Page 41 of The Cowboy and the Stray

Reid shook his head. "Last time he said it was a stampede involving a runaway mime convention."

I blinked at Buck, then at Reid. "Is this a competition or a mental health concern?"

Noah piped up, grinning. "Both!"

Midge reached past me to grab one of the offending muffins. She wrapped it in a towel and handed it back to me with great ceremony. "Here you go. One cooking disaster weapon, for the next time Buck goes off on a tangent."

I took the towel-wrapped lump, fighting down a giggle. "Thanks, I think."

Then I made the mistake of glancing at Calder. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, just watching me. When our eyes met, he straightened and crossed the kitchen in two long strides to pluck another muffin from the tin.

Never breaking eye contact, he bit into it with a loud crunch. I winced, waiting for him to spit it out, but he just slowly, deliberately, chewed and swallowed. Then he took another bite.

Oh no. He was chewing through the pain for me. Damn him.

Something in my chest cracked and melted. Damn him. Damn him for being so nice. It would be easier if he laughed at me like the others.

If he wasn't so intent on looking at me like I belonged here.

"Guess I'll have to add these to my collection," Buck was saying as he prodded a muffin. "Of Midge-inflicted injuries and insults, that is."

"You wouldn't have so many if you ducked faster when I throw things," Midge told him, going back to her chili pot.

"Nah, I like to give you a fighting chance," Buck said comfortably. "Got to keep you on your toes in your advancing age."

Midge shot him a look that would have melted stone. Or my muffins.

"They've been doing this song and dance for twenty years," Gray said to me, shaking his head. "You'll get used to it."

Calder met my gaze again as he finished the last bite of his second muffin. A little thrill went through me at the warmth in his eyes.

I ducked my head to hide a smile as I started to clean up. The muffins might be a disaster, but somehow, I felt like I'd finally done something right. Not edible. But definitely right.

21. TESS

"One more day." I didn't know when those words stopped sounding like a punchline I was waiting for and started to feel like a promise I wanted to keep. Somewhere between that fourth sunrise and the real start of summer, the joke wore thin, but the welcome stayed.

They tossed the phrase around like a spare horseshoe, clanging and rattling, something to fill the space. Calder, Reid, Midge. They'd all say it. "Mornin' Tess. Stickin' around one more day?" And I'd nod, crack some half-joke back. Pack my mental bags. Make my mental plans.

But my actual boots never hit the road. I woke up each morning thinking "I'll go tomorrow" until tomorrow turned into the next day, and the next. I'd drink my coffee, stack my dishes in the big farmhouse sink, and find myself following the same path down to the barn, day after day. Watching for Calder's tall silhouette against the sunrise. Falling into step beside him like I belonged there.

The days blurred together, edges smudging like a watercolor until I couldn't tell which day of the week it was anymore. Time moved differently out here, marked by the slow arc of the sun, the gradual shift in the breeze. The kind of change you don't notice while it's happening, only once it's already settled into your bones.

Calder still threw "one more day" at me most mornings, but now he paired it with a list of chores. "Horses need feedin'. Tack needs cleanin'. Think you can handle that for one more day?" I'd roll my eyes, tell him I'd manage somehow. And I did.

Somewhere in the blurred stretch of days, I stopped calculating my escape. Stopped planning for the road. Instead, I started learning the horses' names, their quirks and preferences. I noticed when they started shedding their winter coats.

I still packed my bags in my head some nights, still jolted awake at the sound of an engine. I knew I'd have to go eventually. But "one more day" had somehow turned into weeks, and I was starting to wonder if eventually could wait a little longer. If I could let myself sink into the steady rhythm of this place, just for a bit longer. Breathe in the hay-dust air, let the sun freckle my shoulders. Let myself pretend, for one more day that Lance had forgotten me.

I wasn't sure what pulled me there, other than a bone-deep need to get away from the ranch for a while, let my mind wander somewhere other than failed attempts at cooking and doing chores. I picked my way through the live oaks, their gnarled branches reaching out over the limestone banks, and that's when I saw him. Calder, bare-chested and up to his hips in the dark water, beads of it glistening on his tanned skin.

I froze, not wanting to disturb him, but unable to tear my eyes away either. In the time I'd been on the ranch, I'd never seen Calder like this. Wholly unguarded, relaxed, just a man without the weight of the whole spread on his broad shoulders. My eyes followed the line of his back, the play of muscle under skin as he moved. It felt intimate, almost illicit, seeing him this way.

No one warned me Texas came with this much temptation.

As if sensing my gaze, Calder turned, his brown eyes finding mine across the still water. A slow, lazy grin spread across his face. "See somethin' you like there, Tess?"

Busted.