Page 54 of Cherry Tree Ranch

“Cash, I’ve told you. I don’t want to get in the middle of anything with you and Kaylee,” I say.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No. Ugh, this is so messed up.” He sets the ball of wet napkins on a shelf and rubs the back of his neck. “The thing is… It’s complicated. Kaylee and I have to… Well, you see, our contract specifies we’re a couple.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“The sponsor was looking for a girl and a guy who could represent his ranch-wear brand – you know Buckaroo Billy’s? He said us being a couple generates public interest and buzz. People love small-town sweethearts.” Cash does his best impression of what sounds like a slimy old man with a gravelly voice. “Kaylee can financially afford to back out of the contract, but I can’t. She agreed to go along with it until semi-finals, mostly because she likes the idea of her photo, our photo, being plastered on the marquee. She needs her up-and-coming can-chaser status to be on the up and up with her followers.”

“So … what are you saying?” I shake my head, utterly confused.

We watch the door as footsteps echo in the hallway, but they go to the restroom.

“I’m saying Kaylee is not my girlfriend, Dahlia. We dated, but…” He looks down at his black shoes and hesitates. “After I saw you at the rodeo… This is going to sound crazy, but I just realized, with Kaylee, it wasn’t…”

There’s a pause.

“… Right?” I fill in, hoping I don’t miss the mark. Hoping the moments we shared on the night of the storm might still mean something.

“Exactly.”

As his words sink in, I raise an eyebrow. “After you saw me…?”

He looks bashful and gives a half laugh. “Or maybe it was after the kick in the head.”

I’m reeling, trying to piece it all together. “Did you know I’d be there when you came up to the ranch that first day…?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t. That was a total coincidence. Weird, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Our gazes cling tightly to one another until I close my eyes and sigh. “If this is true, why did you not think to tell me?”

Cash rushes to explain. “I almost did, several times, but I’m not supposed to tell anyone what’s really going on. Small-town gossip spreads like wildfire. The photos from the publicity shoot haven’t come out yet. The glossy-couple image has to stay intact until the rodeo’s over.”

“OK…” I run my hand through my hair. It’s a lot to take in – a lot to believe. “Like I said, Cash, I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.” I point to the door, needing to escape – because, if I don’t, I can’t trust what I might say next. “I should get back to my date.”

“Just another minute?” Cash pleads.

He looks into my eyes, unblinking. His long, black lashes cover half of his pupils, making me feel incredibly vulnerable. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders scrunch up near his ears. “Are things serious with you and Wyatt?”

I twist my mouth and shrug, but it’s hard not to get a flash of excitement that he sounds jealous. Still, jealousy is not what I truly want, and I feel a burst of frustration. “Is Wyatt why you were being so crappy earlier?” I raise my brows expectantly. “There are giant posters and videos of you and Kaylee everywhere, but Wyatt’s a problem?”

He winces.

“You were being crappy yesterday too, so you know,” I add.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” He hangs his head. “I never felt bad for you, not in the way it sounded. That was the most idiotic thing I’ve ever said. I do hate that your dad did that, though. That’s what I meant.” He pops his knuckles and bites his lip. “And I’m sorry about tonight. Dahlia, seeing you with another guy is doing things to me I didn’t expect. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve any of this.”

“I don’t understand any of this.”

“I know, and I don’t want to hurt you. Please trust me to make it up to you. I just need a little more time.” His hands come out of his pockets, and he touches my chin. “Dahlia, I promise, soon I will do whatever you want.”

“Oh, really?” I say, pissed but also intrigued.

He stares at my mouth. “Whatever you want,” he repeats, forcing his eyes to mine.

My anger trails off as he inches closer. Close enough that he’s got to hear my heart thrumming against my chest. How does he know exactly what I want?

“I swear,” he says again, stalwart. His black apron, covered in flour, touches the front of my shirt. I get lost in his unwavering gaze, having to remind myself to breathe.