Page 6 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

It took a moment for the words to come into focus. Boone read it once, then again. Sure as hell, there was a doctored photo of his house, his address, and—fuck me—his ex's contact information. Seemed she was still complicating his life from the other side of the country.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Let me explain it for you. Your house is posted on a rental site. I paid for a month of country bliss, which your ranch is far from. You took half my money up front and emailed me the door code. Simple enough for you to follow, Cowboy?"

"Just because I spend my days with cows doesn't mean I'm an idiot."

"Could have fooled me."

"And I didn't know anything about this." He rubbed the growing ache behind his right eye. "My ex set this up."

"Well, why don't you call your ex and figure your shit out, because I need coffee before I deal with you."

Before he could stop her, Little Miss New York had a robe on—one of those fancy silky ones—and was headed down his hallway.

Boone’s eyes followed her to make sure she didn't break anything. That was the only reason. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way the silk swished around her thighs when she walked.

He followed her into the kitchen and watched in mild horror as she dropped a pod into his coffee machine. The thing whooshed and whirled, and then in seconds his house smelled like Thanksgiving and Halloween had a sugar baby.

Boone stood there in his own kitchen, watching a woman he'd known for less than twelve hours make herself completely at home—and felt the first crack forming in something he'd spent a year keeping sealed shut.

He didn't like it.

Not even a little.

Boone stormed through the barn, the smell of hay and sawdust doing little to soothe the rage curling in his chest. The horses shifted and neighed like they could feel it coming off him in waves.

He glanced toward the old peg by the door where his father’s hat still hung. He hadn’t moved it or touched it. Some days it felt like if he did, the last piece of solid ground beneath him would vanish.

This was his sanctuary, his ranch—it was his life. Which meant that the one thing he thought he could control was now splashed online like a vacation special for rent without so much as a whisper. It was like someone had thrown a neon sign over his whole life screaming “Shit on me some more.” And of course, all roads led back to Kayla.

If leaving him high and dry after his parents died had been a storm, this was a full-blown tornado and she was standing right in the middle of it.

What he didn't want to examine—what he absolutely refused to examine—was the fact that his anger at Kayla felt distant and manageable, while his irritation at the woman currently commandeering his kitchen felt alarmingly personal.

"Want to tell me why I've got some city slicker sleeping in my bed like Goldilocks?" he demanded into the phone.

“Want to tell me why you’re calling me in Maui at two in the morning?” Kayla asked, sleep thick in her voice.

“There was a beyond-frustrating woman playing Goldilocks in my bed last night.”

A long, curious pause. “Beyond-frustrating? That’s strong language for Mr. Coldhearted and Collected.”

“She tried to knee me in the nuts.”

Kayla was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, there was unmistakable interest in her tone. “So there was arguing and foreplay? Sounds like you’ve had more action with this woman than you’ve had since we broke up. I like her already.”

“Why is she in my house, Kayla?”

“Where was all this emotion when we were falling apart?”

Her words hit him straight in the chest—brutal in their honesty.

When his parents died, he’d all but gone into hiding—boarded up the windows on his heart and nailed them shut. Kayla had tried everything to reach him, but he was in too deep and didn’t want to be helped. Like a selfish prick he wallowed in the grief, cutting off everyone who loved him, including his brothers, who were going through it just as bad. He’d acted like he was the only one who’d lost something.

“I’m sorry about that. I really am.”

Kayla went quiet. “I know you are, baby. You just grieved on your own timeline, and I couldn’t wait around forever. Right person wrong time.”