I’m just asking for a little respect from him. Not this closed off, hurt, cowboy shit. If all he wants is someone to hook up with no strings attached. I would do that. I’ve laid that out plainly for him.
“That’s obviously all you want,” he snaps back, “since you can barely have a conversation with me.”
I continue, “You kissed me, Cole. And then you took off. I will not be treated that way. I know I’m a bigger girl—but I’m beautiful, and I’m worth more than that.”
His eyes darken. “This has nothing to do with that, Layla.”
“I’ve gotta get down there,” I say quietly.
We stare at each other, long, heavy, unresolved. I wait for him to say something else. Anything.
He doesn’t. He lets me walk away. But I know there's something real under all that roughness, something broken and guarded—but he won’t open up to me. And I’m done trying to pry him open.
Chapter 9
Scrooge Plays Nice
Cole
What the hell does she think she’s doing wearing something like that? Knowing damn well I’m going to be watching her all day. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe she dressed like this on purpose, payback for how I treated her. For running. For leaving her out there like a coward. She’s got every right to be pissed.
She’s leaving in six months. That’s the part I can’t get out of my head. She’s not staying here forever. She’s not going to want someone like me. A man who smells like hay and leather, who lives by sunup and sundown, who hasn’t figured out how to want someone without losing them.
She’s a city girl at heart. No matter how good she looks in boots. No matter how natural she seems around the horses. She might say she likes it here, but she doesn’t—not really.
And she made it clear. She’s just looking for fun. That thought should calm me down. It doesn’t.
“Hey, Cole!” someone shouts. “You’ve got three people signed up for roping lessons already. They’re waiting.”
“Sounds good,” I mutter, forcing my attention away from Layla before I do something stupid.
I head toward the roping gate, where Dad’s already teaching someone the basics. He glances up when he sees me, eyes sharp like they always are when he knows more than he’s saying.
“You’ve gotta get your head in the game today, Cole,” he says quietly. “Whatever’s on your mind, let it go.”
I shoot him a look like he just pissed in my cereal.
“Don’t give me that look,” he says under his breath. “You and I both know you’ve been acting strange since Layla got here. Now cut it out.”
“Yeah, well,” I snap, “maybe you shouldn’t have a stranger renting out part of our home.”
Dad steps closer, lowering his voice so no one else can hear. “What I do with my land and my property is none of your business until I’m dead and gone. Your brother, your sister, and I, we like Layla. So either get over your little crush or fix it with her.”
Then he walks off like he didn’t just rip me open. Knowing I built that guest house. And knows exactly who I built it for.
I grit my teeth and head toward the group waiting at the gate, past the dust and noise and laughter, pretending my chest doesn’t feel tight.
“Hey, y’all,” I call out, slipping into work mode like it’s armor. “I’m Cole. Today I’ll be teachin’ you the basics of roping.”
I pat Magic’s neck. “This here’s Magic, best horse we’ve got. So one at a time.”
They listen. They always do. But my eyes keep drifting. To her.
Layla’s down the way at her station, laughing with a kid, crouched low to help him climb onto a pony. Her shorts ride up her thighs when she bends. The sun hits her skin just right. She looks happy. Confident. Like she belongs. I hate it. I hate how quickly she’s catching on—like she’s been here forever instead of five minutes. I hate how easily she fits in, how people look at her like she belongs. She doesn’t. This isn’t her place. She should go back to her yuppy town, back to her yuppy life, where people like her land on their feet and never have to fight for space. And the worst part? The thing I don’t want to admit, even to myself, is how hard I’m working to convince myself that I actually do hate it.
The class is going well. People are laughing, sweating, having a damn good time. It’s hot as hell out here, the sun beating straight down, and I’ve got a crook in my neck from constantly looking to my left, down the hill at Layla.
I can’t stop. My body reacts every time I catch sight of her, like it knows something my brain keeps trying to forget. Like I’m only thinking with my dick and not my heart or my brain.
