Page 152 of Saltwater Cowboy

He smirked, tilting his head. “That include me?”

My face burned, but I didn’t look away. “Especially you.”

Something shifted in his gaze, but before I could overthink it, he was swinging his legs over the side of the bed, standing and tugging on his sweats. “If you’re insisting on running the farm this morning, at least let me make breakfast.”

I considered arguing, but the thought of Wells in the kitchen, barefoot and shirtless, cooking for me—it was too good to turn down. “Fine. But nothing fancy.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I make no promises.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned and headed downstairs, stepping out onto the dewy grass. The crisp morning air nipped at my bare legs, but I barely noticed. The goats were already at the gate, waiting for breakfast, their impatient bleats carrying across the farm.

“Alright, guys,” I sighed, unlocking the latch. “I know you don’t care about my personal life, but I am begging you—just this once, can you make things easy for me?”

The goats stared at me, unimpressed.

“I’m serious,” I pleaded. “No chasing. No headbutting. No trying to escape. Just eat your breakfast like normal farm animals so I can go back inside and spend the morning with a very, very attractive cowboy.”

A beat of silence. Then, as if on cue, one of them darted past me, heading straight for Wells’s truck.

I groaned. “Of course.”

I spun on my heel, ready to chase the little escape artist, but before I could take a step, another goat charged forward, knocking into the back of my legs and nearly sending me face-first into the dirt.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I shouted, arms flailing as I barely caught my balance.

The goats were not, in fact, kidding me. They were dead serious about their morning chaos.

One had climbed onto the hood of Wells’s truck like it was his personal stage. Another had its head stuck in the feed bucket, thrashing around like a drunk partygoer in a lampshade. And the rest? They were staring at me like they knew exactly how much I wanted to go back inside and were personally offended by it.

“Guys, please,” I begged, throwing my hands in the air. “Just one morning. One! That’s all I ask!”

A deep laugh echoed from the porch, and I turned to see Wells leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the entire disaster unfold. He looked infuriatingly amused.

“Having fun?” he called.

I shot him a glare. “Don’t you dare say anything unless you’re coming down here to help.”

He held up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “You told me to take a break, remember?”

I groaned. “I take it back. I take everything back. Come deal with your demon farm children.”

But instead of coming down, Wells whistled—one sharp, commanding note.

And just like that, the goats froze.

I blinked.

Then, slowly, like this was some well-rehearsed trick, the goat on his truck jumped down. The one with the bucket over its head stopped thrashing, shaking it loose. The others trotted toward the feed bins like perfect little angels.

My mouth fell open. “What just happened?”

Wells shrugged, smirking. “They respect me.”

“They fear you,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

“Same thing.” He sauntered down the steps and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before swiping the empty feed bucket from my hands. “Go inside. Breakfast is waiting.”

The smell of coffee and something buttery filled the kitchen as I stepped inside, my irritation with the goats already fading. I crossed my arms, leaning against the counter. “Oh, this smells heavenly. You’re such a breakfast connoisseur.” I winked.