Page 3 of Oops I Fell For The Cowboy Next Door

"The fence is wrong," he repeats, slower, like I might not have heard him the first time over the sound of my own stubbornness. "The property line according to the original survey runs fifteen feet east of where these posts are."

"Then take it up with the surveyor. Until then, your cattle are in my yard, and I'd appreciate it if you'd get them out."

His eyes drop. Just for a second. Down from my face to my bare feet in the grass, my leggings, the oversized flannel that's slipping off one shoulder. Something moves through his expression. Something he shuts down so fast I almost miss it.

Almost.

When his gaze comes back to mine, the scowl is firmly in place.

"I'll get the cattle," he says. "But this conversation isn't over."

"I didn't think it was." I cross my arms. "I didn't catch your name."

He's already turning back toward his horse, gathering the reins.

"Rawlins," he says over his shoulder. "Tate Rawlins."

He mounts up in one motion, settles into the saddle, and clicks his tongue. The horse turns, and he rides along the fence line toward the gap where the cows wandered through. He doesn't look back.

I watch him go because I'm human and because the view is objectively worth watching, and then I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

Tate Rawlins. My neighbor. Six foot two of weathered denim, calloused hands, and a scowl that could curdle milk at forty paces.

Welcome to Grizzly Ridge.

I turn back toward the cabin, stepping carefully over the broken porch step, and close the door behind me. Lean against it. Press my palm over my sternum where my pulse is doing something unnecessary.

He was rude. Dismissive. Didn't shake my hand. Looked at me like I was an inconvenience standing between him and his creek.

Also looked at my bare shoulder like he wanted to put his mouth on it.

"No," I say out loud to the empty kitchen. "Absolutely not."

The cow outside moos.

"Nobody asked you," I tell her.

I push off the door, pull my laptop from its bag, and sit down at the kitchen table. The sun is dropping behind the mountains, painting everything gold. My first sunset in my new home. My new life. Quiet, simple, mine.

Somewhere beyond the fence, I can hear Tate Rawlins whistling his cattle back through the gap in the wire. Low, sharp. Commanding.

I open my laptop.

I don't think about his hands.

Much.

CHAPTER TWO

TATE

Four cows. She's been here one day and I've already lost four cows to her property because I haven't fixed that goddamn fence.

Duchess leads the stragglers back through the gap without much fight. She's my oldest girl, twelve years on this land, and she knows the whistle better than most people know their own names. The other three follow her lead, hooves heavy on the packed earth, tails switching at flies that don't exist yet this time of year.

I dismount at the gap, loop Bucky's reins over the nearest post, and drag the wire back into position by hand. Temporary fix. My gloves are in the truck, so the barbs dig into my palms through calluses thick enough that I barely register it. Tomorrow I'll come back with the fencing pliers and do it right.

Tomorrow.