Parts of me that have no business reacting tingle uncontrollably.
“Tried to tell you,” I say pointedly to Ryder.
He turns, briefly locking those intense gray eyes with mine as he takes his sweet time moving past me. “Still not too late to take her back to Colorado when you leave.” To my brother, he says, “You owe me a beer for this.”
